Everyone wanted him. Daily, nightly, and ever so rightly, one of them sang as he had his way with the little fox. Everyone laughed at him, the freak with two tails. His goal in life was hiding: hiding his twin tails, hiding himself. Why was he the only one with two? He tried cutting off one but they found and stopped him before he got to the bone. Then they had him brutally, savagely, and he bled even more.
Stupid orphanage.
The best times were his dreams. He dreamed of using the big meat knife from the kitchen to cut them up, cut up their stupid grinning faces that twisted and grimaced as he lay there, hurting, helpless, and sore in the morning when it resumed.
"This is all you'll be good for," one of them stated matter-of-factly while pulling up his pants, "Spreading your legs for some sixty year old man so you can make rent."
"But I never asked for it. I want to go home," he replied very quietly. Any louder and he'd get beaten.
"Who told you that you have a home?" he laughed, and went away.
He had a good dream that night. A man in a white mask picked him up from bed, not grabbing him by the arm like everyone else who wanted him, but cradling him, holding him as only his mother had. He heard a voice from behind the mask speak the first promise that was not a threat to him.
"I'll show you everything."
He cried when he woke up, because he didn't want the dream to stop.
888
He was good at hiding, now. He could scrunch himself between the washing machine and the dryer and feel their cold and hot vibrations lull him to sleep. He'd get it when he returned to his room and they were waiting, but he didn't care. They couldn't find him… the oil drum overturned by the garage, under the stairs of the warden's building, the top shelf of the broom closet… all places too small for anyone else to fit. Then one day a stupid badger sold him out for a cookie. They grabbed him from out of the plumbing behind the toilets, beat him in the yard in front of everyone else and threw him in detention: a rusting fridge behind the schoolhouse. Those old fridges couldn't be opened from the inside; they had a groove that only unlocked if you held down the handle on the outside and then pulled.
"And after you get out," one of them promised as he dragged the little fox, "You'll get it three days straight."
Slam.
The little fox pushed and pushed and pushed until he could push no more. He fell asleep with exhausted tears in his eyes.
The saddest creature was visited by the guiltiest one.
"Wake up."
This must have been the good dream again, because the man was there again, with his mask's fixed, idiotic grin that didn't seem stupid or fake to the little fox at all. The fridge door was open, and the masked man held out a black glove that his tiny paw grasped, lifting him out of detention.
"Let's go," said the masked man, and presented the meat knife with his other hand. The little fox smiled, because he knew exactly what was going to happen. The masked man, his handgrip gentle and sure, guided his small charge to the warden's building where all the big men, who hurt him, slept.
The masked man let go and the little fox climbed onto the first one, held up the knife, but stopped, unsure. The mask seemed to smile a bit more.
"You can take this life."
Reassured, the little fox stabbed. And stabbed, and stabbed some more, until delightful red gushed everywhere on the sheets. Not a sound had been made, because the masked man had held a finger to the big man's throat, crushing the windpipe as the big man, now the victim, watched the little fox take his life.
The masked man held a finger to the next one's chest, so the little fox could take his time slicing up that stupid grinning face that hovered over him whenever this one had his way. His heart was crushed all the while, but he was lucid until the little fox had finished.
He fumbled for the zipper on the next one who always boasted how big it was. He held it up, and the big man could only watch, because the masked man had a finger to his neck as the little fox reduced it.
The masked man pointed at the warden.
"Him, too?"
"No, he never knew. They said they would kill me if I told."
"Then let's go."
Smiling, the little fox left the bloody knife under the warden's hand and took the masked man's hand, allowing him to lead the way outside. With a touch the iron gates swung back without their usual creak. They stepped into the road, and the little fox realized this was the furthest he had ever gone out of the orphanage. Letting go of the gloved hand, he looked up in wonder at the tall buildings, the streetlights, the stars and the moon.
"Welcome to this place," the masked man said, his white mask beaming under the celestial spheres as he stretched his arms wide open, "I'll show you everything."
They explored the city. The little fox got to know all the public buildings and what they were for. They giggled at the sleeping security guard and ran when the security cameras weren't looking. The masked man showed him where all the homeless went when it was dark, showed him the nightclubs where the richer ones went and the private clubs where the truly elite spent their darkest hours. He showed the little fox where the trains went, how many boats were at the docks and all the different aircraft at the landing strip. Last of all he showed the little fox the roads, asphalt winding endlessly around buildings, and how they led beyond the city to the forest.
"This is my hill. This is my tree."
The little fox let go of his hand to touch the bark.
"It feels so old."
The mask gave a gentle chuckle directed in no way towards the little fox.
"I chained my mother to it."
"What happened to her?"
"That's not the question you want to ask."
The little fox's eyes, whose depths were glacial ice, stared at the dark eyeholes of the mask.
"What happened to my mother?"
"As soon as you were old enough she placed you in the orphanage."
"You didn't answer my question."
"So I didn't. She was killed."
"By who?"
"The one who fears you."
The mask turned away.
"If you want me, look to this hill," he said, and left the little fox all alone in the forest, but the child was smiling.
"That was the best night ever. I hope I dream of you again."
"You will, you will…"
888
The little fox woke up not in the claustrophobic darkness of detention, but the serene bliss of the forest. Rising from his seat against the old tree, he blinked, stared around him, pinched himself to make sure he was awake, and tears of joy streamed down his face.
Freedom.
He was happy to find food for himself. The most exciting thing on the menu back at the orphanage was French Toast once a month. Here there were berries, nuts and grasses good to eat. He was still young, so instinct took over. Days and weeks passed in the simple happiness of communing with nature. He kissed the dew from leaves, learning how to cup the larger ones so he could scoop water from rivers. He learned how to climb, scaling trees hundreds of times his height. His twin tails, cursed by society, were natural blessings. He could hang like a monkey from them, and when they were strong enough, he used them as extra hands to swing from branch to branch while his actual hands were free to pick up things.
Great happiness. But all good things come to an end. One day a patrol sighted him, captured him in a net and brought him before a girl groundhog barely four years older than him. Her wide open eyes inspected every inch of him, blinking at his twin tails. She patted him on his head.
"What's your name, little fox?"
"M… Miles."
"You come from the city?"
He nodded yes.
"My name's Sally, but since I found you, you can call me Aunt Sally."
"Auntie…"
Somewhere among the leaves and barks of ancient trees, a white mask glinted, its smile one of triumph.