Novel, Prologue

"Barnard! Go outside and fetch me leg!"
For all of his forty-three years, Barnard always flinched when Mother shrieked; this time, both his whittling knife and the twig he was whittling leapt from his hands and clattered into the darkness under the table. He lurched to his feet and shambled into the front room of their hovel.
There by the door stood Mother, sure enough missing one leg, leaning heavily on her cane. As Barnard stood waiting for his wits, Mother hopped and shuffled and tottered over to her rocking chair by the fireplace and plopped town into it, slightly more heavily and huffily than usual.
"What happened?" he finally managed.
Mother scowled. "Whuddya think? Somethin' bit me," she said, jabbing her cane in the direction of the darkened window. "Outside."
"Did you see it?" he asked. "What was it?"
"Course I didn't see it, dummy. Dark out there. Quit standin' there jawin' and fetch me leg back."
Barnard had several other questions, but he kept them to himself as he fumbled with the family lantern. Once lit, he started toward the door, thought for a second, and trundled back to the storeroom to grab his whittling knife, folding it, and stuffing it in his pocket.
Mother was gathering her skirts around her bony knee, looking more sour than pained. "Fates, that's me good leg too. Make it quick, so it don't go bad and the augur can stitch it back on!"
Barnard shouldered open the door and stood in the doorway, waving his lantern around to ward off the shadows.
"In or out! Yer lettin' the bugs in!"
He flinched and slammed the door a bit harder than neccessary.
Mother had left a trail to follow, difficult to see in the amber light of the ancient lantern, but when Barnard stooped over and squinted a bit, it was easier to see. He set off carefully and dutifly through the weeds.
"What was ya doin' out here?" he called back to the house.
"I was fetchin' me knittin' basket," Mother yelled back. "I set it down by the fence when I was talkin' ta Mrs. Hupyird earlier. Did you know her boy Rogar were switchin' from dock hand ta deck hand?"
"Why dint ya take a lantern?"
"Pheh! Like I needs a lantern in me own yard."
Barnard rolled his eyes at Mother's foolishness and trudged toward the fence, which marked the border between their plot and the Hupyirds'. Found your way, but lost your own good leg, he mused.
Halfway to the fence, he called, "Were ya at the fence?" a bit louder now.
"I just said I was! Talkin' ta Mrs. Hupyird!"
"Nah, not earlier! I mean just now, when ya got bit!"
"Just shut up and look! It's right there!"
Fates, was she in a mood, Barnard thought. He lost the trail in the tall grasses, so he stooped over further, pawing around with his free hand, seeking the leg. His hand landed in something wet and tacky. He stood up to examine it in the lantern light; he had found Mother's trail again. He wiped his hand on his trousers, squeamish.
"What's takin' so long?" Mother howled. Her voice could sure carry, especially in the night air.
"I'm lookin'!" he replied, testy.
Barnard heard a rustle off to his left, like a bounding rabbit. He swung the lanern around and up to get a look, but saw nothing. Now something else dawned on him.
"Hey, if somethin' bit off yer leg, wouldn't it leave with it ta eat it?" he yelled at the house.
"Quit yappin' and do as yer told!" Mother shrieked. "And get me basket while yer out there!"
Barnard chuckled. Silly Mother had sent him on a wild goose chase. Still, best to humor her, make like he had been diligent for a bit, then go back in and help patch her up. He sighed and made casually for the fence.
A few paces from the fence, he spotted Mother's basket. As he approached, his boot caught on something deep in the grass and he teetered. Catching himself, he turned and used his toe to kick whatever it was up out of the tangle. It was Mother's black boot, with the rest of Mother's leg sticking out the top.
Gingerly, Barnard picked it up by the heel. Not eaten after all, he thought. What kind of animal does that?
Not an animal at all, he realized. More likely a monster.
It had been over a dozen years since Squidbush Flats had seen a monster. Well, a real monster anyways. Bugbears hardly counted.
Now, standing in the dark with a lantern in one hand, Mother's leg in the other, and a folded whittling knife in his pocket, Barnard tried to remember all the monster signs his father had tried to drill into him as a child. The effort left him frustrated. If he'd have known the information would actually be useful one day, he might have tried to pay attention. He could have sworn there was one about severed limbs, discarded and uneaten.
Distracted, Barnard dropped the lantern. He cursed the Fates and stooped to pick it back up, still trying to remember the rhyme that was supposed to help him remember the monster sign. Something like dah dah dah limbs, dah dah dah whims? Shims? Shins? No, maybe the limbs was the second bit?
"Barnard!"
Barnard flinched and stood up. Back at the hovel, Mother stood in the doorway, shaking her cane. "What's takin' so long?"
"Fates, Mother, will ya just sit down!" he hollered back at the house. "I'm doin' he best I can!"
"Don't you take that tone with me!"
"I'm busy out here!"
Barnard ignored Mother's tirade and bent back over to pick up the lantern, but the handle was avoiding his grasp. Then he took a good look at it, and saw his hand did actually still have a good grip on the handle, but his hand no longer had a good grip on the end of his arm.
The lantern winked out.
Panicky, Barnard fumbled for the knife in his right pocket, but he couldn't grab it for the same reason he couldn't pick up the lantern. Thinking fast, he tucked Mother's leg under his handless right arm, then tried to fetch the knife out of his right pocket with his left hand. After a brief struggle, he succeeded! But the knife was closed. His mind fueled by adrenaline, Barnard pried it open with his teeth and struck a defensive pose, jabbing at the air and pivoting randomly to confuse the monster.
If he could get back to the hovel with all the detatched limbs, they could put them in the ice cellar until morning, and then go into town, where the augur could probably stick them back on and they'd still sort of work. His dad had lost his share of fingers and toes in scythe accidents and such, so Barnard had seen it work.
Barnard suddenly felt dizzy. He recognized the symptom and raised his stump over his head, dropping Mother's leg in the process. Cursing, he began alternately kicking the leg-filled boot and the hand-gripped lantern toward the hovel, waving the whittling knife randomly through the air in front of him. The air stunk of lamp oil.
He was vaguely aware of Mother's keening voice, and he stumbled in her direction. He was sweating and his head swam. Swims! he thought. Something something swims, something something limbs. Closer, but still not helpful.
"Mother! I have your leg! Open the door!" he gasped as loud as he could. Fingers of flickering firelight from the windows of the hovel reached out to him.
"Did ya grab my knittin'?"
"Just open the door, please!"
"First ya tell me ta sit down, now it's get up. Ye better have me basket!"
His knife hand hit something that felt bouncy, like a willow branch, and his arm recoiled wildly. He made another swing, but it felt awkward; too light. He reeled and fell, his doughy face compacting the earth, since neither of his hands remained to catch him. Bells rang and faded.
Barnard rolled to his back, took a few deep breaths and tried to sit up, but failed. Idly he realized he couldn't feel his legs. He rolled his head and eyes up, and saw the hovel, just a dozen paces away, but now each pace might as well have been miles. Through the window, Mother's lumpy, stooped shadow hopped toward the door, impossibly slow.
Grass stroked his back and the hovel receeded from view. I've got it, he thought. The fall must've shook it loose.
Through the grass the hydra swims,
It wants your middle but not your limbs.
No, not a helpful rhyme at all, but Barnard was proud to have remembered it.
"Fates, Barnard! Why'd ya leave me leg lyin' here in the yard? Pick it up and carry it next time!"