Part Two

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.