Five-and-a-half-year-old Elias Voss sat on the kitchen floor, his small frame dwarfed by the space, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he focused on the task at hand.
A small pile of salt sat beside him, scooped from a bag Mara had set out, and he held a wooden spoon in his chubby hand, carefully pouring a shaky line across the floorboards.
His tongue poked out in concentration, his brow furrowed, and his wooden toy knife lay within reach, a constant companion.
Mara knelt beside him, her wiry frame folded down to his level, her sharp eyes watching his every move. She wore a faded flannel shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a messy braid, and her hands were steady as she guided him, one finger tracing the air above his line.
"That's it, Elias," she said, her voice low and patient, a rare softness in her tone.
"Keep it straight—don't let it break. A broken line lets the bad things in." Elias nodded, his small hand trembling as he poured, the salt grains scattering slightly. "Like this, Mama?" he asked, his voice soft but eager, glancing up at her with wide, dark eyes.
Mara tilted her head, inspecting his work, then reached over, her calloused fingers gently adjusting his grip on the spoon. "Close, little man," she said, her tone encouraging.
"Straighten it out here—see how it's wobbly? You want it solid like a wall. Keeps the ghosts and demons out." She smiled, a small, tired curve of her lips, and brushed a strand of hair from his face.
"You're getting it, though. Better than I did at your age." Elias beamed, his chest puffing out with pride, and he poured again, his line a little steadier this time. "I wanna make it perfect," he said, his voice determined, though his hand shook with the effort.
"So nothing gets in. Not ever." Mara's smile faded slightly, a flicker of something—worry, maybe—crossing her sharp features.
She sat back on her heels, watching him work, her hands resting on her knees. "That's the spirit," she said quietly, her voice softer now, almost to herself. "Keep the bad things out… if only it were that easy."
Elias glanced up, catching the shift in her tone, his small brow furrowing. "Mama?" he asked, pausing with the spoon mid-pour, salt grains slipping to the floor. "You okay?"
Mara blinked, shaking her head as if to clear it, and forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm fine, Elias," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "Just… thinking about your pa. He's out checking a lead on a werewolf pack—he should be back tonight."
She reached over, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "Don't you worry about it, alright? You just focus on that line."
Elias nodded slowly, his dark eyes searching her face for a moment longer before he turned back to the salt, pouring with renewed focus. "I'll make it real good," he promised, his voice small but fierce.
"So Pa can come home safe." Mara's throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, her hand lingering on his shoulder. "That's my boy," she whispered, her voice cracking just enough to betray the weight she carried.
She cleared her throat, sitting back and wiping her hands on her jeans. "You know, when I was your age, my ma taught me the same thing—salt lines, devil's traps, the works. Said it'd keep me safe. And it has, mostly."
Elias looked up, his line nearly finished, a crooked but unbroken stretch across the floor. "Did you ever mess up?" he asked, his voice curious, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Like me?"
Mara chuckled, the sound warm and rough, and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "All the time," she admitted, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"First time I tried a devil's trap, I drew it so lopsided, my ma said it looked like a drunk angel did it. But I got better. You will too." Elias giggled, the sound bright in the quiet kitchen, and set the spoon down, brushing his hands together to shake off the salt.
"I wanna draw a devil's trap," he said, his voice eager. "Can you show me, Mama? Please?"
Mara hesitated, her gaze flicking to the window, where the sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows across the yard. "Maybe tomorrow," she said, her tone gentle but firm.
"It's getting late, and you need to eat before bed. Besides, devil's traps are tricky—you gotta be real careful with the lines, or they don't work." Elias's face fell, his small shoulders slumping, but he nodded, picking up his toy knife and clutching it to his chest.
"Okay," he said softly, his voice tinged with disappointment. "But I'll be careful, I promise."
Mara reached over, pulling him into a quick, tight hug, her arms strong around his small frame. "I know you will," she said, her voice muffled against his hair. "You're a good boy, Elias. The best."
She pulled back, cupping his face in her hands, her sharp eyes searching his. "You're gonna be better than me and your pa someday. I can feel it."
Elias smiled, his cheeks flushing with pride, but a flicker of unease stirred in his chest. He thought of the spider last summer—the warmth in his hands, the way the bucket moved, the secret he hadn't told anyone.
What if Mama knew? Would she still think he was good? He hugged her back, burying his face in her shoulder, his small hands gripping her shirt.
"I'll try, Mama," he whispered, his voice muffled, the secret locked tight.
Mara held him a moment longer, then stood, brushing off her knees and offering him a hand. "C'mon, little man," she said, her tone lighter now, though her eyes still held that quiet worry.
"Let's get that stew on the table. Your pa will be hungry when he gets back, and I'm not facing him on an empty stomach."
Elias took her hand, his small fingers curling around hers, and followed her to the table, the salt line stretching across the floor behind them—a shaky but unbroken barrier against the dark.
Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, and the shadows grew longer, but inside, the kitchen glowed with warmth, a fragile sanctuary for a boy and his secrets.