by Cidney Mayes
“A Heart Destined to Wither” is an honorable mention in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2024 Fall Fiction Contest.
A favorite contract of mine: the mortal’s ruinous craving for riches. Everyone knows that gold lasts forever, but hearts such as his are destined to wither.
– Margin Note in the Book of Souls
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Exhaustion creased the corners of Charlie’s eyes as he wiped his hands on the back of his trousers, leaving sooty streaks behind. Anna liked a tidy house, but his clothes were permanently stained with the grime and ash of swept chimneys. He wiped his hands as best as he could. He swallowed the lump of dread in his throat and opened the door to their one-room flat.
A single tallow flame burned on the table. It wobbled unsteadily as Anna put the supper down, the table’s rickety leg threatening to spill their meager meal onto the bare floor. She smiled brightly at him, and the weight of his guilt hit his stomach like a rock. Anna pressed a finger to her lips, then gestured to the bassinet where baby Grace slept.
Charlie picked at his boiled potato in silence. His stomach growled; he couldn’t bring himself to eat. Ever since the baby was born, he’d grown sick of his inability to give his family what they needed. A rug for the floor, new dishes, warm blankets. They lived in a barren apartment, devoid of homely goods save for the tureen Anna had been gifted on their wedding day. It sat collecting dust on a cabinet shelf, too pretty to be used amidst such squalor.
He hated it.
Charlie set his fork down on the table, wondering how he was going to tell his wife about the horrible thing he’d done. “Anna.”
Her brow furrowed, but her hand reached for his. Charlie thought it would be easier to throw himself off the balcony than to deliver the news. But he was no coward. He made himself look into her eyes as shame threatened to choke him. “I lost the rent.”
She paled and withdrew her hand. “How?”
“A bet.” A gaping wound opened in his chest.
Anna dipped her chin. Her once plump, rosy cheeks were now sunken from want. He should comfort her, offer promises of mending all, but his body had turned to stone. She cleared the plates in silence, and curled up on their bed in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest.
In the dead of night, a jarring knock woke the family. The baby cried. Anna reached for her, leaving Charlie to answer the persistent pounding.
Dread coiled around his heart when he saw who it was. He kept the door partially shut, not wanting to invite Julian Graves inside. Graves clenched his cap in both hands. “Sorry to wake you, mate. I feel awful about the bet. I know you’re in a tight spot. Any chance you want to work out a deal?”
Hope, treacherous and fleeting, bloomed in Charlie’s chest. “What sort of deal?”
“I know a guy. Pays well in exchange for hard work. And silence. He might be able to help.”
The hope was uprooted as quickly as it had been planted. Charlie had been warned about mob work. “I’ve already got a job, Graves.”
“You do, you’re right. See, I’m in a tight spot myself, though. I’ll be needing the money. Now.” His eyes glittered in the hall’s dim light.
“It’s the middle of the night. I don’t have the money here.” He did. It was hidden around the apartment in little bundles.
“I’ll give you three days,” Graves said, his casual tone asynchronous with the cold in his eyes.
“Fine.”
Graves donned his cap and left. The darkness swallowed him, and Charlie felt the hallway fade away. A yawning pit of oblivion took its place, waiting to devour him. He snapped the door shut.
The first day, Charlie went to work. His mind churned over how he could come up with the money. His inattention caused him to drop a bucket of soot all over a fine lady’s parlor, and his pay was docked for his carelessness.
On the second day, the baby’s cough returned; a wet, rattling gasp for breath. They called for the doctor and handed over half the money they had hidden away. In return, they received a dark green bottle, whose contents did nothing to ease Grace’s red-faced fight for air.
The third day passed quickly, as it did for anyone who wished time would move slowly. Night came on swift wings, and Charlie found himself in the hall as his wife sat vigil over their child.
He knew what his answer would be. If he had more money, they wouldn’t be in this trouble to begin with. He never would have made that bet. They’d live somewhere warm and comfortable. Little Grace would grow strong. Anna would wear a nice dress, and they’d go on walks in the park like the swells he cleaned chimneys for. He was so tired of scraping by. How bad could the work be, anyway? He squashed the last of his hesitation.
Graves materialized in the hall, gripping his hat in one hand and a book in the other. “Charlie Price,” he said with the solemnity of funeral rites. “Will you make your bargain?”
Charlie opened his mouth to accept, but he faltered. Anna had married him, knowing they’d be poor. They always said that if they had each other, everything would be all right. He knew she’d be disappointed that he had turned to unsavory work. But goddammit, would she care when they had everything they’d ever wanted?
Grave’s face hardened at his hesitation.
The door flew open behind Charlie before he could answer. “She’s stopped breathing!” cried Anna. He followed her and scooped the terrifyingly still bundle from the bassinet. Grace’s heart still beat, but it was slow. She was a terrible shade of gray.
Anna’s knees hit the floor. She rocked back and forth, keening. Neither of them heard the footsteps on the floor behind them.
“Charlie Price. Will you make your bargain?” Graves’s eyes flashed to the child. “I can save her, too, you know.”
Charlie whirled, his heart in his throat. This wasn’t about rugs or dishes anymore. His daughter’s life hung in the balance.
The single candle guttered, casting tall shadows about the room. Graves had changed. His eyes were wholly black, and he towered above the terrified family. “Sign your name, and your heart’s desire shall be yours. In exchange for work, of course.”
Category: Competition, Featured, Short Story, SNHU Student