Nomi didn’t know which cow the milk came from, but accepted the tin pail anyway. It was left on the porch of Missus Grendel’s home, where Nomi would drop down some paper bills and hurry away as fast as she came. The most she saw of Missus Grendel was her arm creaking through the doorway to drop off the pail once Nomi crested the hill. There were few words exchanged—Missus Grendel simply knew what the girl needed. And though she never saw the old woman, Nomi made sure to be on her best behavior. She would wipe her muddy rain boots on the steps, thank the old woman for her help, leave the money, then scurry back into the drizzle with a pail full for Momma.
Momma didn’t eat much since she got sick and milk was the only thing Nomi knew to give her. That’s what Momma gave her when she felt rotten, and it always worked like a charm. They lived too far for Nomi to walk to the pharmacy, and Poppa hadn’t driven straight in months. Doctors cost too much, Momma says, and they don’t do nothing to make things better.
Nomi once thought she could make a farm in their front yard, but their street wasn’t much for growing crops or raising cattle—the asphalt would be too tough on their hooves and no matter what seeds Nomi scattered in front of her house, only weeds ever sprouted up from the sidewalks.
That’s when Nomi remembered the time her sister went to the house past the hill, where Missus Grendel lives.
She was none too friendly with the neighbors, even Momma told Nomi never to go to the lady’s farm. When Nomi used to go to school, she remembered the other kids telling stories about the old woman who lived at the edge of town. No one had seen her face, or maybe she never had one, and one boy said something about Missus Grendel being so old that her skin would sometimes fall off her bones.
Nomi never believed any of it. She knew the lady had three cows and everything was so green there; Missus Grendel must be doing better than the rest of town, which had been steeping in a gray mirk for as long as Nomi could remember.
Momma didn’t complain about the milk, neither. She drank it by the bowlful.
“It’s so sweet,” she said with a rasp. “Where are you finding this much so easily?”
Nomi never had the heart to lie, but when it came to Missus Grendel, she allowed herself a white one: “From the old store down the road,” Nomi said, “where Poppa gets those hotdogs I like.”
Momma nodded again and sipped down the last of it.
She felt better after every bowl.
Nomi would smile at her Poppa, sharing her job well done. He’d smile back and sip his drink. He didn’t care where Nomi went for the milk, so long as Momma felt better. Poppa wasn’t able to help much himself, he was always so sleepy. It fell to Nomi to take the pail back herself, before sundown, so Missus Grendel could fill it for tomorrow.
It was that evening—after the fifth pail—when Nomi saw the doorway open as she crested the hill and Missus Grendel stepped out to greet her.
She was tall and pale, her storm-gray hair fluttering like spider webs all the way down to her hips, or where Nomi guessed her hips would be. Missus Grendel was hunched over, making herself look like a crooked old tree, clutching her drab coat to shield her trunk from the cold mist. The weather was never as summery as the emerald grass and grazing cows of her farm made it seem.
Nomi sloshed through the mud, heaving the tin pail past the gate. She saw Missus Grendel’s face clearer now, like her father’s hands, wrinkled, tough. But her eyes shone with a sweetness as they beheld little Nomi hobbling through the muck.
“Oh, dear girl,” she said, descending the steps, “hurry now, under here.”
She moved like the wind, swift and quiet for her size if not for the creaking of her bones. With an outstretched hand, her long, spindly fingers lifted the pail away, then she brushed Nomi’s back with the other, nudging her up the steps and under the porch covering.
“Missus Grendel…” Nomi craned her neck with an astonished grin. “You’re huge.”
“All that milk makes one strong,” she smiled.
“Momma sure thinks so,” Nomi said, shivering. “Which cow is it from? I want to thank her.”
“Neither of those,” she said, pointing forked fingers to the cows behind the fence. “It’s the third one, in the barn out back. You must have seen her.”
Nomi only ever saw two at a time, though she wasn’t sure if it was the same two. Cows looked all the same to her. She nodded, “Please thank her for me?”
Missus Grendel winked, then rapped the pail with her bony knuckle. Tunk-tunk.
“I’ll have it ready for the morning, dear girl.” Missus Grendel slipped back inside. Nomi couldn’t help but peek in, yet it was too dark to see anything past the hearth and umbrella bucket. Missus Grendel blocked most of the doorway as she ducked her head in. “Be gone now, take care of your poor mother before you catch yourself a cold. And don’t let her leave a single drop.”
Nomi could feel the bite at her nose, and by the time she kicked the mud off her boots at her doorstep, there came a tickle at the back of her throat.
But Momma was in a worse way. She had thrown up the milk and sweated through her gown. Poppa was asleep in his chair, and so it fell to Nomi to clean it up.
There was trickle of blood that snaked across the pure white mess on the floor. It happened a few times before, when Momma would bleed suddenly from the sickness and Nomi would find it in the strangest patterns, like when she looked at clouds. Once in the sheets it took the look of a bright red crescent, dappled with milky stars. Another time Momma let it out in one go, right on the floor, and it looked like an old droopy face, frowning at Nomi as she brought out the sponge. Momma seemed worried each time, but Nomi knew better: this was the sickness coming out. The milk makes you strong, it just takes a while. Missus Grendel said so.
Momma would feel faint when it was all out of her. Lately she was looking smaller, too, like someone had squeezed all the water out of her. Nomi fluffed the pillows once the floor was cleaned, then settled her mother back to sleep. Poppa would wake up and try to help, then pat Nomi’s head and the three of them would talk until Momma drifted off. If he had the energy, Poppa might make Nomi a sandwich before they turned on the TV to put their minds out to dry.
The next morning Nomi found Missus Grendel standing out under the porch, the pail of milk dangling from her hooked branches. She smiled, even softer than before, and beckoned Nomi along.
“Take this now,” said Missus Grendel. “And come back in the evening for another tin.”
“That’s too nice, Missus Grendel,” Nomi took the pail eagerly, “Momma will be so hungry after last night.”
“She’s a strong woman, your mother.” Missus Grendel breathed in deep. “I’m sure she’ll be stronger yet, so long as you don’t you let her leave a single drop.”
Nomi promised—not a single one—then went on her way.
She looked back to see if the third cow was there, but she couldn’t be sure. Nomi tried to see their spots like she saw Momma’s blood; funny shapes, that’s how she would know which cow to thank the most. Naturally she wanted to thank all three, but Missus Grendel didn’t seem to credit the other two with making anything other than a stink of her garden. And she wasn’t wrong: Nomi plugged her nose just walking by the sickly sweet smell marinating in the soil.
One cow had a pattern of bean-like spots. She’d call her Bean.
The other had one big spot covering one eye. Look-See was a good name.
Next time, Nomi thought, she would bring them a thank-you present and name the third cow when she saw its spots. If she was all brown, Nomi would call her Cocoa.
Missus Grendel waved the girl off into the drizzling gray, back up the steep hill. Nomi was careful not to slosh milk on the rocks at the top, though her boots didn’t make it easy. They were her sister’s and still too big for her. When her sister wasn’t around anymore to wear them, Poppa gave them a polish and put a new bow on it for Nomi. She liked them when her sister wore them, but she loved them even more on her feet.
Nomi jumped over puddles as she reached the road. Rain always made her think of her sister. She wished she could thank her now, for telling Nomi about Missus Grendel’s cows.
Momma drank the entire pailful of milk without taking a breath.
She let out a loud burp and tickled Nomi silly. Whenever Momma felt better she would take Nomi in the car and find a drive-thru. The lights in town seemed to break through the haze and buzz her back to life—a magical place full of sweet and grease and joy. Momma ate food again, slavering with every bite, chew, and swallow.
They came home after it got dark and rainy. It was all smiles and sweetness until Momma’s legs went limp. She drooled red and coughed up a rock—it must’ve been a rock, it was heavy like one in Nomi’s hand, though no bigger than her palm. She saw the empty tin pail still by her mother’s bed and knew; Momma needed her medicine.
On went her boots, then out the door Nomi ran, over the hill in the dark.
Missus Grendel wasn’t waiting for her. The doorway was black and shut. No cows lingered outside either. But a new pail sat on the porch, heavy to the brim with milk. Nomi knocked on the door.
“Missus Grendel?”
She heard only the wheezing, whistled breaths of Missus Grendel deep in the house. Nomi thought to check on her, but the rain was picking up and Momma was bleeding. She left the empty pail and dropped a crumpled ball of money by the door and ran. Fresh mud sucked at Nomi’s boots as she took up the hill. She balanced against the rocks, careful not to slip or spill anything—she knew not to hurry when the rain was coming down, that was how her sister broke her head. But she needed to get back to Momma.
Nomi climbed faster, never minding the earth slop that licked at her knees with every step. It was the milk that she worried about; it sloshed and spilled as the rain fell harder. Her boots skid against the grass and the world began to tilt. Nomi thrust out her hands to catch her fall—they slapped into the mud, the craters beneath her hands quickly filling with milky potion.
It seeped through the pores of the earth and washed away before Nomi could think to scoop it back into the pail.
She tried not to cry, but her knees and wrists hurt too much. Nomi looked at what little was left in the pail: a dribble, a spittle, not nearly enough for how bad Momma was getting. She needed the full pail. She couldn’t let her miss a single drop.
Missus Grendel’s farm was just down the hill. Nomi could slide down the mud and zip straight through her gate… but then she would have to ask for more. There was no money left to give, her pail was all muddy. But the empty one—Nomi squinted and saw through the rain that it was gone.
Missus Grendel already took it inside, she thought. Then it must be okay to ask for more, just this once. Poppa would do it all the time with money. Missus Grendel would understand, Nomi was sure of it, she was nicer than the people Poppa talked to at the bank.
She slipped down the hill, mud-caked and sticking to her clothes. She felt heavier with it splotched over her face and hair and hands. If she wasn’t so sick, Momma would be angry with her getting this dirty. Still, Nomi went through the gate and up to Missus Grendel’s door again, hoping the fresh milk she brought home would soften her mother’s reaction.
Knock-knock-knock.
“Missus Grendel?” Nomi said. “I’m sorry, I spilled the milk you left me. Are you there?”
Not even the wheezing breaths reached her. Nomi called out again.
“Could I get some more, ma’am? I spilled it all and—I can pay twice tomorrow. My poppa does it all the time, promise.”
Only the mooing of the cows out back reached Nomi’s ear. She pushed at the door, barely budging it. There was no light leaking from underneath it. Nomi worried that Missus Grendel had fallen asleep…
The cows, however, were still awake.
Nomi wrestled over how Missus Grendel might catch her if she hopped over the fence and milked a cow herself. She did leave money, and she promised to pay again. Nomi shook the worry from her head—it would be fine. The old woman wouldn’t hesitate if it meant making Momma feel better.
Mud scraped off her boots in chunks as Nomi scaled over the fence. She tossed the pail in first, then dropped into the lot and squelched over wet grass toward the barn behind the house.
It was ramshackle, covered in patched holes and rotting wood. The rain here was good at sneaking into homes and spitting on your head while you slept, Nomi figured it was no different for Missus Grendel and her cows. The only difference, she saw, was the flooding at her boots as she moved closer to the barn doors. They were heavy and padlocked. Nomi felt her chest ratchet tighter. She rattled the lock, pulled on the doors only to have them clack and heave together.
The flooding had carved out enough dirt beneath the door for her to crawl under, but it was too narrow… the pail wasn’t going to fit with her.
A light flickered on behind Nomi. She turned to face the windows, which glowed with a dull, golden light hidden past the curtain, and saw Missus Grendel’s tall shadow shuffle by. Nomi’s chest seized again. She had never seen the old lady angry. She only ever saw Missus Grendel’s arm stretch out of the doorway until the other day, how could Nomi ever know how she’d feel about a little girl rummaging around her barn? Missus Grendel might never give Nomi milk after this… and then what would Momma do?
The back door clicked open.
Nomi dropped the pail and fell to the mud, squeezing beneath the wood slats of the barn door and into the dark.
She spat out dirty water, pushing through, the sharp taste of hay and manure made worse by the smell it masked inside—she’d never whiffed anything like it—like mold and sugar.
Nomi waded through the water, toward the stalls that pooled to one side.
She heard the clack of Missus Grendel’s door, her light steps coming closer.
It was too dark inside the barn to see. Nomi crunched her boots over coarse hay until they stepped onto dry dirt. Tools clacked at her fingertips as she felt along the wall, sending them swinging. The cows made no noise, but she could hear the shuffle of their bodies in their stalls. Bean and Look-See, must be. She wondered which one the third might be in.
Nomi opened an empty stall and hid in there, tucked between the wall and a stack of hay bails, listening—praying—for Missus Grendel to walk back the way she came. But the barn water rippled, and a key slid into the padlock on the other side of the doors.
Nomi stuffed her shirt into her mouth and breathed so lightly that she felt she might choke.
The barn doors swung open, but Nomi never heard water splash under footsteps. Missus Grendel must have stepped right over the flood, swift and floaty. Nomi shuffled from the hay stack and peeked through the slats of her stall. All she saw was the dull figure of a cow in the stall across from her, and Missus Grendel’s shape gliding along to the other side. Her thin fingers pulled a string, switching on the dim lights by a workbench where the tools were losing their sway. Through the slats, Nomi saw only up to Missus Grendel’s knees, which hadn’t even a splotch of mud on her ratty old gown.
The woman laid a pail—Nomi’s pail—down by a stubby stool beside the cow’s stall. Nomi was certain, the cow across from her was her special cow, the one Momma owes all her thanks to. Once she was sure Missus Grendel was gone, Nomi thought, she would be sure to pet the cow’s head before she goes. Name her, too, and make sure she liked the sound of it.
But Missus Grendel never opened the stall.
Nomi saw the tool rack sway again. Missus Grendel pulled down a small sickle and sat on the stool, hunched over the tin pail. She muttered some words Nomi didn’t know the meaning of, then there was a scrape and a drip-drip-drip into the pail. Nomi felt a pang of worry, seeing Missus Grendel’s hand fall to the side and glisten red. Then it was her gown that fell loose. Cloth draped off her shoulders, lazily concealing the ridges of Missus Grendel’s spine beneath thin, mottled skin.
Missus Grendel brought her hands to her chest and squeezed, dribbling into the pail while the cow sat lonely in the stall. Not even a whimper could escape the seal Nomi held over her mouth.
Soon enough, the pail was full.
Missus Grendel lifted it gingerly by the handle, rolling her nails over the tin as she walked it ever closer to Nomi’s stall. Between the slats, Nomi saw the old lady’s gown fall away completely and drop past soft, dewey feet. They stepped out from the heap of rags. Her bare legs rippled, loose flesh constricting into shape, turning supple and pink by the time Missus Grendel reached Nomi’s stall.
As she did, a dainty hand lowered the pail in front of the slats.
“Your mother needs you, dear girl.”
That voice… it was a voice that came from Missus Grendel, but it wasn’t hers. One so familiar that Nomi could name it with her eyes closed.
She’s got Momma’s voice.
Missus Grendel creaked open the stall, bringing Nomi’s eyes up to meet her. Even in the dark, Nomi could see this was no old woman. Her spine crackled upright, and as she knelt down, Nomi saw strands of silver hair sprout from her thinned mop and cascade down her face; a face left unfinished, those heavy wrinkles still molding and smoothing into shape to match her stolen voice.
“Your mother is strong,” said Missus Grendel, “She’ll be just as new, someday soon. But you must take this to her.”
Blood dripped into the pail between them, still leaking from Missus Grendel’s breast. Nomi let go of her trapped breath. She was relieved Missus Grendel was kind to her, but she needed to get home. She needed to get Momma her medicine.
“Take it,” Missus Grendel said. “And don’t leave a single drop.”
Rowan Marsh is a writer and comic book editor. He writes stories of folk horror and Southern Gothic oddities, pulling from his roots of living in the overgrown haunts of Florida. He was raised by a well-meaning family in the suburbs and wishes he could live in the woods.