Chapter 1
It was 7pm on New Year’s Eve when it happened. Death.
The frost coated everything in the quiet woods of Nighworm. Well, almost. The large, cosy cottage that lived there had nothing piling up on top.
In this cottage, there lived only a dog named Coco and a lady called Achylis.
Achylis was a short woman with bright green eyes framed by lovely tortoiseshell glasses, flowing ginger hair, and a (really quite pretty) permanent smile, just turned 22.
And although her parents had named her after the mists of death, Achylis seemed determined to be quite the opposite.
Her whole cottage was painted brightly; the halls were a sunny yellow, the living room greener than grass. In fact, it was so overflowing with plants and greenery, one might mistake it for a small jungle. Tiny potted cherry trees littered the ground, rose vines hung from the ceiling, and wiss cheese plants covered three of the shelves. Cacti lined the windowsills and at least seven tulips sat on each surface. It was truly a beautiful place.
The bathroom was a sea of blue, with tiles like marble dyed blue, the walls an ocean of turquoise and tea, and the bedroom a positive rainbow, ranging from red on one wall to a deep rose pink on the opposite.
The bed, a painted loft type, which had a fancy staircase-ladder combination, and the floor covered in a blush pink carpet adorned with a hedge-green rug, which was usually clean, was strewn with clothes of all manner; socks, tights, tops and dresses, jeans and skirts, among other things.
Sitting in the middle of it all , was Achylis. She was rummaging frantically through what seemed to be a wardrobe, but could also be a pencil cabinet, or a small bookshelf. This may seem odd, especially for someone getting ready for a new year’s party, seeing as the wardrobe was decidedly empty of clothes, there was a reason for this. Normally, all three things would live in the wardrobe, only at that moment, the clothes were on the floor, as Achylis had not yet found the clothing she was looking for. And she was, (strangely) convinced they were underneath the hanging box of pencils, or the bookshelf, which was at the top of the back wall.
I need my shiny, glittery red top with extra sparkly see-through arms, she thought to herself. The fluffy cloak, my shimmery blue skirt, and opaque black tights. Oh, and also the black high heels.
But try as she might, she just couldn’t find what she wanted, because, unbeknownst to her, someone had moved them. And that person was in her house still, at that very moment...
He sulked, grunting, around the attic. When would she see the clothes, find the clues? Never, maybe. But then her couldn’t have his fun... Couldn’t play his little game... And that would be fun... Well, he would just have to make the first round easy..
Three hours later, Achylis had finally found her clothes. She dressed carefully so as not to snag anything, and did her makeup. Her hands slowly teased her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck with two tendrils hanging. Two hoop earrings she inserted, golden, into her ears, and finally, she clasped a necklace of a stretching cat around her neck.
Achylis turned round, ready to step outside...
C-R-EEA-AK!
What was that?
She spun round.
And froze.
For she had-at last- found the first clue.
It was circular, rounded, and easy to see. A handprint, old and wrinkled, made from blood. And in the middle of the blood, a sentence.
How dare you take her... How dare you ---_-_-_-_-___-_-_---_---_-_-__----_-_-_Not--_-__- kil-_--__---_--___-_- night! She d--_- deserve-_-_ to
DIE.
Patches were hidden, by blots of blood, or because the darker blood that made up the words was not there. Nonetheless, although she could not read it, Achylis decided it was creepy.
But, she told herself, it was probably just something she hadn’t noticed before. The house was extremely old, and bits of wallpaper were always flaking off. She would paint over it later.
And then she looked closer. Closer and closer she leaned, examining the handprint, until her nose was almost touching the dried blood. It seemed familiar.... Was it her adopted sister’s? No, that wasn’t it, but it was close. Only... Older... Thinner... More... Wrinkly.
Could it be? No. No it couldn’t be. The print was simply a relic of the past... The house was old. She just hadn’t noticed before, that was all....
Quickly, sharply, she shook her head. Forget about it. Forget about it, at least for tonight. Have fun. Worry about it tomorrow instead.
Half an hour later, Achylis had indeed forgotten about the handprint completely and was in her kitchen baking a gargantuan amount of cakes for the party. There was no way that she and her 12 friends going to the party would be able to eat all of them, but Achylis honestly didn’t care in the slightest. Maybe they could have a ‘who can eat the most cakes in one sitting’ competition-
CRASH! CLANG! TIING!!
Huh?
CUCKOO!
CUCKOO!
CUCKOO!
What was that?
He gasped. Oops.
It has been a mistake to go looking through the boxes and files in the attic. No, he should have done that later, after she was dead. Now, she might be suspicious. Now, he might have ruined everything. He could be found, or arrested...
He ran to a box, bony body hunched over, flinging off his coat as he did so. Coloured black, as most of his clothes were, it would be conspicuous, as the fabric in the box was, like most things in the dreadfully bright house, rainbow.
Someone was in her house. But... Who? And she really did need to get going to the party. She would do that. Go to the party and then find out who was in her house. That was a good idea... she only needed to get her bag, and then she could leave.
But, for some odd reason, the bag had been left in the shed, so Achylis, having remembered this, opened the door.
And walked out to the shed.
And left the door open.
Which is how clue two was made.
He paced through the small, overly cheery garden, silently chuckling to himself. She would be so confused. Terrified, even. And all because he had done a little walking backwards...
Just imagine....
You’ve just gone out to the shed, snow steadily falling from a twilight sky... No footprints. And when you return, footprints coming from what must be the graveyard with no explanation... No one was around... And they were leading straight into your house.
Yes, he had been planning this for years, even practicing his walk. And he couldn’t wait to watch her horror.
Achylis returned to the entrance of the cottage. She locked the door, not even noticing the footprints. She turned around...
And then she did.
Boot marks, showing a clear path from the graveyard. And not just any bootmark, either. Oh, no. It was one she had seen only once before, the bootprint of only one person. The boot of her adopted sisters’ father.
She fainted.
Many things ran through Achylis’ unconscious mind. Memories, mostly. Memories of her past.
It had been midnight when she had found the baby, left alone in the snow. Of course, her mother, Natasha, had not approved of picking it up, or indeed, caring for it, but then again, when did Natasha approve of anything?
Achylis had picked it up. “Mama,” she had said. “Can we keep it? The baby, I mean? Can we, mama, please?”
“No.” Natasha had said. “Of course not.”
But even her cold heart had softened. She had taken the baby in her arms, kissed its crumpled red head, and rocked it gently to sleep.
At this point, Achylis had stepped backwards, for she had seen something that terrified her. Two things, to be exact.
The first, a boot print, just below where the baby had been only minutes before.
And the second, a man, running, running as if his life depended upon it, away from the scene. As he had turned back, Achylis had seen only two things about him.
His boots, crudely made, obviously by hand, and his crooked beak of a nose.
As he saw her staring at him, he had mouthed six words. Have her die... or die yourself.
And then he was gone. Gone forever, never to be seen again. Or, so she had thought...
Achylis woke up with a start. He was in her house... he would kill her! And he was here somewhere... He was close. But.... where?
She should get going. And quickly, too.
Eyes darting, she took a tentative step forwards. Where was he? Another step. Another. And another. Suddenly, she broke into a run. Down, over the bridge. Through the pine trees. Up, up , up the hill...
“I thought you were smarter than that.”. The cold, high voice ran out through the air. “ I thought you new better, Achylis.... Obviously I was wrong.” A silhouette appeared on the hill. “A life for a life... I did warn you. No matter. The punishment will be returned soon...”
It was a tall, crooked silhouette, like a bird that had been run over, and then sicked up by a cat. The eyes glinted red in the dark, as if he was a monster. Of course, that would most likely be because he was.
For who else would leave a baby out on the streets, in the snow, on the road, to die. No one but a monster. No one but that man.
She fled.
Back down the hill. Back through the forest. Back over the bridge... Back to the house.
No! Not the house! There’s someone there!
Turn around. Where to?
Achylis thought for a moment. THE GRAVEYARD!
Her feet pounded the thin layer of snow. She panted, running for her life. He was going to catch her! Faster. Faster! Just a few more steps to the entrance..
Achylis stood in the middle of the graveyard, half crouched behind a grave, an old one, gnarled and crumbling from age. She paused for a minute to read the inscription.
Achylis Ashfield.
Deadly daughter and sister.
A danger to all.
1701-1723.
Wait. That was her name! Was that- was that her grave!?
Achylis looked around wildly, unable to see him.
Where was he? And how did that grave have her name on it? She was ALIVE! It was hers. She just knew it. Her full name and ‘daughter and sister’. Only it seemed to be dated almost three hundred years in the past. Weird.
“She named you after her. And in a second, the whole grave will be yours. Don’t worry, I’ll tweak the numbers.”
He took aim.
BANG! The bullet whistled through the air. It seemed to take an eternity to Achylis, who having realised that she was not, as she had thought only seconds before, behind the grave, and discovered she was, to the man, in front, was trying to run.
But, like a nightmare when you try to run and can’t, it was if she, and she alone, was in slow motion . Eventually she realised this, and just stood on the grave with the expression of utmost calm, as if trying to intimidate the bullet.
The bullet, being a bullet, was not intimidated, and did not care, and therefore merely kept whistling through the air untill, moments later, smashing into her left eye.
The blood was everywhere. On the grave, in her mouth, running down her face. It spurted from her socket like a hose on full blast.
It was, obviously, a gory sight.
As Achylis clutched her eye, whimpering, she whispered. “Why? She-she was just a child..”
He strode over to her menacingly. As he did, his hood fell down, and a grim look on his old, weathered face was revealed. “Because,” he growled, “It killed her. THAT BABY KILLED HER! IT MURDERED HER! SHE DIED BECAUSE OF THAT BABY! SHE DIED AS IT APPEARED! AND YOU- YOU ASK WHY?!” he paused for a second, musing. “But- I suppose I will get my revenge on it. On the brat and it’s protector.”
He was up close now, leaning down to her left ear, covered in blood. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure yours is less painful.” He smiled his crooked smile and began to laugh, an evil laugh that showed that only more pain was coming.
He stepped back, cocking his head slightly. As he did so, the blood that had been pooling around Achylis’ head flowed smoothly into the fresh bootprint, dying the snow red.
“They say a human can live for seven minutes after their heart stops beating. I fancy testing that, don’t you?”
He walked away for a moment before returning with a shovel in hand. “ And bury you alive, too.” He dropped the shovel and picked up a few balls of dirt and grass, using the other hand to take out a large knife. He waited for a second, judging his angle, and then hurled it straight into her heart.
The blood spurted like a fountain, gushing into her throat. She was choking...
He dragged her over the rocky ground, away from the grave, and began to dig down.
He was finished after four minutes. About three to go.
Grabbing her roughly, he threw her into the hole.
The last thing Achylis ever saw was the man’s psychotic grin and the clump of dirt smashing onto her bloody face. And then, she died.
He left only one reminder if the incident: a stone near the grave with a bloody handprint on the underside.
