Origin

Chapter One

Arrivals

Thick undergrowth and woodland bordered the lane as the limousine drove on, finally yielding to the tall iron gates of the estate. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as they passed through. Greystone Hall emerged from the mist, ivy-clad stone and red brick, towering windows glowing faintly as dusk crept across the grounds. The house seemed out of time, a memory struggling to survive in the modern age. Passing several parked limousines, the final vehicle crunched toward the foot of the main steps, arriving at precisely five o’clock.

Through the limousine's tinted window, thirteen-year-old Lizzy Harper glimpsed the fleeting smile of a young girl. For the briefest moment, the two girls locked eyes, the connection was instant-strong. Then it snapped as the girl was pulled into the looming shadow of Greystone Hall, held in hand by the tall man at her side. Waiting patiently at the base of the steps, a uniformed attendant smiled as the limousine slowed. Standing at her side, a tall, silver-haired gentleman leaned on a cane. He watched in silence as he had the previous arrivals.

Inside the limousine, Evelyn, Lizzy's mother squeezed her daughter’s hand. “We’re really here,” she whispered, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. She opened the cream-coloured envelope once again.

'Greystone Hall is honoured to invite Mrs Evelyn Harper and Miss Elizabeth Harper to attend a weekend for gifted children at Greystone Hall. All expenses paid.'

As the limousine drew to a stop, the driver wasted no time. Tall and silent, she slipped from the vehicle and opened the rear door with a slight tip of her cap. Still smiling, the attendant gestured toward the steps.

“Miss Harper, Mrs Harper. Welcome to Greystone Hall.”

Clutching her backpack—Lizzy clambered out first, nerves fluttering in her stomach. She touched the pendant beneath her blouse—warm again, as it always was when her dreams felt close to the surface.

“You are the last to arrive,” the attendant continued. “Please follow me. Refreshments have been laid out—the other guests are in the Main Hall.”

Evelyn paused as they approached the main door. "Our bags, they're in the..." She started.

“All your belongings will be waiting in your rooms,” the attendant smiled, her interruption gentle but sure. “Please, this way.” Her voice was warm, yet unmistakably firm.

Evelyn responded with a grateful nod, then clasped Lizzy's hand. "Here we go." She said as together, they stepped through the great oak doors into a hall.

The scent of polished wood and old books filled the air. For a moment the hall fell silent as the Harpers entered. All eyes turned to the new arrivals. From the gathered guests, a young boy with a mop of hair caught Lizzy’s gaze; he waved as a cheeky grin slid across his face. Lizzy felt herself flush instantly as she half-hid behind her mother, her embarrassment evident from all the eyes that had locked on. The hall gradually resumed its noisy chatter as they moved further inside.

*** The Families Gather ***

The Main Hall was a warm sprawl of firelight, tall windows, and deep armchairs. Families stood in small clusters, parents murmuring to one another while their children lingered at their sides. Lizzy felt every gaze shift toward her—not hostile, not judging… but somehow different. Sixteen-year-old Amelia Bright, the girl Lizzy had locked eyes on earlier, stood beside her father. She radiated confidence, and something else—a quiet pressure in the air around her, like the charged warmth before lightning strikes.

Across the room stood Mai Willow with her son, no longer waving or grinning—Leo leaned against his mother holding a handheld console as the Harpers passed by.

"Do you feel that?" Leo asked.

Mai sighs, still worn from the journey. "Feel What?"

"Like electricity," he said quietly, his fingers twitched restlessly at the device in his hands.

With a sudden POP! Blue sparks flickered across the console as a puff of smoke rose from his hands.

Mai blinked. “Leo—? Not again!” She groaned.

“That wasn’t me,” Leo whispered, staring at Lizzy with open curiosity. "Not this time..."

On a nearby sofa, fifteen-year-old Nia Clarke sat beside her mother, Denise. Nia quickly closed her sketchbook the moment Lizzy approached, but not before Lizzy had glimpsed the drawing on the page. Sketched weeks ago, looking exactly like Lizzy walking through the very door she had just come through.

Dropping a curious frown, Denise glanced toward Lizzy. “Nia? She looks just like—” she whispered.

In an instant, Nia placed her hands over the cover. “That's her... from my dream! She's really... real!” Nia murmured as she exhaled, forgetting to close her mouth after the last word escaped her lips.

Near the refreshment table Patrick Doyle stood with his sixteen-year-old son. Ethan hummed a tune under his breath. As Lizzy approached, Ethan's hum began to shift key, the fire popped eerily with the rhythm of the new tones. Raising an eyebrow, Patrick gave a low tut, causing Ethan to glance up.

Musical oddities were not new to the Doyle's, but they always tried to be inconspicuous whenever they occurred. Ethan only shrugged, as if to say 'I didn’t mean to'.

Evelyn smiled as they came to a stop in front of Patrick. "May I?" She asked, pointing toward the table laden with refreshments.

Stepping to one side, Patrick gestured toward the buffet. "Sorry... I wasn't thinking. I'm Patrick by the way, and you are?" he smiled.

"Evelyn... and this is Lizzy," she replied, pouring coffee into a cup.

Fifteen-year-old Sofia Mendes and her mother, Carla, waited patiently by an ornate cabinet behind Patrick. Atop, a magnificent fern sprawled from an old rustic pot. As Sofia's hand brushed the cabinet, small sprouting ferns seemed to bend toward her. Lizzy watched as every time Sofia moved, so did the ferns.

Stepping forward, Lizzy smiled. “That plant—?” She questioned Sofia with curiosity.

“They do that sometimes... plants I mean.” Sofia said softly, her eyes fixed on Lizzy with quiet certainty.

Evelyn squeezed her daughter’s shoulder.  “Lizzy…?”

Lizzy did not respond, she was lost for words. Everywhere she looked, something was happening—a spark, a hum, a shift, a growth—all reacting to the children.

*** The Host ***

Silence swept the guests as the sound of wooden cane on wood boards drew everyone's attention. Silver-haired and dignified, the tall, well—attired gentleman came to a stop in front of the gathered guest. The same gentleman that had stood in silence, watching as each guest arrived. Leaning on his ornate cane, carved from dark wood, he gave a slight smile as he surveyed the guests.

“Welcome, my name is Mr Thorne... your host.” he cheered, taking his gaze to each family in turn. “Now that Mrs and Miss Harper have arrived, we are ready.”

The fire crackled sharply behind him, as though in agreement. Always the cautious one, Marcus stepped forward.

“Ready?” He questioned. “Ready for what?”

For a moment, Mr Thorne locked eyes with Marcus before sweeping the scene. His gaze lingering on each child with a quiet, unnerving fondness. “Thank you,” he continued, “you are here because each of you holds a gift. And though you do not yet understand the nature of your gifts, you are aware—they have already begun to awaken.”

Lizzy's pendant began to warm, glowing bright beneath her blouse, at the same time Leo’s console popped another puff of smoke. Looking round, the adults exchanged uncertain glances, they had all received the same invitation, some now aware that the children's gifts were not the usual academic kind—or any kind!

Placing his palm to his chest, Mr Thorne continued. “I am honored to be your host. The abilities your children display are no accident, no quirk of nature. Your invitations stated, ‘gifted children,’ the word GIFTED… grossly understates their potential.”

With precision of step, clattering feet broke the silence that had taken hold, young men in crisp uniforms approached each family.

Mr Thorne smiled. "These are your guides, they will show you to your rooms. If you want anything at all, just ask your guide. Evening meal is at seven, until then, please feel free to relax or explore this magnificent estate."

With a gesture toward the guides, one by one they led the guests from the main hall, ascending a magnificent, panelled staircase to the upper level. Each group shown to their rooms, adjacent to their child's room. Each room dripped with historic grandeur, ornate covings, stained glass windows, velvet drapes. The children’s chambers were prepared with quiet care, personal in ways none of them could explain. On every desk lay a single journal.

Blank, except for the first page.

‘Write or draw what you see. Trust what you feel.’

As night settled over this grand estate, Amelia, Leo, Nia, Ethan, Sofia, and Lizzy closed their doors, unaware that their lives—like the worlds beyond—were already beginning to entwine.

Back in the main hall, a tall, stern-faced woman, her hair in an impossibly tight bun approached Mr Thorne.

"Well... your verdict?" She questioned.

"You have done well, but I fear it may be our last," he answered slowly. "Kaltrax… may only last a few more weeks." The last words croaked from his lips as she turned to face the door the guests had left through, she sighs, deep and slow.

*** The Meal ***

At precisely 7:00 PM, soft chimes echoed through the halls and walls of Greystone. One by one, the children emerged, some polished and pristine, others still rumpled from the road. Their parents close behind, curious and cautious, guided by the ever-silent guides to the Main Hall. The main hall was breathtaking,

vaulted ceilings, chandeliers dripping with crystals, and a long oak table that looked like it had hosted centuries of secrets. The main wall, broken only by the stone fireplace, its flames dancing beneath the logs. Candles flickered in silver holders, casting warm light across polished cutlery and porcelain plates.

Only the television in the corner seemed to protest its existence, a modern intruder in a room carved from centuries.

Mr Thorne stood at the head of the table, his cane resting beside him.

“Please,” he gestured with a graceful hand, “take your seats. Tonight, we dine as one.”

Seated together on one side of the table sat the children, directly opposite their parents. The seating seemed random but somehow felt intentional. As soon as everyone had been seated, a constant flow of attendants laid trays before them. Salads and fruits, meats and roasted vegetables, wine for the adults, fizzy juice and much more for the children.

Introductions began slowly. Marcus, Amelia’s father, offered a polite nod to Mai, who responded with a slight wave of her hand. Denise and Carla struck up quiet conversation about the house architecture, while Patrick remained quiet, observing the others with a musician’s ear for tone and rhythm. Evelyn sat beside him, her eyes never far from Lizzy.

The children, however, were less guarded. 

Leaning in, Leo studied Sofia’s face for a few seconds. “Have we met before?” he asked with a frown. “You seem familiar.”

Sofia blinked. “I was just about to say the same thing.” She grinned with zest.

Nia, who had barely touched her soup, looked across to Ethan. “You dream about music, don’t you?” she enquired softly.

Surprise spread across his face as his spoon paused mid-air. “How'd you know that?”

“I’ve heard it,” Nia replied. “In my sleep. A song with no words.”

Patrick had fixed his eyes on glass in his hand, but his ears had tuned into the children’s conversations. His brow furrowed with unease, this all felt wrong somehow.

Amelia had been quietly watching the others, then turned to Lizzy. “You have a big brown journal, you write everything down.”

Lizzy’s eyes widened. “You saw that?”

“I saw it,” Amelia smiled. “In a dream. You were writing by candlelight. The pages were glowing.”

The table fell silent as the parents exchanged glances, some confused, some concerned.

Mr Thorne, still standing, gently smiled. “It seems,” briefly glancing toward the children, “that some of you have already met, though not in the usual way.” Raising his glass. “To new beginnings.”

The children clinked glasses of sparkling juice, their eyes darting between one another, the air thick with unspoken recognition. Something had shifted between them—unspoken, undeniable, but all of them could feel a connection. As desserts were served, the conversation turned lighter. Laughter began to bubble up, especially from Leo, who had already started sketching a diagram of the chandelier on his napkin. Ethan hummed softly, while Nia tapped her fingers in rhythm.

Spotting Lizzy’s pendant, Sofia couldn’t help but ask. “Hey, what’s that? Looks cool.” Lizzy hesitated as she glanced down protectively.

“It’s… kind of personal,” she said slowly. “It was my grandfather’s. He… visits me in dreams.”

Sofia nodded slowly. “I think I’ve seen him too; does he have a scar on his cheek?” she asked with a curious tone.

Lizzy’s answer was not with words, just a little nod as she glanced down to the pendant, a warm feeling inside.

Candles flickered as Mr Thorne watched them all with quiet satisfaction. With a slow steady breath, he announced to the gathered guests.

“We have a special guest joining us for supper tomorrow evening. You will find her—how shall I put it?—quite out of this world.”

And with that, the first evening at Greystone Hall came to a close. With un-answered questions and sense of something new growing amongst them.

Chapter 2

The Morning After

The morning sunlight poured into Greystone Hall through tall arched windows, casting a soft gold across the main hall. The scent of warm bread and honeyed oats filled the air. At one end of the hall, a long table had been set just for the children, their names elegantly scripted on folded cards in front of their plates. At the other end, the parents sat, bleary-eyed and quiet, some nursing cups of coffee, others tea and biscuits. The children greeted each other with smiles and murmured good mornings. Dressed in a mixture of sleepwear and casual clothes, still adjusting to the grandeur of their new surroundings.

Leo poked at his eggs. “Did anyone write in the journal last night?”

Sofia nodded. “I drew something. The symbol from the invitation. But this morning… It looked different. Like someone had traced over it with silver ink.”

Looking up, Ethan added. “Mine had music notes. I didn’t write them. It was a melody from my dreams!”

Lizzy opened her leather-bound journal, showing a faint imprint of a door that hadn’t been there before.

“I saw this door in my sleep,” she whispered.

“Now it’s on my page!”

The others leaned in, the hum of excitement cut with unease.

“I think the journals are listening,” Nia said with a low voice.

“And watching.” Amelia added as she glanced across the table toward the adults.

Setting his fork down, Leo looked around. “Okay… weird question. Has anyone else seen the man with the scar?”

All the children froze, Sofia and Lizzy looked at each other.

“What scar?” Ethan asked.

“Long one,” Leo replied. “Down his cheek, like it cuts through his smile. He never talks, but he watches. I’ve seen him in my dreams, always just… standing there, gawking at me.”

Sofia’s hand paused midair. “He’s Lizzy’s… grandfather,” she stated firmly.

“What!” Leo said, blinking. “That man’s your grandfather?” he puffed out a balloon of air.

“I saw him once, near a mirror that didn’t show my reflection.” Sofia continued.

Nia nodded slowly yet knowingly. “He was near the lake in mine… holding a lantern. But when I looked again… he was gone.”

Amelia tilted her head. “He pointed at a door in one of my dreams, then vanished before I could open it.”

They all turned to Lizzy, almost expecting some kind of explanation.

Remaining quiet for a long moment, her hand reached for the crimson pendant resting against her chest.

“I know he’s protecting me,” she said softly. “He’s, my grandfather. Henry” Dropping her gaze to the pendant. “I never met him. He died before I was born. But he’s been in my dreams since I was little. Always there… always watching.”

Sofia narrowed her eyes. “How do you know it’s really him?”

“Because of this,” Lizzy said, lifting the pendant. “He wore it. My mum told me it was buried with him.”

Silence fell upon the table as Amelia stared hard into Lizzy’s eyes.

“In a dream he gave it to me,” Lizzy continued. “He put it in my hand and told me I’m ready. When I woke up… it was on my pillow.”

Scepticism widened Nia’s eyes. “But that’s not possible.”

Lizzy met her gaze. “I know. But it’s true.”

The children fell into a stunned silence; the only sound was the clinking of cutlery from the nearby adult table. The pendant glinted in the morning light, casting strange reflections across the tablecloth.

Amelia whispered, “he’s not just watching. I think he’s preparing us.”

Leo frowned. “For what?”

No one had an answer.

Not yet.

*** The Conversation ***

Across the room, the parents sat in small clusters although Mr Thorne himself was absent. Two men in crisp uniforms moved between the tables, offering fresh fruit, tea refills, and warm croissants. Conversations began slowly but soon grew heavier.

Marcus was the first to speak. He looked toward Mai, who sat cradling her tea like a liquid shield.

“You said you raised Leo alone?” he asked, tentatively.

Mai nodded. “Leo’s father… he drowned three years ago. It was sudden. A river near our apartment, he went in after a boy who fell. The boy survived… he didn’t.”

The memories flooded back, she remembered the knock on the door, the sad faces on the two police officers. With the back of her hand, she wiped the tears from her cheek.

Denise, across from them, looked up. “That’s strange.”

“What is?” Marcus asked.

“My husband, Nia’s father, well… he also drowned.”

“Sailing accident when Nia was four. Or at least that’s what they said. It never made sense to me, he was such a strong swimmer.”

Silence settled, heavy and thick, almost suffocating.

“Was he gifted?” enquired Marcus.

Denise drew a deep sigh, “Very gifted, very psychic.”

Patrick ran a hand over his stubble. “My wife… she was lost off the coast of Donegal. We were on tour, we… we were musicians.” Patrick battled through fresh emotions as he continued. “She went swimming before the soundcheck. The water was so calm. She… she was… just gone!”

Carla swallowed hard. “Sofia’s father was Portuguese. He used to tell her stories about the sea; he claimed his dreams came from the tides. He died on a diving trip. His body was never recovered.”

Evelyn closed her eyes. “My dad… Lizzy’s grandfather, drowned in a lake. He’d gone walking alone. They found his notebook at the edge. He had… abilities like Lizzy.”

One by one, the stories unravelled like threads in a tapestry, and with each revelation, a chill passed over the table. Only Marcus remained. At first he hesitated, then slowly looked at the faces around the table.

“Amelia’s mother died the same way. A river near the city. She was quiet, gentle, but she had… intuition. She could read people like open books. She always said Amelia had it too.”

A long pause took hold. The clatter of dishes and the quiet hum of people cleaning seemed distant. The realization hung in the air like a storm cloud.

“All of them drowned,” Mai whispered.

Denise pushed her plate away. “And all of them had… something. A gift. Something different.”

“Just like the kids,” Carla added.

Instinctively the adults turned to the children, still talking, leaning over journals, whispering about the scarred man and the pendant.

“They’ve inherited it,” Patrick said, barely above a whisper. “All of them.”

A moment later, a young lady approached both tables. She carried a silver tray with folded cards, one for each child and each parent. Mr Thorne’s neat script adorned the front. Each read: ‘Today, your paths lay before you. There is much to learn, and time is short. Children to the west wing at midday. Parents to the library. Refreshments provided.’

Lizzy flipped her card over between her finger and thumb. A faint outline of the crescent moon and a key shimmered briefly, then faded.

Lizzy looked around the table. “Whatever we’re here for, I think this is where it really starts,” she said.

*** The Confrontation ***

After breakfast, Marcus slowly wandered the halls, trying to make sense of the revelations. Eventually entering the library, he stood beside the bay window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the dark stretch of forest that bordered Greystone’s manicured lawn. Patrick sat in a high-backed armchair, his fingers absently strumming a silent rhythm against his thigh. Neither man spoke at first. The air between them buzzed with the same strange tension, a tension that had coiled itself ever tighter since breakfast.

The stories of drowning, the scarred man, the journals, and the pendant.

Finally, Marcus exhaled sharply. “This is wrong,” he muttered.

Patrick looked up. “You feel it, too?”

“Since the moment we arrived,” Marcus replied. “That man… Thorne, he’s not telling us everything. And these... coincidences? They're not coincidences.”

“No,” Patrick agreed. “They’re patterns.”

The two men exchanged a glance. Neither needed to say it aloud. This place was beautiful, comfortable, but neither of them felt safe within its breathing walls, walls that echoed with secrets yet to be known.

Marcus stepped away from the window, his voice low.

“I think we’ve been deceived.”

Patrick nodded in agreement. “We need answers… and I know who has them.”

Patrick and Marcus didn’t knock as they entered the study. Mr Thorne was seated by the fireplace, reading what appeared to be one of the children’s journals. He didn’t look up.

“I assume this is not a social call?” He asked coolly as he flipped a page.

Stepping forward, Marcus demanded. “What is this place, really?”

Patrick followed. “Why were we all invited here? Why these children?”

Mr Thorne finally closed the journal, setting it down with quiet precision. Slowly lifting his eyes as if they didn’t matter.

“You already know the answer,” he said. “You just don’t wish to accept it.”

“We want the truth,” Marcus demanded. “All of it.”

“I’m afraid I cannot give it to you,” Thorne said evenly. “Not yet.”

Marcus’s voice sharpened. “Not good enough. Talk now, or we leave.”

Thorne slowly stood, leaning heavily on his carved cane.

“You’re not prisoners here, you are guests. And your children are very special. You are safe here.”

“Safe?” Patrick repeated, his voice sharp with scorn.

“You think this place feels safe to us? Secrets and signs, dead fathers in dreams? My son is humming tunes he’s only ever heard in his sleep!”

“And Amelia,” Marcus added, “she knew things she couldn’t possibly know. About Lizzy. About her pendant. What exactly is happening here?”

Mr Thorne’s smile faded. For the first time, something flickered behind his eyes.

Fear. 

“If you leave now,” he warned softly, “it may not be safe. At least stay the weekend.”

Marcus squared his shoulders indignantly. “We’re not staying.”

“I beg you,” Thorne said, stepping forward, his voice cracking just slightly. “You don’t understand what waits outside those gates.”

Patrick’s jaw clenched. “Maybe not. But I know what a trap feels like. We’re leaving. Now.”

Thorne hesitated, then gave a shallow nod.

“Very well.”

*** The Departure ***

The departure was swift. The vehicles readied within minutes of Mr Thorne summoning the drivers, looking showroom ready

as they gleamed in the late morning light. As the last bags were loaded, Thorne stood at the base of the front steps, his cane planted firmly, watching Marcus and Patrick with a sorrowful intensity. Just before the final goodbyes, a young, suited woman descended the steps.

She approached Marcus and Patrick directly, her expression calm but purposeful.

“Mr Bright, Mr Doyle,” she said softly. “My name is Rose. I work with Mr Thorne.” Reaching out, she handed each a small, cream- coloured business card.

“If you have any questions once you’re home, or if anything seems unusual—please don’t hesitate to call me. Day or night.”

Taking a card, Marcus glanced at the embossed lettering. Patrick nodded, slipping his into his coat pocket.

“Thank you,” Marcus said, his voice low. “What is really going on here?” he asked with a hint of desperation.

For the briefest moment, Rose hesitated, then offered a faint smile.

“Just... stay in touch,” she said without breaking eye contact.

With a final saddened glance toward the children, she moved toward Thorne's side. Peering from the window of the lead limousine, sorrow evident on Amelia's face.

Ethan sat in the second vehicle, quietly watching the adults. Marcus looked one last time, glancing toward the hall, the children’s windows above. Something in him wavered hesitantly, but he pushed it down.

“We’re not part of this,” he muttered defiantly.

Mr Thorne’s final words fogged his mind like a shadow: ‘You don’t understand what waits outside those gates.’

Marcus placed a hand on Patrick's shoulder. “We’ll call when we’re home.

As the car doors closed, Rose spoke softly. "Are we doing the right thing?"

Thorne exhaled slowly, turning toward the steps. "Ethan and Emily... That, I do not know." he said, making his way back inside.

The limousines departed dead on eleven, rolling down the tree-lined gravel drive until they vanished from sight.

*** The Bridge ***

The countryside rolled past in silence, the car’s hum steady and unobtrusive. Ethan had fallen asleep against Patrick’s side. Marcus’s limousine was just ahead, already crossing the bridge. Amelia sat curled beside him. Patrick flinched at the sudden buzz from his phone. Marcus was video calling. Tapping answer, Marcus appeared smiling faintly, glancing through the window at the peaceful water below the bridge they were crossing.

“That was too easy,” Marcus said. “You think he let us go because we scared him… or because we don't matter?”

Patrick opened his mouth to respond then stopped.

Something was wrong. Marcus’s camera feed jolted violently.

“What the—?” Patrick leaned in.

The view lurched as Marcus’s phone tumbled, screams and screeching metal, a glimpse of water slamming against glass. Amelia’s voice crying out in panic.

“Daddy!”

Shadows and bubbles spiralled across the screen, a bright flash of light.

“Marcus!” Patrick shouted, shaking his phone almost aggressively. “Marcus!” He screamed again as the feed went black.

Patrick’s breath caught, shaking his head in disbelief, he turned to the driver.

“Turn around! Get us back to Greystone!” His voice trembled.

The driver immediately began to slow down, preparing to turn around as they approached the same bridge Marcus had just been on.

“Turn around now!” Patrick commanded again.

Then they saw it, a thick, black fog was rolling across the road ahead, swirling unnaturally, smothering the sunlight like a curtain of smoke. It came in fast, swallowing the trees and leaping toward them like a living creature. Ethan stirred awake just as the fog reached the car. The engine sputtered.

“Dad?” Ethan whispered, his voice small and afraid as Patrick grabbed his hand.

“Don’t let go.”

The car came to a complete stop as all light vanished. They were inside the blackness and outside… something was moving within the swirling fog. With a violent jolt, the car suddenly moved forward, not driven, but pulled, dragged by something unseen. It was being drawn toward the bridge.

“Get out… get out now!” Patrick yelled, but the doors wouldn’t budge. They were stuck fast. With fear, Ethan pushed into his father, his eyes wide, blurred with tears, watching as the two strong men inside the car, the driver and Patrick struggled in vain to open the doors. Nothing worked.

With teary eyes Ethan began to hum a soft melody, melodies always felt calming, especially the melodies from his dreams. This one he had just dreamt the night before. Notes from nowhere, yet familiar and strange.

The car began to slow. Light seeped in through the windows as the black mist peeled away, pulling back like a tide.

“It’s your song,” the driver breathed. “It’s repelling it.”

Slowly they came to a halt by the broken barrier on the bridge. Patrick’s stomach dropped, this was where Marcus’s car had left the road. Below them, the dark river churned and foamed like a hungry mouth.

Restarting the engine the driver looked back. “I’ll just reverse off. Then we head back… Just keep humming that tune.” He instructed.

“Ethan, where did you get that song you’re humming?” Patrick asked.

“No—don’t distract him!” the driver snapped urgently, his face pale with horror.

“It was in my head,” Ethan said softly. “Last night. In a dream. It just kept—”

CRASH! With a deafening sound, the limousine suddenly fell, dragged through the broken barrier, engulfed once again in swirling black fog. Plunging into the river below with a bright flash as the fog vanished.