I decided to write a fantasy story. Not sure why, but I got some sudden lighting-bolt inspiration.

Chapter 1 - Some stones should be left unturned

The woods of Sellervale were tranquil in the Spring.  Birds whipped through the trees like coloured comets, insects chirped up an optimistic sonata of gaiety, and a lonely young boy wandered amongst the tall oaks. His name was Charlie Green, and this particular stretch of wood was his favourite place in the world. Ever since he'd reached his seventh Summer he'd been coming out here; padding a new track every day. After 3 years, he'd come to learn everything about it. He'd climbed every tree, paddled in every stream and looked under every boulder. 

Except one. At the very edge of the forest, where the land met the water, a small dark hole pierced the beach like a knife. Charlie couldn't see more than a little way inside even if he stood on the very edge of it. He'd dropped stones in to see how deep it was, but he'd never heard the sound of the stone hitting anything. It seemed to just disappear.
Charlie never told anyone of his special beach, or the hole, but in his mind it was the entrance to the underworld; where demons and monsters lived. He was a child however, and the memory of it was often gone from his mind when he skipped off home to his father as the sun went down.

On one occasion, Charlie had been brave enough to put his foot down there, but it had just hung in the empty damp space as though off a tall cliff. Bored, he'd promptly run away giggling back into the trees. But the thing in the hole watched.
As it had always watched and waited. 

Charlie decided upon his tenth birthday that he was now old enough to see what was down the hole in the beach. He marched purposefully through his forest, arms swinging wildly from left to right with barely contained excitement. Over rocks and tree roots he pondered: what could possibly be down there? He finally settled upon treasure, left by the elf kings and queens from the books his father read to him. He knew what he'd buy with the gold. He'd buy himself a big sword, like Eric the town guard. And a donkey, like some of the salesmen that sometimes came through Sellervale. He'd always liked the donkeys; they never laughed at him like the other children often did. They never told him his clothes were scruffy, or his hair was funny. 

The hole waited in its usual silence. Now he was a big boy, it wasn't as scary as it was when he was younger. After all, it was only a hole. He'd been in much scarier looking caves and he'd read much scarier stories. What could be in a hole that was scarier than The Goblins of Murr?

Nevertheless, he approached it slowly in a crouch, like the trappers did before checking their snares. One step, and another. The third brought him to the edge. He wavered for a moment on the precipice. Maybe he could come back tomorrow? No. No, today was the day. He lay down on the sand and wriggled forwards over the edge on his belly until his chest, arms and head were in.

In the distance, two yellow pin heads blinked into existence.

Charlie froze. The pin heads got bigger. Now they were the size of buttons on tailored shoes. Bigger again; dough balls from the baker's furnace. Charlie realised they weren't getting bigger, but closer. He started to scramble back, but something snapped out and grabbed his wrist. 

Charlie screamed.

The End

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