Squeezing the brakes, he skidded back tire first to a halt, and sat there amazed in a whelter of dust and pebbles. Before him rose black, iron gothic gates. Easily twenty feet high, they were flanked by moss-eaten stone pillars. At their summit were lichen-garbed sculptures of recoiling mythical creatures, and upon the gates hung a weatherworn bronze sign. What did it say? It was so hard to tell because it was so dirty. Charlie rubbed it with the back of his sleeve. Something about...The Realm of something or other? And there was some kind of regal crest, some runes, and what might have been a date.

Leaning upon his handlebars, Charlie reflected. This must be what his dad had spoken about, he thought. The fancy housing development where the old folks lived. But where were they? Peering through the bars of the gate, all that he could see was a bracken track that snaked off through the gloomy woods. To where, he could only guess; the thick forest canopy blocked out most of the light. One thing was clear though; there had been people here—there were foot marks on the ground.

"What do you want here?"
Startled, Charlie whirled around. Eyes wide, he beheld a man standing in front of him; of about sixty years of age, he had shoulder-length hair flecked with silver. He was wearing a padded jerkin, breeches, and a damp and discolored sackcloth smock. He had leather boots, the strangest French-looking, black, brimmed hat, dirty skin, and craggy eyes, which regarded Charlie with deep suspicion.

Charlie clutched the handlebars, knuckles white.

"What? Me? Uh... nothing. I didn't do anything..." he said.

The old man's mouth mottled. His dark eyes flicked Charlie suspiciously up and down. With an ominous shing of steel, he drew a black-steel longknife. "What are you doing here? Who sent you?" he asked.

Charlie regarded the antique blade with wide eyed amazement.

"Nothing. I swear."

"I've got a good mind to–"

And that's when a mournful wailing rushed through the treetops. A whirlwind arose from all around them. A preternatural thing, it scurried dead leaves in a mmadcap, capering dance.

Glancing about startled, Charlie saw that the trees were now filled with glossy black crows, cawing mechanically.

The stranger crouched. Casting suspicious eyes about, he regarded the crows with suspicion. Then he took Charlie by the lapels and lifted him to his resentful face.

"You're not to come here again," he snarled. "Understand me? If you do there'll be hell to pay. Now, go!"

He threw Charlie down, and no further warning was needed. Charlie leapt upon the bike and pedaled like fury until he was just a speck in the distance.

Once he had gone, the stranger ducked back into the shadows and disappeared.

Only the crows were left, watching the road. Cawing plaintively, they sprung from the treetops and winged in the direction that Charlie had gone.

Chapter 2

By the time Charlie got home, the sun was sinking, painting the sky in hues of red and burnt umber. His father was standing on the doorstep, carrying in the last of the furniture.

"What have you been up to?" he asked, struggling beneath the weight of a giant TV. "I told you not to be away too long."

"Nothing," said Charlie, propping up his bike in the garage and regarding the sky worriedly. "Sorry, I forgot. What's for dinner?" And with that, he nervously ducked inside.

"Forgot?" said his dad, "Forgot?" Tutting, he threw back lank black hair that fell across his eyes.