William returned home with his body and heart aching. A patchwork of purple bruises covered his limbs and back, and his legs throbbed with every step he took. Yet, despite how much pain his injuries caused him, he knew the children had suffered far more than he ever would.

He'd never heard anyone scream like Peter had, writhing in pain as the rat forced its way back down his throat. The other children hadn't been fazed by his suffering in the slightest, pinning him as forcefully as they'd attacked William.

Perhaps calling them children was a misnomer. After all, Emma never would have harmed a fly, but the creature wearing her skin showed no qualms about bludgeoning him with a rock. Burdock had been right that William never would have believed the truth if he hadn't seen it for himself. Had the children become powerless passengers in their own bodies, or could they fight to regain control? If he took too long to free them, would anything remain, or would the rats leave their bodies empty, lifeless husks? He'd already mourned Emma once. He couldn't bear—

William dug his nails into his palms. He wouldn't allow himself to think like that. Once he told Burdock what he saw, they'd find a way to save all of them.

He just had to pray that his parents wouldn't pry into why he'd returned home without any kindling first.

With the evening's stew still boiling on the hearth, Mother had busied herself with brushing Emma's hair. Blond tangles relinquished dirt and dead leaves as she worked out the knots, each stroke gentle yet firm. "You had quite a time in the forest, didn't you?" she said, gently extracting a ladybug from her hair. "I haven't seen such knots since the day you came home."

"We got a little carried away playing a game," William said, his gaze drifting to where Father crouched in front of the hearth. With every piece of wood that he fed to the flames, his arm twitched as if he longed to thrust William into the fire.

"I got the biggest stick," Emma said proudly.

William swallowed a sigh of relief. In his rush to escape from the children, he hadn't gathered any wood before running home. Emma had found him fetching a pail of water from the well with his arms filled with kindling, assuring him all the other children had gone home.

It shamed him to admit it, but William hadn't once considered doubling back to ensure the children returned home safely. He'd only excused himself to bring home water from the well so he could steady his trembling hands and hammering heart before his parents could notice. They were already bound to question him about his missing guitar, which he'd left behind in his struggle against the children. The last thing he needed was to invite more questions.

"You were gone for hours, yet your brother didn't return with a single twig." Father thrust the last of the fuel into the fire before rising to his feet and pinning William with a sharp glare. "Even Emma manages to do what she's told, and she's half your age. You ought to be ashamed."

William knew better than to respond. Any attempts to defend himself or contradict his father would be met with harsh words if he was lucky and the belt if he wasn't.

"Nothing to say for yourself, boy? Look at me." Father grabbed William's face. His fingers dug into his cheeks as he turned his head and forced him to meet his eyes. "What was so important that you couldn't complete a simple chore?"

Mother glanced up from brushing Emma's hair. "He's hurt, Philip," she said softly. "After such a bad fall, he's lucky he made it home without help."

William hadn't dared to tell his parents the truth. Stumbling over a tree root made for a much more believable story than being viciously attacked by Emma and her friends, to say nothing of the rat he'd seen crawling back inside Peter.

"The boy can speak for himself," Father growled. "Such a pitiful excuse. If children had no trouble gathering kindling, surely you could—"

A knock at the door interrupted him. "We will discuss this later," Father said under his breath before greeting their visitor. "Good evening, Mr. Farnsworth. If you need more firewood, I'm afraid William won't be able to help you until tomorrow. My family is in the middle of an important discussion."

"Evening, Mr. Smith. Thanks for offering, but I'm afraid that's not what I came to speak with you about. Come here, Peter." His son tiptoed out from behind him, his eyes downcast. "Tell him what you told me."

Peter shook his head, his entire body trembling as he clung to his father's leg.

"Why don't you come inside," Mother said gently, arranging Emma's hair into a quick braid. "The least we can do after you came all this way is to offer you a bit of bread."

Mr. Farnsworth dipped his head. "We shan't impose on you long."

He and his son came inside, politely refusing a seat at the dining table. "I ought to begin by returning what I'm sure your family has missed greatly." He heaved William's guitar off his back, taking care not to damage the worn wood. "Looks like it got beaten up, but it should be right as rain once you get some new strings."

William bowed deeply, gingerly propping his guitar against his chair so he could put it back in his room later. "Thank you very much." He'd left the instrument behind in his haste to escape the children. Thank the Lord Mr. Farnsworth had been kind enough to return it to him.

"Think nothing of it." Mr. Farnsworth smiled briefly before tugging at the collar of his tunic. "My second order of business is a much more serious matter. I don't know if it is true, but I'm afraid we must discuss it nonetheless."

"Can Peter and I go play?" Emma asked. In contrast to the dour mood of everyone else in the room, she skipped to Peter's side with her newly braided hair bouncing behind her.

"Not now," Father said firmly. "The adults are talking. Go to your room and see that we don't hear a single sound out of you."

"Actually," Mr. Farnsworth said, "it would be best for her to stay. It's my understanding that she and the other children witnessed what William did."

"What did he do?" Father's voice was calm. Far too calm for the tightness in his jaw and the twitch in his arm.

William bit his lip to keep himself from shaking. He'd felt the burn of Father's belt for far less than striking a child, regardless of the circumstances.

"Go ahead and tell them." Mr. Farnsworth gently nudged his son.

"We were all playing a game. I ran and caught William like I was supposed to, but he didn't like that. He started chasing me, and then... and then..." Peter sniffled as hiccups shook his body. "He kept hitting me, and he wouldn't stop."

"William would never do that!" Mother said. "He's never been anything but gentle with Emma and the other children. There must be a misunderstanding."

"Children don't cry like that for no reason. Someone must have scared Peter, on purpose or not." Father gave William a look that made him feel as if someone had sewn a dozen squirming snakes into his stomach. "I'm sure William knows better than to raise a hand against someone weaker than himself."

"It was an accident," William said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

"I want to believe you," Mr. Farnsworth said, "but whatever happened to Peter isn't anything like the usual scuffles I see boys his age getting into. I could see if he got a bit roughed up, but we had to visit Dr. Hughes to ease his pain. The poor lad could barely walk."

"You don't understand." William rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, revealing the dark purple bruises encircling his arms. "They attacked me. I didn't want to hurt Peter, but if I hadn't done something..." His throat tightened, constricting his words until they were little more than a whisper. "They were going to kill me."

"That's nonsense," Father said. "I'd hardly call roughhousing trying to kill you."

"Wait a moment." Mother took William's hands in hers, whispering apologies as he winced at her touch. "He said they, not Peter, and it looks like these bruises were made by more than one person since they're not all the same size."

Mr. Farnsworth hummed softly. "Those do look bad. The other children did seem worked up when they came back, too. I saw Jennifer Baker brushing a heap of leaves out of her hair, and the Cunninghams' boy was huffing and puffing like Mr. Stein had chased him around town. I don't know what got into them, but they sure didn't look happy."

"You don't believe me?" Peter sniffled and clung to his father's pant leg, hiccupping softly as his eyes filled with tears.

"I didn't say that," his father said gently, offering his son a handkerchief. "All I'm saying is I don't understand why everybody got so rough with each other. I'm no stranger to how rough and tumble you little ones can be, but you all should have known better than to take things far enough to hurt each other so badly, not just William."

"We had to stop William from hurting him," Emma said. She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt as everyone's eyes went to her. "It was really scary! He wouldn't stop until we made him."

"Why didn't you say anything sooner, sweetie?" William's heart squeezed at the concern and sadness in his mother's voice. No matter what he did, he always ended up causing her far too much grief.

"I wanted to, but..." Redness flushed her cheeks as her breathing quickened. "If I did, he might hurt me too."

Mr. Farnsworth crossed his arms, any trace of open-mindedness gone. "That's just not right." He shook his head, casting Father a meaningful look. "You'd be wise to discipline your son lest he grow into a beast rather than a man, Philip."

"I plan to." The icy calmness in Father's voice sent chills down William's spine.

"I-I-I didn't have a choice," William stammered. "If I didn't defend myself—"

"From children?" Father's voice dropped dangerously low. "I didn't raise a coward did I, boy?"

"No, sir," William squeaked. He bit his lip in an attempt to stop his hands from trembling. Showing fear would only make things worse.

"Apologies for my boy's nonsense, Henry. I hope this will be enough to cover anything you may have needed from Dr. Hughes." Father fished a fistful of coppers out of his pocket and offered them to Mr. Farnsworth. "I'll make sure nothing like this ever happens again."

Mr. Farnsworth accepted the money with a nod. "See that you do."

The farmer exited their home with Peter in tow, leaving William alone with his family.

"I need to have a word with you, boy." Father's fingers snaked around William's arm, crushing the bruises under his grip.

William sucked in a sharp breath. Tears pickled in his eyes, but he wouldn't cry. Couldn't. That would only make Father angrier.

"Emma, go to your room," Mother said firmly.

"But I didn't do anyth—"

"Now."

Emma groaned and marched to her room, slamming the door behind her.

On any other evening, that would have earned a sharp rebuke from Father, but not tonight. He only had eyes for William and his mother. "You know I have to, Beatrice." He squeezed William's arm tighter, forcing him to grit his teeth. "After what he's done, he must be punished."

"He's been hurt," Mother said. "Wouldn't it be best to simply have him help the Farnsworths with the harvest? They could always use a few extra hands plowing the fields."

"You already made me look like a fool by contradicting me in front of Henry. I do not appreciate you undermining me in my own home," Father snarled. "You have always been far too soft on the boy, and look where that's gotten us."

Mother let out a long, slow breath. "I will not deny that William could have behaved himself better, but—"

Father's fist struck the dining table with a thunderous crack, making Mother flinch. "But nothing! He's grown lazy and insolent, an embarrassment to both of us. Yet, you continue to defend his poor behavior." He tightened his jaw. "I can see where he gets it from."

Despite his trembling legs, William stepped between his parents. He'd be damned if he let his father blame his mother for how he acted, especially since he knew full well what Father's disapproval often led to. "You're right, Father. I'll listen to whatever you say."

Father nodded. "Good, I'm glad you still have some sense in you. We'll talk outside."

William followed Father out of the house, only pausing for a moment to glance over his shoulder and mouth an apology to Mother as she watched them leave with tears in her eyes.