Quick note: Sylestia ate all of my quotation marks and apostrophes when I posted this. Hopefully the coloration helps. OCD made me fix the apostrophes though. XD

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The unusual case of Mister Jones.
A report by Doctor Roy Martin.


Mister Jones was an elderly man who lived in a farmhouse on the edge of town. For years he kept to himself, never bothering anyone, never asking for help. But one morning, there was a call made to my office.

Hello? I answered.

Doctor! It's Mister Jones! I need your help! It's my wife! Something must be wrong with her; she's started making these sounds, like GHOSTLY WAILS all through the night!

It sounded urgent, so I immediately made my way to the farmhouse and knocked on the door, but when Mister Jones answered the old man was surprised. Doctor Martin? he asked suspiciously, What brings you here?

But you called me? Just minutes ago? I replied, just as surprised and very confused.

The old man quickly grew impatient with me. I think I would know if I called you. Maybe it was some kid playing a prank? he said dismissively before slamming the door closed.

I frowned at the rudeness, but heaved a frustrated sigh and returned to the clinic. After work I returned home, tired and weary from the long day, but as soon as I lied down to rest my phone started to ring. With a yawn I answered, Hello..?

Doctor Martin! It's me - Mister Jones! It's happening again, Doc! Listen - can you hear it?

I was about to respond by harshly scolding whoever was on the other end for pranking me, but what I started hearing on the other end made me pause The sounds were horrifying, like HAUNTING ECHOES of someone wailing in agony and hysteria. The screams and shrieks, the moans and whimpers, the blood-curdling cries, it sounded like something straight out of a nightmare

Doctor..? Are you still there!?

Hearing the voice again made me jump and fumble the phone, and as soon as I picked it up and held it to my ear I heard another voice, one that was strained and crackly.

Do you see it, deary? The LURKING MUMMY? It's there, watching you.

The words were then followed with an outburst of cackling laughter, and shortly after the phone line went dead

My knuckles were white as I clenched the phone. Who was calling me? And why would someone do something so crazy? It wasnt until the automated voice of the phone spoke to advise me to redial or hang up that I even realized that I was still holding the phone, and as quick as I could I set it down and returned to bed.

When morning came and I started to get ready for work, I found the mummy. Stashed in my closet was a small, makeshift doll made from a mix of sticks, glue, and bloodied bandages. For the doll to have been there, someone would have had to break in and place it. The thought of my home being invaded sent chills down my spine, and I made doubly sure that I locked the place up tight before heading to work.

To my surprise - a pleasant one or so I thought - I found a basket of fruit set on my desk with an anonymous note from what seemed to be a grateful patient. With a shiny red apple in hand I took a seat, and just as I settled in the phone rang. The ringing sound instantly brought the previous calls to the forefront of my mind, but with a calming breath I answered the phone with my free hand. Hel-

Don't eat it! the voice on the phone interrupted, Don't eat the POISONED APPLE!

I dropped the apple to the floor just as the phone was hung up. Left in silence, I stared at the basket of fruit and tried to make sense of everything. If this was just a prank, someone was sure going to some extreme lengths for it...

The rest of the day went by fairly normal, but I was notably jumpy through the day and I was clearly reluctant to answer the phones. Everyone in the clinic noticed and after a discussion between the staff members, they all decided to send me home to rest. They must have thought I was just overworked.

Through the afternoon I managed to sleep, but around the usual time I would lie down for bed the phone rang I tried to ignore it, but nearly fifteen minutes passed and it never stopped ringing. Finally, I answered.

Doctor Martin!

I sighed at the panicked voice of Mister Jones. This is getting old, I replied dryly.

Doctor Martin, I found a solution! There was a FRIENDLY WITCH, see, and she came to take my wife! Said she could fix her, make her better!

Now things were really getting crazy, and my patience was wearing thin.Good for you and your wife, 'Mister Jones,' I said with sarcasm and hung up the phone. Only seconds later, and it rang again. Instantly I answered and hung, time and time again, but the ringing just wouldn't stop. With no patience left I answered, "What do you want from me!?

We still need you, Doctor Martin, to help her!

What..? I asked in an exasperated breath.

Find the QUIRKY QITARI - she'll be waiting for you outside - and she'll carry you to the graveyard for the ritual.

I rolled my eyes in disbelief and scoffed. Sure, I'll get right to it, I replied sarcastically.

You mean it? You'll really help us!?

The sincere relief and hope in the tone only wore on my nerves further. You bet, I replied in a mockingly cheerful tone, I'll see you there soon!

Oh, thank you! Thank you, Doctor Martin! I knew we could count on you!

The phone went dead after that, and with a weary sigh I set it down. At first I was just going to lie down and get back to sleep but I was paranoid. If I didn't show up, would they come for me? Clearly someone had gotten in before to set up the doll. It was an unnerving thought, and rather than returning to bed I made a full sweep of the house, checking every room and closet and locking up the doors and windows.

Once I made my way to the back door, however, I was halted in my tracks by a chuffing sound and trotting hooves. I peered through the peephole and to my utter shock and disbelief there was indeed a rather quirky-looking qitari. I thought about returning to bed, closing my eyes and just ignoring her and the whole situation, but before I could take another step the strange creature barged her way right through the door, breaking it in the process.

Hiya! the qitari exclaimed, her voice as bright as the rainbow of colors on her mane and scales, Thought I herd ya there - get it? Herd? It's a funny!

I blinked, then just stared.

Well, come on! the qitari said while nipping my sleeve and backing out of the house to pull me along with her. Oh you humans are so slow! Quite dragging your feet, you've only got two to move!

I stumbled as she continued to drag me along through the yard, tripping over roots and stepping on rocks with my bare feet. I - ow! - thought you were - ouch! - going to - oof! - to carry me!?

The qitari halted immediately and released me. Oh yeah! she said before trotting around and carelessly dipping her head to literally flip me onto her back.

I would have been mostly fine with it, had I not landed facing her tail behind us rather than being able to look up ahead. I wasn't even given a chance to turn around as the qitari raced off as fast as she could, and only once we were moving did I realize with dread that I was being taken to the graveyard. Why, oh why didn't I just tell her to go? To just leave me alone and tell the rest to do the same? ... too late now.

Once we reached the graveyard the qitari bucked me off to the ground. Buh-bye! I don't like graveyards - too spooky for me! - but someone should be here for you soon!

Before I could even recover from the literal drop-off, she was gone. Seconds later, I felt myself being lifted up by someone else behind me. I heaved a sigh and dusted myself off before turning around with a weary smile. Thank- I said, but stalled as I gazed upon the blank, white face of a MASKED FIGURE, ... you.

The figure nodded, eerily silent.

Uhh I said unsurely, What- who are you?

The figure said nothing, but off in the distance we heard a TERRIFYING HOWL. It sent chills down my spine, but the figure was entirely unaffected. Without a word, the masked figure walked on towards the noise, its flowing cloak and steady motion making it appear to float along the ground. For just a moment I thought to turn the other way and run, but at the exact moment the thought crossed my mind the figure halted and turned to me, motioning for me to follow I dared not disobey.

There was a CHILLING WIND as we walked through the graveyard, and further still into the dark woods surrounding it. Even over the brush of the forest the figure had no trouble, while I in my bare feet stumbled and shuffled my way through the brush, each step bringing me closer and closer to the wretched cries. Just a little ways into the forest, centered in a large clearing in the trees, was a solitary, GLOOMY GRAVESTONE, and there I saw the source of those horrible noises.

She was tied to the monument, clothing torn, bones exposed, body rotted and mangled, grey hair matted, and as she flailed about and struggled she screamed and howled and hissed and cried! I turned, I tried to run but the masked figure stopped me!

Just where do you think youre going, deary? a voice called out to me, disembodied and ghostly, Bring the sacrifice here, my pet!

The masked figure tugged on my arm, dragging me closer to the gravestone and the screaming corpse that was tied to it, and from the corner of my eye I saw him - Mister Jones - watching from the woodline. The old man had betrayed me! He had called me there to... to die!

The rush of anger and fear coursed through me, and after a brief struggle I freed myself from the masked figure and ran as fast as I could all the way to the clinic, where I locked everything behind me and waited for dawn.

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At 6:05 a.m. Doctor Roy Martin was found huddled in a corner of his office. His desk had been used as a barricade for the door which, contradictorily, opened to the outside making his barricade pointless. He was incoherent when we first found him but after three days I convinced him to write out the attached report to explain what had happened to him. After reviewing his report and doing some additional research I have found that there is not, nor has there ever been, a Mister Jones in our town. It is my professional opinion as a psychiatric specialist that Doctor Roy Martin has suffered a severe mental break resulting in delusions and hallucinations and is no longer fit to serve in the medical field, or any professional field for that matter.


_Signed
Professor Warren


==================================THE END==================================

Nightmares on Stormy Night

Thunder roared and lightning flashed. Rain poured down in sheets, as she huddled under a crumbling shack. Amidst the storm, it was the closest she could find to shelter. A chilling wind blew through holes in the wall and she shivered. The wind prevented her from building a fire, so all she had to eat was cold, and her companions were the only source of heat. She rested her back against the warm belly of the largest of them, a rather quirky qitari with her own fashion advice column. The human girl, Tighera Pyrros, offered Qinta, her qitari a slice of cold cheese from the rather questionably named Poisoned Apple Inn, their last stop before the storm.

She split bread and cheese with the rest of her party, and curled up against Qinta's side. Her Aurleon, Firebird, perched on the qitari's back legs and draped his warm phoenix wings over her back. The final member of the party was an unfortunately cold-blooded draeyl. Tighera motioned for him to join her.

"I know it's cold and loud, my friend, but don't be afraid. All three of us are your friends and guardians." Firebird bobbed his head in agreement, but Qinta huffed. She and the draeyl didn't often get along. "Be nice and sleep as best as possible. We're stuck here until the storm breaks." Tighera warned her Sylesti team and adjusted her position. She wanted her qitari to be comfortable too. Firebird settled his wings and snuggled against the small of his trainers back.

Despite his trainer, his human mother's warning and comfort, the Draeyl, only known as a Dark Mage could not sleep. In the fierce cold wind, he heard haunting echoes of another sad and painful life. He closed his eyes and a masked figure rose before him. He pressed clawed hands against his ears to keep out the screams. He shuddered and shook his head, squeezing his eyes against tears.

Another crash of thunder broke through his thoughts. He jumped and powered up a dark magic attack. The orb of power was all ready to use when he finally regained awareness of his environment.

The Draeyl took a deep breath and re-absorbed the energy. Creating the magic was a lot easier than reining it back. Sometimes it was painful. He winced when he successfully reverted the magic and fully extricated himself from Tighera. He couldnt stay right now.

Despite the cold weather, he tiptoed toward the door. Tighera mumbled something and he froze. She still slept and he gasped in relief. The midnight purple draeyl slipped through the doorway and looked up into the dark sky. Rain pelted against him and he grimaced under the onslaught. As a reptile, cold weather left him sluggish, but he couldn't sleep.

During his punishing vigil, he heard a sound he wished to never hear again. Ghostly wails followed by a terrifying howl. At the same moment, a cloud pulled away from the moon and he saw Bright Red. The Blood Moon! Exactly like his nightmares! They found him!

Straining against his natural handicaps, he forced himself to move. "WAKE UP!" He shouted to his companions. The first to respond was Firebird. He squawked his own surprise and outrage, flapping his wings and nearly setting the shed on fire. One of the benefits of the rain prevented it from catching. It didn't prevent him from singeing Qinta though.

The qitari squealed and stomped her hooves. She even attempted to run through the wall, before Tighera was awake enough to calm everyone down again. Dark Mage sprawled in front of her. "Danger! Hunter!" he rasped and couldn't move again.

"Firebird, help me!" Surging with adrenaline, the smaller Aurleon and Tighera hefted the heavier draeyl up and lay him over Qinta's back. She snorted but remained standing, even when Tighera tied an ugly red ribbon on her neck. She hated ribbons. "Qinta, head south." Firebird sat on the draeyl's back, both keeping him warm and preventing him from falling, while Qinta galloped south.

Tighera stayed behind to give them a chance. She winced against another crash of thunder, but what she saw in the next flash of lightning made her skin crawl. From the west surged an army of mixed Sylesties and monsters. At their head was a figure that reminded her of horror stories she heard growing up. She swallowed tightly, but fought the fear. She took a deep breath and bellowed like a morkko. Then she started running.

Meanwhile, her Sylesties still pounded southward. Foam flecked Qinta's nose and mouth, and that ugly ribbon fell limp with sweat. Eventually they charged into a tiny hamlet that held no more than a dozen houses. A woman stood in her path forcing Qinta to stop. She brushed the exhausted qitari's neck and untied that ribbon. A shadow fell over the woman's face, but she didnt explain."Follow me, please," she whispered and led them to a hut on the edge of town, no bigger than the shed. How would they all fit?

The woman waved all inside. Qinta snorted and shook her head. The woman chuckled and opened her door wide, leaving the qitari to stare in astonishment. The inside of the hut was more than twice the size of the outside. She was a witch!

The friendly witch nodded and snapped her fingers. A lurking mummy shuffled around showing the guests where they can rest and eat. He also helped the witch relieve Qinta of her burden. She held her breath at his smell until he left her side carrying a now unconscious draeyl to lay by the fire. "No harm will come to you here," The witch reassured her guests and served them hot bean stew.

While the rest of the party was eating, Dark Mage shook out of his stupor and gasped. The last sight of his latest nightmare was a gloomy gravestone with his mother's name.

note: speech is in italics, because I didn't know how to mark it otherwise


the right path


He doesn't know where he is or where he's going, just that he has to follow this way, no matter what. Darkness and plants with needlesharp thorns making moving difficult

Once in a while there is a gloomy graystone at the side of the road, but every time he looks at one there is no name on it. He shiveres, not because of the chilling wind, but the haunting echos and ghostly wails that seem to come from everywhere.
Clutching the little dagger a bit tighter to his chest he keeps moving and nearly loses his grip on the oil lamp, when he spots a masked figure ahaed of him. It is hunched over a crane and moving slowly, taking one step at a time. The figure passes him without any incident and he is just about to sigh a sigh of relief, when bony fingers suddenly close around his wrist. young man, it whisperes in a wet, muffled voice this forest is deep and dark and I have no light to guide me, my home is not far. If you could show me the way I can lent you shelter from the cold and the evil creatures lurking around.
He felt sorry for the stranger. I have to follow this path and can't wander off, but take this lamp and it will bring you home. taking the light, the old person releases their grip on him. Taking something out of their cloak, they push it into his hand. take this apple and my thanks for your generousity, wanderer. Pictures of a poisened apple and sleeping princess briefly come to mind. Taking one last look at the retreating figure he quickly goes on his way, being quite relieved to never having seen the face of this seemingly friendly witch.

Graystone after graystone goes by. Now that he had no source of light there seems to be something writen on them, but even if he squints at the stone he can't make out a thing. A terrifiying howl lets him whirl around on the spot. His heart quickly picks up speed and he is sick with fear. Blindly dashing ahead he soon stumbles over a root and crashes to the ground. Hearing a whimper he lifts his head and nearly comes face to face with a lurking mummy, ready to pounce on him at any second.
Before he had chance to flee though the overall bandaged man speaks to him. stranger, this thorns constantly catch on to my clothes hindering me in going further. Would you help me out by cutting me free whenever I get caught? I can offer you protection if you accompany me.
getting a closer look at the entangled person, he takes pity in them. I have my own path to follow, but please take this dagger. Sliping the waepon into the leather bag at his side the mummy takes out a few sugar cubes and gives them to him in return. thank you stranger, please take these as my thanks.

Soon many scrapes and bruises litter his bare arms and legs, having often fallen to the ground and being scrateched by branches and thorns. Just when he was beginnning to think there was no end to this hell he notices jerky movements in front of him.
The thing didn't come nearer, only moving from one side to the other, seemingly wary of him. Holding the apple tightly in his hand, ready to throw it he waited for the shadow to move. Letting out a startled shriek when it suddenly dashes in his direction, he loses his footing and falls on his behind. Closing his eyes he takes one last deep breath waiting for the end.

Then there is light behind his eyes, warm and soothing. When he opens them there stands a quitari eating the apple he had just lost, brightly glowing stripes all over its body. Standing up and nearing the quirky quitary he offeres it his sugar cupes as well. After taking them from his hand and briefly looking at him with eyes fullof gratitude and warmth it turns around. Climbing onto it's back and burying his face into the soft man he is sure of only one thing. Not where he is or where he is going, just that this was the right way all along.

Qiqi the quirky Qitari was decorating her house for Halloween. She had set up more than one gloomy gravestone and her friendly witch costume was almost ready. Her brother, Qiri, who was dressed as a lurking mummysuddenly let out a terrifying howl. Qiqi raced down the steps to see a masked figure looming over her brother. The figure gave a couple ghostly wails and the haunting echoes spread across the room. Suddenly, Qiqi's mom ran in, holding a poisoned apple. "Be gone you silly entity! Chilling wind came across the room, and suddenly the figure turned into their dad, laughing with their mom at the look of horror on Qiqi and Qiri's faces. "Happy Halloween!" Their dad yelled. "Happy Halloween!" they echoed.

The ghostly wails ricocheted through the moss coated graveyard, which had suddenly become a hub for paranormal activity; unusual due to the very modern church whose silhouette was visible through the chilling winds and shrouding fog. Looking for my mothers lost necklace before she noticed was not going to be an easy task. I looked past the gloomy gravestones, hoping to see a glint amongst the damp soil and stones.

Haunting echoes of someone, or something were coming towards me at a tremendous pace. This was it. I shut my eyes and the noise stopped in front of me. I opened one, and stood before me was a quirky Qitari, scales iridescent against the dim street lights that were illuminating the graveyard. I petted its mane, and clambered on.

It started walking around the graveyard, surprisingly quiet for such a magnificent beast. A terrifying howl echoed from the church, and the Qitari reared up in fear. I could always come back another day. I turned the Qitari around, ready to go home, but in the pathway, I was confronted by a masked figure. It held out its arms, each hand a blood red apple rested. I spotted a lurking mummy from the corner of my eye. The masked figure informed me one apple was safe and would also dispel the mummy, the other was a poisoned apple. I had to choose one; before the mummy came. My brow was coated in sweat, there was no way I could determine which was which, whilst the mummy was getting ever closer.

I grabbed the apple from the masked figures right hand, and was about to bite into it, when the Qitari quickly snatched it out of my hand, and swallowed it. Instantaneously, the Qitari disappeared into a puff of smoke. The mummy was behind me, I could feel death radiating from it. I closed my eyes, I knew this was it. The masked figure let out a grotesque screech, which faded into the sky. I opened my eyes to find a friendly witch stood before me. She informed me that the masked figure had turned her into a Qitari, and only one of his apples could save her. She magicked both of the menacing creatures back to the underworld, and they were never to be seen again.

The friendly witch hummed a tune as she walked down the dark street towards a mansion. The house was in a dilapidated state but the witch called it home nonetheless. There was a family graveyard and a barn as well, home to her quirky qitari named Sugar. A poisoned apple tree was planted there by her mother who was not as kind as she. One day she came home to discover her mother had gone mad with rage; a common witch sickness. She sent her mother away to a nice institute but it was very lonely in the house since then.

As she approached the porch a chilling wind blew her hat right off of her head. Her hand grasped at nothing as she attempted to grab it before it hit the ground. The lawn was soggy and her black leather boots made a squishing noise as she crossed to retrieve her hat.

Suddenly a terrifying howl filled the air followed by a flash of lightning and a masked figure appeared before her. Something shiny flashed and soon a long dagger was in the figure's fingers. They raised the blade to the witch but as they did her poisoned apple tree caught fire from lightning. She clumsily backed away and ran while the figure was distracted by the flames.

Bursting through the doors of the barn, the witch hastily grabbed the saddle and mounted Sugar. They crashed back through the doors only to halt immediately. Sugar reared in fear at the masked figure who stood before them, dagger in hand. Ghostly wails could be heard coming from the figure behind their disguise and only disturbed them more. Sugar reared so far back that the witch fell off of her qitari. Sugar's ankle was twisted and the witch knew if she were to live through this that she would have to leave the qitari and flee to the house.

She fumbled for her keys but managed to escape into the mansion just in time. She sighed relief until the tip of the dagger shot through the door. Screaming, she ran up the grand staircase and locked herself into her potion making room. Quickly she gathered the ingredients needed to create a spell to banish the mysterious entity chasing her. Thankfully she always keeps a mummy in storage. Mummy fingers and wrappings are commonly found in the potions she brewed. She didn't mind when the mummy would stray from his storage cabinet, she enjoyed his company. However, tonight she didn't have time to look for the lurking mummy and grew frustrated when he wasn't in his usual place.

The witch looked out of the window at the small family graveyard below. The mummy was leaning against a gloomy gravestone. In a fit of panic she threw in the wrappings of a ghoul instead, hoping that this would suffice. She dumped the potion into a vial, opened the door and gasped. The dagger pierced her heart and before everything went black the last thing she saw was her mother, mask in hand.

The chilling wind whooshed by the masked figure and her friends. The ryori looked over to her friends and analysed their costumes. There was a puffadore dressed as a friendly witch, a quirky qitari dressed as a vampire, and a bulbori dressed as a wicked witch holding a poisoned apple.

Looking off into the distance, the ryori noticed there was a graveyard. Beyond it lay their destination. The group began to walk through the graveyard. Glancing at the gloomy gravestone to the right, they noticed a lurking mummy. Upon closer inspection, it was a zolnixi who'd gotten lost while making his way through the graveyard.

The zolnixi explained that he became separated from his friends after hearing a terrifying howl. The ryori asked him where he was heading to before he became separated. The zolnixi said he was heading to a Halloween party and the destination was beyond graveyard. The puffadore chimed in, she asked the zolnixi to come with us as we were heading there as well.

As the group progressed through the graveyard, they heard the haunting echoes and ghostly wails of the lingering spirits. They proceeded to walk faster and faster until the end was in sight. They'd finally made it out of the graveyard. The group sighed in relief and looked ahead to see the party house just down the road.

They raced down the road and knocked on the door. The door opened to reveal a draeyl covered in bones. He welcomed them inside and introduced them to everyone. The zolnixi noticed his friends across the room and went to re-join them, thanking the group for helping him. The ryori and her friends proceeded to party for the rest of the night, before making their way back through the graveyard in the morning. Those spirits sure were restless on Halloween.

The forest was silent, but hardly still. Moonlight and fog drifted among the trees, turning the dark forest in a flickering, magical scene. A cloaked and masked figure walked slowly among the trees, so natural among the trees he only added to the atmosphere of mysterious peace.
Then, the fog shifted. A chilling wind cut through the trees, bringing with it faint, ghostly wails from far away. The figure halted, his cloak snapping around him in the wind, and raised his bowed head as the sounds faded once more to haunting echoes.
"We're no longer alone, my love," he whispered to no one. "No longer alone."

At the edge of the forest, the stories go, lived a friendly witch. She hid there from those who would destroy her and her magic, but she would never turn away those who came in peace and need.

The cloaked figure waited until the last trace of wails had faded away, then continued his slow trek through the forest. The silence was gone now, broken, and now the fog stirred with whispered memories. It rose here in the shape of a faelora stag and doe, then faded again only to rise there as a lurking mummy, a tree draped in white ribbon, or a mounted horseman with red eyes.
Memories. Adventures. All fading into the forest.

It is said she found true love when a village hunter came to her door. She opened her home to him when he begged her aid, for he had broken his leg after being thrown by his quirky qitari steed.

The spectres were not all memories alone. The forest creatures stirred in unease, not from the cloaked man's passing but from what followed him. Not ghosts nor spirits, but malice. Ancient hatred that had been caught in the forest's magic and never vanished for good.
A terrifying howl rose above the wind and whispers, and the figure stopped once more, just for a moment.
"Leave me be, fallen knight," he said quietly, not looking at the lurking darkness he knew stood behind him. "You to your fate, me to mine, remember?"

Every story tells a different end to the witch's tale. Married happily with children a'plenty, chased by the witchhunters into the forest where they vanished forever, together struck down and left to bleed...

The moonlight brightened up ahead, and the cloaked man left the darkness lurking behind as he entered the forest clearing. The fog was even denser here, but with moonlight shining unrestrained the fog seemed to add light, not diminish it. Visible here and there in the fog rose gloomy gravestones and ancient, cracked tombs, and yet the malice that had followed him in the forest did not extend into the graveyard. Here, at least, the strange peacefulness of the forest was maintained.

No story tells the true and full tale. One of betrayal, and ambition, and brothers turned against one another. The witch and her wizard trusted awry, and a poisoned apple saw an end to her good deeds.

Here, by the grave of his wife, the cloaked figure knelt. Uncounted years before, dark deeds done under its shadow had twisted the gentle magic of the forest, scarred it forever. Once a year, the memories returned, the dark ones and the light ones, the good and the bad.
Here, he would wait them all out. And when the sun rose, and this dark night ended, he would continue his lonely walk, for this forest held him as surely as it held the memories those now gone.

And yet... it is whispered by those who still live within sight of that strange wood that the wizard survives. That those who are lost or hurt under the trees may unexpectedly find a friend to heal them, and a hand to homeward lead...

As a quick preface, I'd like to warn that the topic of this story is a bit mature. If you don't like implied violence, then I would recommend not reading the following entry. However, I have found the criteria for something that is PG-13, and I do believe that this could be considered as such.



The Children


The clock tapped out each second vigilantly even as the hours grew dark and no one should have been listening. It might have been a silent night excepting this, but even now the chilling wind beat itself against the skeletal branches of old and dying trees; it pushed and pulled relentlessly at the worn shingles of the tired house, producing a sound which may have been confused for the ghostly wails of some Halloween spirit that too much superstition could have manifested.

No, Halloween was the wrong picture. Children, after all, were told from the beginning that it was the lurking mummy, the masked figure that they should fear, that beauty was kindness and inconcinnity was wickedness. This was a deadly kind of misinformation, for the price of innocence was a lack of foresight. To be naive as an adult was to invite in misfortune. No, it wasn't his fault.

He rapped his knuckles against the cold wooden floor and wished for a fire. Even so, as he traced his eyes carefully around the small cabin, he knew that any heat would bring about the smell of rot and, subsequently, the fear of discovery. The man understood that there were always occasional hikers who would pass through this trail. He realized that some of them might be taking photographs, might see the footprints in the mud, might follow them. Yet still he sat here in the dark, unmoving, his unseeing gaze stuck to the drawn curtains while he contemplated his existence.

Time and time again he discovered himself here, lost in thoughts. This was his sanctum, where friends stayed and were silent, where his companions always listened. There were smiles on their faces. This man had saved them, had preserved their innocence and their gaiety; he'd sheltered them from a life of worry and responsibility. Anyone else wouldn't understand. Still, however, he found himself clutched by regret as he heard again the haunting echoes of their screams. No, no, he hadn't meant to frighten them. He'd tried to explain his heroism. Even now, he saw the tears running down their faces, saw the terror in their eyes, and he whimpered.

Had he ended it too soon?

Staring at the shadows within the shadows, at the silhouettes that he knew were the children, he winced. His friends had no gloomy gravestones at which to be mourned. Whether this was a comfort or an anguish, he found he did not know. Adrenaline, induced by remorse, made his ears pound, and it sounded almost like a knocking on the tumbledown door. The man cradled himself and murmured some unintelligible words. He would find no friendly witch to bring these people back to life; his actions, irreversible, polluted him, tugged at his conscience. Had they been rescued or destroyed? Childhood was no eternity, and he could not make it one. The smiles he knew were on their faces were but a plaster mask of carefree viridity and did not reflect upon their souls. Who was to say that the boys and girls still laughed and played about him? Who really was to see their ghosts?

Yet sitting there in the cold, in the dark, with the wind sending terrifying howls at the cabin, the criminal could almost grasp that state of incorporeality, could almost see the amnesty in the eyes of the children as they held out hands in friendship. He smiled and looked around him.

The repressive walls had disappeared and a fog-like presence gathered in their stead. Peering down to see if he, too, had been transformed into a starry apparition, the man found that he, as well, was but a child, that he had been returned to the youth cut short by a thousand contemptible things.

"Jim." A young girl spoke to him, one he recognized as sitting against the south wall in the remnant image of the house. She held out her hand, and in it was a wooden toy; it was his father's first woodcarving, the image of a slightly disfigured and quirky Qitari, one he'd cherished in the few years of his boyhood. He took it and laughed.

There in reality he lie on the dusty floor of the familiar cabin, not stirring, trapped in that hopeless, dreamless sleep likened to that of Snow White's after being fed the poisoned apple; except that no simple kiss would awake him. So far was he lost in his unconsciousness that he did not hear the knock on the door.