The night was exceptionally cold for this time of year.

Grolan was walking out in the darkness, trying to get away from his thoughts. His children were sick, and his wife was breaking under the stress of the disease that seemed to be sweeping the village.

Few were falling to the sickness, but those who did took the fall enough for everybody.

It was hardly the talk of the area, however. Because it was so contained, those who were not suffering or who were not caring for those who were suffering were simply ignoring its presence.

Grolan's original plan had been to travel the short distance to the inn, drink for an hour or two, laugh, be rowdy with the other husbands, then return to his wife when the children had settled down for the night.

But the cold air refreshed him, and with a slight spring in his step, Grolan decided against intoxication and used a small back-alley to walk the even shorter distance to the small park.

The trees looked lovely with the moonlight shining through their leaves, and the white orb looked mystical in the rippling black water of the pond.

Allowing himself to be absorbed by the tranquility, Grolan was suddenly and rudely interrupted by a scream. It pierced the night and shook the birds from their sleeping roosts. Grolan paused for a second, surveying the area, and concluded that it must have been the scream of a woman or a child; most likely the latter, who had been alarmed at finding a horrible boil on their body, a symptom of the disease that gripped the village.

Grolan relaxed once more, and sunk into a bench that overlooked the beautiful surroundings, putting the small village behind him.

He breathed deeply and relaxed his entire body, closing his eyes and letting the cool air brush against his face.

Sighing once more, Grolan was oblivious to the stranger that had approached from behind him, masked, and wielding a small blade, small enough to hide in his jacket, or small enough to remain undiscovered at the bottom of the pond.

Small enough, however, to pierce the heart of its target as he breathed silently in the cold night.

Grolan choked as blood ran down his tanned vest and coat. He looked down to see the forementioned small blade protruding from his chest with a hand attached to it.

Looking slowly from the hand, all the way up the arm and into the masked face of his attacker, Grolan was overwhelmed by a sense of dissapointment; his killer remained unidentified, and the mystery was as much so to the living as the the dead.

*

Aidan's ears seemed shattered by the sound that had woken him.

His mother rushed to his bedside, and his sister lay awake in bed, simply watching in horror.

The tried to speak, but Aidan was deaf to their words.

As he closed his mouth, he realised that he himself had been making the awful noise - screaming at the top of his lungs.

He now heard what his mother had asked: 'What's wrong?'

Aidan paused, collected his thoughts and relived his dream all in about three seconds. When he was ready to answer, he did so.

'I saw another one.'

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Author guidance for This story

An idea that came to me as I sat down to write another opening chapter of another story.

Feel free to join in and adapt.

NOTE: Although it may not be clear, this story is a fantasy, and so Ye Olde themes and various fantasy elements are of course welcome.

TIME PERIOD: My original plan was to have it set a while back, maybe 1500's or thereabouts, but it has developed and turned into a 1960's fantasy story, which I think is nice because it's such a rarity. So keep that in mind when you're writing, but don't worry about it if you don't know the time-period well, just omit any cultural references.

CHARACTERS: Just so that people don't get all confuzzled, I'm going to write a short bio for each significant character. If you intend to add a new one - which you are of course allowed to do - please inform me of any information that may be useful.

AIDAN: An eleven year old boy with the curse of seeing death before it occurs. There is no set time for his foresight.

VIDEN: A fifteen year old girl, possibly an oblivious immortal.

THE CLOAKED ONE: A mysterious and unknown figure, always referred to by the above name, and never by 'he' or 'she'. Or 'they'.

updated Sep 5 '09 by LairdTom