Prologue

Prologue

The constables rode out together well before sunrise. There was a light fog covering the cobblestone streets, and the air was chilly. They and their horses' breath seemed to linger in the air in front of them. It was mornings like these that made Royce grateful for the long coat they wore as a uniform. His cheeks were red and his nose was numb, but he was otherwise warm.

Gideon yawned. Royce looked at him, a bemused expression on his face.

“Tired?”

Gideon returned his look and blinked a couple times before answering.

“Are you not?”

Royce chuckled. “I'm too old to be tired.”

He was only fifty, but compared to Gideon's twenty years, he felt ancient.

They rode in silence after that. The woods were only a few minutes ride from Ship's Haven, and it was easy to lose your way if you weren't paying attention. It didn't make matters any easier that they didn't precisely know what they were looking for.

Two weeks prior, a pair of children had gone missing. It was briefly feared that they had drowned in the bay, but five days of searching had turned up nothing. There had been an extensive search throughout Ship's Haven as well, but there had been no sign of them. After a week and a half, the chief constable had called off the organized search.

“I won't waste anymore man hours to find corpses,” he'd said. “I've got a city to protect.”

It wasn't a popular decision, but his word was final. The only reason Royce and Gideon were out was because Royce was old friends with the childrens' father, and Gideon was his deputy. They had to conduct the search off duty. Chief Constable Warren never would have allowed it otherwise.

The air was significantly more dense in the forest. Royce began sweating almost instantly. He unfastened the top two buttons of his coat. It helped some, but not much. He noticed the horses were starting to breathe heavy. They went on like this for a little bit, before Royce finally stopped his horse. Gideon's horse followed suit, but he wasn't paying attention and the sudden halt nearly made him fall off.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I think we should tie up the horses and go on foot,” Royce said. “I don't think it's safe for them to carry our weight in this heat.”

“Fine. I'm leaving my coat with him though,” he said, gesturing to his horse.

Royce nodded. “Not a bad idea. I can't believe this heat.”

They tied the horses to a thick oak tree next to a stream. The horses nickered happily and both began drinking from the stream. Royce patted his on the rear, and then motioned for Gideon to follow him.

After a few minutes, Gideon spoke.

“How long do you intend to look?”

Royce frowned at him. “You're ready to give up?”

Gideon shook his head. “I don't consider it giving up. I mean, do we even know what we're looking for?”

“Not specifically, no,” Royce admitted. “But I imagine this trail will lead us somewhere.”

Gideon looked at his feet, and then to Royce, confused. “I don't see a trail.”

“Call it instinct, then.” Royce walked away without another word. Gideon followed him, but not for lack of confusion.

What Royce wasn't saying was that he was following the immense feeling of foreboding that he'd felt since they entered the forest. The farther they walked, the stronger the feeling became. Nearly forty years as a constable had honed his instincts well. But this felt like something more. It was as if the trees were telling him to turn away.

He wondered if Gideon was feeling it too, but he didn't ask. He remembered his early days in the constabulary, and how much of a hit his pride took any time he was given unsolicited lessons by the chief constables, or was asked questions that implied he was a simpleton.

All the same, he couldn't help but allow himself a satisfactory grin when Gideon muttered, “I've got a bloody bad feeling about this.”

Royce couldn't have said when it happened, but after a while he noticed that the forest had changed. Where they had entered the wood, the trees were spaced out enough that light had no trouble reaching the forest floor. Even the pre-dawn hours were relatively bright. Wherever they were now, light seemed to have never existed.

When his eyes adjusted, he saw mushrooms the size of small children, and moss so dense it could have passed for shrubberies. The trees that he and Gideon had to duck under and maneuver around were twisted and black, and the smell of mold filled his nostrils. Royce didn't have to look at his deputy to know he was terrified. He could feel it. Or maybe it was his own fear. Yet, he had a task. He had promised Everett that he would find out what happened to his children. His gut told him that he was getting close to the answer.

They didn't speak anymore. The only sounds were those of their feat stepping on twigs and leaves on the ground. Royce couldn't speak for Gideon, but he refrained from talking because he feared the woods were listening. It was irrational, far more irrational than Royce had ever allowed himself to be. But one of the many things he'd learned over the years was that gut feelings sometimes went well beyond the realm of rationality.

Without being able to see the sun to gauge the passage of time, Royce had no idea how long they walked. It could have been hours or minutes.

Then, finally, they found the house.

The path to the house was marked by two lanterns, hung on trees on either side of the path. The branches crossed the road and were entangled with each other, forming an archway over the path. Moss hung from it, sopping two or three feet above the ground.

Royce didn't remember taking out his revolver, but when he turned to Gideon he saw that he had done the same thing. Royce put his free hand on the hilt of his sword. Partially, it was to have it at the ready. Primarily it was to keep his hand from shaking.

There were lanterns lining the path every ten feet or so, but nothing was visible aside from the ground directly touched by the light of the lanterns. In contrast, the forest on either side of them was pitch black.

After they'd passed five rows of lanterns, the house came into view. Though Royce would have called it a cottage rather than a house. It was one story, and couldn't have had more than two rooms of any real use.

As they approached the cottage, Royce smelled a sweet fragrance, and then noticed a large garden wrapping around it. There were honeysuckles, freesias, and lilacs littered about. They filled the air with a scent so rich that it smelled like candy. The smell was so sweet, Royce had almost forgotten how scared he had been a moment ago. Gideon broke the silence that had seemingly gone on for hours.

“I don't understand.”

Royce looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “Understand what?”

“The flowers.”

“What about them?”

“How are they growing?”

Royce started to speak, and then stopped, realizing what Gideon meant.

“There's no light.”

“And I can't imagine much rain gets through here. Haven't heard or smelled a stream nearby.”

Royce frowned. That was odd. But not what they were there to investigate.

“Perhaps we'll come back with a botanist. We're here to find the children.”

“And you think they'll be here?”

“You don't?”

The look on Gideon's face answered his question. He must have felt the same thing Royce had felt on the journey here. They knew exactly what they were going to find behind this door. Protocol was the only thing stopping Royce from kicking down the door.

He and Gideon raised their pistols without a word and moved to the door. Royce put an ear up against it, but heard nothing. He knocked. After a few moments of silence, he knocked again.

“This is constable Royce Brown. I am here to investigate the disappearance of two young children. If you do not open the door, I will have no choice but to open it by force.”

They waited again, and were again met by silence. Royce nodded to Gideon, who moved to the other side of the door.

“On three,” Royce said. He counted down with is fingers. The moment his third finger was down, he and Gideon threw their entire body weight at the door, knocking it completely free from its hinges and sending it skittering across the floor.

They surveyed the cottage with their pistols raised, but there was no one. They were alone. Royce loosened his trigger finger, but didn't put his gun away. He went to one side of the cottage, Gideon the other.

There was a small kitchen that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in ages. Rusted pots and pans lined the counters, sticky with cooking residue. There were wilted flowers on the floor, and he wondered if the owner of the cottage had used them to mask the terrible smell that filled the kitchen.

He walked toward the stove, and began to feel a slight increase in temperature. He waved a hand in front of the cast iron stove and found that it was the source. He lowered his hand, and an icy feeling went down his spine.

“Gideon,” he called. “Come here.”

Gideon walked over wordlessly and looked at the stove. His face was white.

“You don't think...”

Royce didn't answer him. He wrapped his fingers around the oven door handle and pulled. Thick black smoke escaped from the door. Royce closed his eyes and coughed. When he opened them, he lost all feeling in his body.

The children's bones had been burnt black, but there was no mistaking them. Their skulls were beside each other, foreheads touching. Royce had seen terrible things in his career, but this ripped his soul apart.

“God save us,” Gideon said.

“I fear it's too late for that,” a soft female voice said from behind them. Royce's muscles tightened. He turned to look at the woman.

She looked ancient. Thin white hair fell loosely around her head. Her skin was covered in wrinkles and liver spots. Her nose was hooked or had been broken, and she was missing several teeth. But Royce wasn't focusing on those aspects. The first thing he noticed were her eyes. There was no distinction from her iris and her pupil, giving them the look of pools of ink on polished marble. They were cold. Evil. Royce's entire body had gone cold, but he didn't let it show in his face, or his voice.

“Does this property belong to you?”

The woman smiled at him. “It does.”

“Then I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Ian and Maegan Northshire. Will you come peacefully?”

The woman laughed. Her eyes never left Royce. Goosebumps prickled his flesh as she drew closer to him, unblinking. She drew up next to him, and something far more sinister than fear prevented him from moving. She whispered a single word into his ear.

“No.”

And before he could react, her arm moved in a blur and a black dagger slashed across his throat. He collapsed to a knee as his vision blurred and faded to black.

Then he knew no more. 

Reviews

[Becky Villareal]

Drew yo are quite a writer! I've read two of your stories now and am very impressed by the way you can transport the reader right into the thick of things. I hope you are wanting to begin a book because I can see your writing heading in that direction. Very vivid descriptions and wild endings!

[Patrick Bush]

good stuff sir. I wish to read more. I like the feel of it. One thing i would suggest would be to lose the final sentence. It takes away from the shock of Royce's death. Also, ima give you a link to an editing sight that has helped me out the last few days. Give it a try!

https://prowritingaid.com/en/Analysis/Editor#

[Drew Given]

Thanks man, appreciate the feedback!