The Krewel Girl

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

The light could be seen from the town, as it flickered half-way up the mountain. Whispers went around the tavern of the old Krewel place. Matthias Krewel had been a kindly old man, in spite of his name. He often came down to the village, buying supplies, and selling the little wood carvings he whittled from the pines. The children loved the carvings, and would flock to him whenever he arrived. Some of these children didn't have the pocket change to buy his pieces, but every so often, Mr. Krewel would find they'd misplaced a coin behind their ear, which was just enough to buy a little trinket.

The grown-ups generally let him be, though even before he died, there were questions no one could answer. Where he got the coin to pay for his food, for example. He didn't do any work in the village, and the carvings he sold never made much. Yet the tavern keeper always welcomed him, as he was never late with his tab or payment. Old Matthias told plenty of tall tales, but never about himself. The most anyone got out of him was one night when he was especially drunk. He slurred that he used to be a very important person somewhere far away, but had to leave. Whether this was true, no one knew.

Then, years ago, he'd stopped coming down from his cabin. When people went to check on him, they'd found him lying in his bed as if asleep, cold and stiff. The doctor said he must have been that way for nearly five, six days. And yet, there was no dust or dirt. And more unsettlingly, some people swore they'd seen smoke coming out of the chimney just two days prior.

They buried Matthias in the churchyard, and no one went back up to the cabin. In that time, parents complained of their children having nightmares. Which wasn't unusual, except they all seemed to be the same. A low, sorrowful voice calling out for "Daddy." And the scraping of a knife on wood. But in time, the dreams subsided, and the cabin stood empty.

But now, there was a light in the window.

Men went up the next day. The cabin was still empty as it had ever been, but there were what seemed to be fresh wood shavings by the hearth, and several misshapen lumps of pine in the fireplace. Back at the tavern, it was agreed that it was probably just a couple of children playing some sort of joke, or maybe searching for something. There were still rumors about Mr Krewel's money hidden away somewhere.

That night, there was a light in the window.

This repeated event was compounded by several parents complaining of their children having nightmares again, of low voices and scraping sounds. Some of the gifted figurines throughout the village were missing, distressing the children further! Karl, the blacksmith, decided to spend the night up in the cabin in secret, and find who kept coming up. He told no one of his plan, so as not to forwarn the culprit, and stole up just as the sun was setting.

That night, there was a light in the window. And a scream.

They found Karl huddled in the town square the next morning, curled in a ball and mumbling to himself, shivering and covered in sweat. As the doctor treated him in his bed, his fevered ramblings made little sense to his visitors. He spoke of his plan to catch the intruders. How he hid under the table by the window, and waited, trying his best to stay awake.

Try to stay awake.

Stay awake.

Awake.

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

He woke with a start, to the sound of a knife peeling wood. The candle on the table was lit, and he could hear soft, low sobs coming from the fireplace. The candle's light didn't reach that far, but Karl could see someone sitting there, hunched over something in their lap.

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

"Daddy made them for me," said a low, deep voice.

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

"He made them just for me."

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

Karl didn't move from his hiding place. His eyes adjusted to the gloom against the candlelight, and he began to see the shape in the shadows. She wore torn and filthy rags, and as she hunched further, the bag at her side shifted, rattling with the sound of wooden figurines. She was the right shape for a child. But she was the wrong size. Very wrong. Sitting down, her head bent, it just barely seemed to brush the top of the mantlepiece, towering over even the table Karl hid beneath. The knife looked tiny in her hands, as she pinched the piece of wood between two massive fingers.

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

"Daddy promised not to go. Daddy lied."

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

"Don't leave, Daddy."

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

"Don't take them. I love them. They're mine!"

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

Her features were in shadow, covered by stringy hair. Tears on her cheeks glistened in the gloom, as she continued to sob, to scrape, scrape, scrape.

Karl stayed hidden, scrape, scrape, scrape. He didn't move for hours, scrape, scrape, scrape. He watched as she threw another piece into the fireplace, choking on more sobs, and taking out another piece, continued to scrape, scrape, scrape. His leg had gone numb, and he tried not to move it.

It moved.

The table jerked, and the candle falling to the floor, rolling towards the girl!

And Karl could see her face, as she looked at him, and terror filled every crevice of the room as he screamed!

No one quite knew what to make of Karl's story. They checked the cabin again, but aside from more shavings and candle wax on the floor, there was no sign of the monstrous girl. Karl never explained how he'd returned to the village, or what happened after.

The cabin never lit again after that night. But legend tells that if you go up there, just about three in the morning, and are very quiet, you can just make out the sound of a knife peeling wood.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.