The three women shuffled through the darkness.
The three women shuffled through the snow.
The three women spoke in French and laughed to themselves.
They passed a sack of food back and forth. Scattering crumbs to stray dogs and cats.
Their shadows, stretched far behind them, wriggled and writhed in the moonlight – shimmering like serpent scales.
“Ah, this must be it.”
“It must be.”
“It’s Christmas after all.”
The three women stopped in the darkness.
The three women stepped in the snow.
They three women gathered up their shadows and help them close.
The dogs and cats surrounded them, obeying French-commands.
They looked into the windows, peering into houses and cars.
They stood close together, nodding.
“It’s my turn to see.”
“Let me see, let me see!”
“Wait your turn!”
Their shadow began to cry out in multiple, childish voices.
They cooed to their darkness, whispered French rhymes to sooth the black mass.
The taller woman took out thread.
The three women stole more children that night.
The three women stole more lives that night.
The three women wove their yarn, silver and shiny, and cut it with gold scissors that bled.