Page 30 of The Frog Prince
The night settled around them, and Otto tried thinking about anything and everything to drown out the noises coming from outside.
It felt worse now.
The wind was howling, but it sounded like a choir of frogs outside his window. He could swear he heard drops of water tinkling to the floor.
The squelch of mud.
The crinkle of fallen leaves.
The snap of twigs under heavy feet.
Not real.
Not real.
Not real.
A shadow grew fingers, long and thin and wrong. Four where there should have been five. They reached for him. Brushed against his side.
Not real.
He heard someone calling his name.
Not real.
He saw a flash of green vanishing under one of the cupboards in the kitchen.
Not real.
A knock at the door.
Not real.
Another one.
Not real.
A louder one.
“Otto,” Gisela called. “Will you get the door?”
His eyes snapped open, spoon clattering from his hands and into his bowl, splattering stew everywhere.
The knocking continued.
He pushed the chair away from the table slowly, the scrape of it against the wooden floor echoing in the small space, then stood on shaky legs, wiping his damp palms on his wrinkled breeches.
“Young master,” a familiar voice called. “Open the door, young master.”
Real.
Six
Alwin
“Otto?” Alwin heard through the door. “Who is at the door so late?”
“No one, Gisela,” Otto said, his voice tight with anxiety and fear. “Go back to bed.”
