It started like many strange events do, with the arrival of a mysterious stranger.

Jonathon was busy cleaning one of the glasses behind the bar when the door to the Rose Bairn swung open, letting gusts of icy wind and a man dressed in a black leather jacket into the cozy pub. Normally, Jonathon would think nothing of it. His job was to keep the pub clean and to serve drinks to the lonely souls who drifted into his little establishment.

But this man was different. Beneath wild eyes, his sockets were ringed with black and blue bruises; signs of lack of sleep and perhaps many other things. However, that was not what got Jonathon's attention. It was the man's facial expression.

Messy eyebrows drawn together, his eyes blinking in the dim light of the pub, the man looked ready to keel over. He grabbed onto the back of one of the rickety chairs close by in order to regain his balance.

"Hey there. Why don't you take a seat? Is there anything you'd like to drink?" Jonathon called, his voice cutting across the quiet murmurs of the other patrons.

The wild-eyed man didn't answer but took Jonathon's offer. As he moved to take a seat at the bar, Jonathon put down the glass he held. Something was wrong with this man.

Droplets of sweat gathered on his brow and his face was sallow-skinned and crumpled. He looked like a dead man walking.

"What can I get for you, sir?"

For a moment Jonathon wasn't sure the fevered man heard him, but then the man lowered himself onto one of the teetering bar stools and pointed to the faucet behind Jonathon.

The man had come to a pub to get water. Jonathon frowned. There was definitely something not quite right with this man.

Nonetheless, Jonathon got the man a cup of water, even adding a couple of ice cubes. He had barely set it on the bar in front of him when the man snatched the glass from his hand, draining the drink in a series of hurried gulps. A second later the glass was placed back on the wooden counter with a solid thud.

"Would you like another?" The man nodded.

Jonathon got him another glass before watching the man down the water in a similar fashion to the first glass. However, the man didn't look any better, if anything he looked worse.

"Look, man, are you alright? Is there someone I need to call?" Jonathon finally dared to ask. The man's dark eyes stared at Jonathon before the man's cracked lips opened, showing a line of white, but crooked, teeth.

"No. The only one to call would be her, and I ain't goin' back." Jonathon nodded hesitantly, puzzled. A woman did all of this to one man? How was that even possible?

"Well, if she caused this to happen, I can't say I blame you." The other man nodded solemnly, reaching for the glass of water that was once again full. "Well, is there anything I can do? I have some Tylenol hanging around here somewhere."

"Pills won't help. She's cursed me, she has." The man's voice was bitter as he spoke, his words coming out gruffly from out behind dry lips.

"Cursed you? You make her sound like a witch," Jonathon responded, hastily putting the bottle of pills away as he tried to add some humor to the situation.

"She's no witch, I'll tell ya that much." The man eyed Jonathon skeptically. "What do ya believe in? God? Ghosts? Faeries?" Jonathon rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, his fingers brushing across day old stubble. How was he supposed to answer that?

He had been raised a Christian, just like everyone else in his family, but after working so long in a place like the Rose Bairn, he started to wonder if there wasn't something missing from his worldview. Out in the middle of nowhere, far from most cities, the pub was a breeding place for strange happenings.

It would be an odd day if something out of the norm didn't happen. Or perhaps, that just was his normal now.

"I believe in anything that I have proof exists," Jonathon said. The man nodded.

"So do ya believe in faeries? In the fae?" Jonathon cocked his head, letting his eyes wander to the other patrons of the pub. They weren't paying attention to his conversation. Not that they would. Folk out here weren't strangers to mysterious happenings.

"Yeah, I suppose I do."

"Have ya ever seen a faerie maiden?" Jonathon shook his head. "Then count yourself as lucky, lad. This woman of the fae, she trapped me, caught me in her grasp."

"How did she trap you?" Jonathon asked, raising an eyebrow as he refilled the man's glass yet again.

"By charming me. Ya see, she don't curse men, she charms them. Lulls them into a false sense of safety before bam!" The man slammed his hand on the top of the counter, causing several patrons to glance over warily. "She traps 'em in her web of lies and promises."

Jonathon was quiet for a moment, processing this. Part of him felt like this was symbolism for something, but the man across from him didn't strike him as the kind for hidden meanings.

"But how did she even find you in the first place?"

"Oh no, lad. I found her."

Ralph Sterling was used to driving at night. The moonlight through the trees, the animal eyes reflecting back at him, even the howls coming from the far away mountains were familiar to him.

What wasn't familiar was the sound coming from his motorcycle.

The engine sputtered. If Sterling was the poetic or artistic type, he'd have said that it was like his engine became ill, as if it was coughing and wheezing. Sterling, unfortunately, wasn't the poetic type. All he knew was that there was something wrong with his bike.

Gnashing his teeth together, he pulled his roaring vehicle to a stop, throwing down the kickstand with more strength than strictly necessary. Swinging himself up and away, he planted both of his feet in the sandy roadside where he had stopped.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn't a good idea to stop in the middle of Tilney Forest, but what did he care? He had long since passed the age where he listened to old wives' tales.

The tree branches covered up most of the moon and the starry night sky and so there he was, standing in the middle of a forest, only able to see by the light of his motorcycle reflecting off of the low-lying fog.

"What's wrong with ya, eh?" he said, bending down to peer closer at his treasured black bike. "Why ya soundin' so funny?" Sterling shook the bike for good measure, but nothing happened. No great insight made itself known, and the light of the motorcycle still shined into the fog that began to surround Sterling as well.

Sterling heaved a sigh, letting out a growl through his teeth. He had a job to do. He needed to get through the forest tonight, but if his ride had anything to do with it, he wouldn't be.

He brought a gnarled hand up and through his greased black hair, pursing his lips. He wasn't one for believing in old wives' tales, but the fog swirling around him made the long gone child in him start to believe. The forest was eery at best, and with the night time noises of the creatures living in the trees reaching his ears, the forest itself seemed like the stuff of fantasy stories and children's nightmares.

Sterling let out a self-deprecating laugh, trying to ignore how it echoed loudly in the trees. The forest was doing something to his head. He took a step closer to his bike.

"Need to get out of this damn forest," he grumbled. He didn't expect an answer.

"Do you? Then it is lucky that you have found me." Sterling's head snapped up, his dark eyes searching for the source of the melodic voice. It took him only seconds to see her.

The white fog rolled around her like waves, and even though she wasn't in the direct beam of his motorcycle, Sterling would've sworn that she glowed. Everything about her was luminescent. Long blonde hair, a white gown, cheekbones that could cut you like a knife; her beauty was like that of winter, cold and lethal.

However, it wasn't until she moved closer to him that Sterling saw her eyes and he was lost. They were as dark as his own, if not darker, but his were human. Hers? Ethereal, fae-like. She was unnatural.

"You need to come with me," she told him, her eyes boring into his. Sterling tried to fight the fog that invaded his mind, but found that he couldn't.

"I need to come with you." His words were perfectly formed, and something in him was disgusted. Not even his own Mum managed to get him to speak the way he just had. He was not himself, but his clouded head told him that he didn't mind.

The fae woman extended her hand and without thinking, Sterling reached for it. If any had asked him what he expected of her grasp, he would've said fragile and graceful. He was wrong. Her grasp was that of iron and strength. Once she had him in it, he couldn't get out and nor did he want to.

His boot-clad feet began to move on their own accord, and Sterling found himself being drawn away from the road, from his bike, from rational thoughts.

For a while, he followed her, though he had no concept of time. She led him through the forest, the one that was said to hold malevolent beings, spirits and creatures wronged by man, leaving them forever vengeful.

The red-eyed gaze of creatures peered out around the trees, but even in his haze, Sterling never once saw a scaly claw or a bushy tail. It was as if the inhabitants of the forest had no bodies, as if they would only take form if they wished to.

Sterling barely noticed when they came to a stop in the middle of a large circular clearing, a clearing lit perfectly by the light of the moon and stars. The fae woman let go of his arm, turning to face him with a calculating gaze.

"You will stay here."

"I will stay here."

With that she disappeared, having heard his clear and unattached response. The clearing itself was empty but for tall lush grasses, but Sterling's mind was still filled with a fog of its own. She was gone, but she still had him in her grasp.

The night wore on, the air becoming chillier than what was comfortable. Sterling found his eyelids drooping, and before he knew it, he tumbled into a different being's grasp; the hold of sweet slumber.

His dream was not unlike his waking world. He was still in the clearing. It was still cold. The moon still shone brightly. However, everything was off colored, and this time, Sterling was not alone.

Twelve men stood across from him, each staring at him as they stood side by side in a perfectly straight line. Each man was dressed in clothing from a different era, but they all had one thing in common. Their wrists were linked together with manacles, forcing their hands to hang side by side in a show of united servitude. Unlike the fae woman who had glowed with an ethereal beauty, they seemed to shine with a pale and sickly light. Each of their faces was drawn and weathered, gaunt and skeletal. Each of them looked nothing short of death.

"You must leave," one of the men said. His head was adorned with a crown that should've glinted in the moonlight but didn't. He was like a king of old, but there was nothing strong or regal about his countenance.

"I can't. She has told me to stay," Sterling replied, still in a stupor. Each of the men frowned, but it was the crowned man who spoke again.

"You must. Do you not see? The fae maiden has you in her thrall. If you do not leave now you will become like us. We are dead, sir. She has kept us all these years. She is a terrifying beauty that entraps all men, and we, like you, were ensnared. She, though fair of face, is without mercy. Open your eyes, sir. Clear your head."

For a moment, Sterling stared blankly at the line of men, the line of men that he would join as the thirteenth, but then it was like something in his head clicked. The fog cleared, his stupor went away, and he found himself alone in the clearing, the twelve men long gone.

Or at least, he was mostly alone. The fairy maiden, as the crowned man had called her, was back, her eyes peering at him.

"You will come with me." Her words were still haunting, still enticing, and Sterling struggled to keep his mouth from opening. Seconds passed and her face grew severe. "You will come with me," she repeated. Her blonde hair crackled with an energy that reminded Sterling of lighting and storms and her eyes were narrowed into slits.

"No." The word echoed in the clearing, only the fae woman and the stars witness to what Sterling was beginning to feel was a fruitless attempt.

His muscles strained, his skin was slick with sweat, but he turned his back on her, his head pounding painfully with the beat of his own heart.

He did not turn back around to look at her as he walked away, but the farther he got from her, the worse he felt.

"You will die without me," the woman stated, her tone cool and uncaring. Sterling didn't cease in his walking.

So be it.

"So that's it? You just got away?"

The man grunted, not answering, but Jonathon eyed him carefully. Sweat poured out of the man in buckets, his face shiny with perspiration, and his already sallow skin had turned several shades whiter as he'd told his tale. No, clearly he didn't just get away. Jonathon watched as the man took a deep drink of his eighth glass of water.

"Do you think she followed you?"

The man paused in his drinking, swallowing with a sour look on his face. He frowned at Jonathon.

"If she followed me, would I be like this?"

The man gestured at his body with a shaking hand. Jonathon pursed his lips. The woman had said that he'd die without her. Was he-

"You think you're dying?"

"There's no other answer, is there, laddie?"

Silence descended on the odd pair. Jonathon had heard more than his fair share of strange stories, and some even claimed to be dying of heartbreak, grief, anger, or some other thing, but this man- This man was the first to look like he actually was.

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothin', laddie. Nothin' at all."

Jonathon raised an eyebrow and said nothing. What else was he supposed to do? He refilled the man's empty glass, sending him an apologetic smile.

Part of him knew he should try to get the man out of his bar, it was supposedly a toss up on whether a death was good or bad for business, but even if the man's tale wasn't true, he couldn't bring himself to kick the poor blighter out.

The hours ticked by, the seconds and minutes dragging on as Jonathon served more of his usual patrons and watched the man out of the corner of his eye. With each passing minute, each hour, the man grew more pale, more gaunt, until at last, at two in the morning, he got up from his chair.

The pub was silent as he stumbled out of the pub, eerie moonlight shining in through the open door. Jonathon was of half a mind to follow him, but he didn't.

Maybe he should've.

In the morning, the man's precious bike was still parked in front of the pub, and the man was nowhere in sight. All that was left was his bike and a single white flower that sat alone on its empty seat.