One cold, stormy night sometime after Christmas, a traveler stood alone in the dark, strange woods of Ethandril. 

The traveler’s name was Albert, a middle-aged man with opal eyes, short brown hair and a thin beard. Albert was a toymaker; once the greatest for miles around. His peculiar magical creations—giant nutcrackers, tiny flying cars, singing teddy bears—had brought him fame, wealth and happiness for many years. Unfortunately, as such things often do, they had also brought him the envy of others. And where envy went, so too went its loathsome cousins; resentment and malice. Perhaps he should of seen it coming, but until the day his toyshop was burned to the ground by a bitter rival, and his entire life reduced to ruins, he’d been a good, trusting man. Things were very different now.  

Albert was married, though he’d probably tell you otherwise. He hadn’t seen his wife, Elenor, since the fire, and it pained him terribly to speak of her now. Better to pretend she’d never existed at all, along with everything else. These days, Albert was alone in every way a man can be. He had no brothers or sisters, his parents had long since passed, and after the fire, Albert’s sullen mood had driven away everyone else. But please don’t feel sorry for him! He wouldn’t want your pity. Nor your words of hope and kindness. No. In fact, Albert wouldn’t want your company at all. He was alone because he chose to be, because being alone meant no more pain could touch him.

And so it was that he came to be here in Ethandril, armed with nothing but an old haversack and a frozen heart. These devilish woods were cursed, Albert knew that. Every shadow held its own black magic, and nothing that lived here—the animals, the people, even the trees—could be trusted. It was for this reason that Albert planned to travel quick and light through the forest, stopping only when he reached that glistening black city his father had once told him about. There, amidst the great cathedrals and cobblestone streets, he would start a new life. Nobody would know who he’d been before, nor the sad tale of his miserable past. A good thing, of course, because if there was no one around to remember your past, then maybe you could forget it, too.

It was only when Albert reached the deepest heart of the woods, where the narrow footpath he’d been following withered into a small clearing, that he heard it.

A strange sound. 

At first it was like the cry of a small creature. Then it came again. 

Albert drew in a breath. 

‘Elenor?’ he replied, certain this was the voice he’d heard.

‘Yes, dear,’ she answered swiftly. ‘It’s me.’

Albert spun round frantically. He searched the trees, the dark shadows. Nothing. Perhaps he was losing his mind, along with everything else. A spasm of despair struck him then, and for the first time in a very long while he wished that he wasn’t alone. Madness, after all, is a lonesome creature.

‘Darling?’ Elenor called again. ‘Albert? I just want to talk. I…miss you.’

Albert’s throat tightened. He blinked at the darkness ahead, seeing nothing.

‘Where are you?’ he croaked. 

She did not answer. Desperate to see her, he padded quickly through the clearing and out the other side, rejoining the narrow footpath as it snaked its way towards a sharp cliff. 

‘Albert!’ Elenor cried. ‘Please! Hurry!’

He followed the sound of her voice, but with every step, she seemed to evade him. Growing frustrated, he began to run, delirious with exhaustion and wracked with confusion. Why was Elenor toying with him like this? Where was she?

Or…

Was this some fiendish trick of the woods? The thought had hardly formed in his head when he stumbled, pitched forwards and fell. 

Down, down, down, screaming as he tumbled into the darkness. He hit the ground with a sickening crack. Something thick and warm began to pool at his head, and as he stared up at the night sky, a figure materialised. Not his beautiful wife, but a small girl with a disfigured face, scaly green skin and long, greasy hair.

Albert’s icy heart shattered. Although he had never seen one before, somehow, he knew exactly what this creature was: A Wixxer; the ancient, goblin-like trickster of Ethandril.

The Wixxer smiled down at him, her evil yellow eyes glinting with excitement. 

‘You silly man,’ she hissed. ‘You’re mine, now.’

And just before Albert took his final breath, he thought a thought sadder than any thought he’d thought before. 

At least I will not die alone. 

***

 A fortnight after poor Albert met his untimely death at the hands of a Wixxer, another foolish man decided to enter Ethandril at night. 

Percy was nothing like Albert. He was young, proud and free of the burdens that come with a hard life. Yet there was one way in which Albert and Percy were similar: both preferred to be alone whenever they got the chance. And so tonight, when Percy’s father sent him into the woods to collect tinder for the kitchen stove, he did so gladly. Percy had spent the entire day at the family shop, attending to the slew of customers that traveled from far and wide for his mother’s famously moist cakes and fine breads. He was weary, and a short walk in the woods (alone) would give him time to unwind before the start of another, long, exhausting day.

But that was not to be.

‘Oh, hello!’ A slim boy, perhaps several years younger than Percy, appeared suddenly from between the trees ahead. He was dressed in rags, with scruffy hair and dirty fingernails. ‘What you doing out here in the middle of the night?’ the boy asked. 

‘Collecting firewood,’ Percy said irritably. He’d never seen this boy before, and didn’t much like the way he spoke, or dressed. They clearly had nothing in common. 

The younger boy beamed. ‘Firewood? Me too! Let’s walk together, then? These woods aren’t safe at night, you know.’

Too tired to worry about manners, Percy ignored him and walked on. The last thing he wanted was to be pestered by a small boy with dirty fingernails. 

Sometime later, Percy reached a clearing in the heart of the woods. The clearing was flooded with beautiful, silvery moonlight, but Percy couldn’t help notice that the trees surrounding it were old and gnarled, as though weathered by some macabre, invisible force. He’d never seen this particular clearing before, and wondered how he’d ended up here. 

A prickle of worry crawled up his spine. What if he was lost? Everyone knew that if you got lost in Ethandril, you were never seen again.

But then Percy heard something that put his mind at ease: A familiar voice. 

‘Percy?’ the voice said. ‘Is that you?’

‘Dad?’ he called with relief. ‘Where are you?’

‘Just over here,’ his father replied, though Percy couldn’t see him yet. ‘Come on, I’ve found some good wood.’

Percy followed the sound of his father’s voice, through the clearing and down a narrow path that snaked towards a sharp cliff. 

‘Dad?’ he said, casting around in confusion. ‘I don’t see you.’

‘Just here, son. Another step or two and you’ll see me.’

Despite the cool sweat gathering on his palms, Percy clambered to the very edge of the cliff. He stared down at the chasm below, certain he saw a shape lying there. A human shape…

‘Hurry!’ his father snapped. ‘What are you so afraid of? It’s just a little hill.’

Percy flushed. His father was right. Just a little hill. He took another step, and teetered over the edge. It was at this moment that something seized his wrist and yanked him backwards.

‘What you doing!’ screamed the young boy Percy had met earlier. 

Percy stumbled away from the cliff, dazed and cold with terror. ‘My father,’ he muttered. ‘I think he’s down there.’

‘That ain’t your father,’ the younger boy said. ‘It’s a trick, see. A Wixxer’s trick.’

Percy had not heard of a Wixxer, and so frowned. 

‘She-goblins,’ the boy explained in a quick whisper. ‘Just pretending to be your father. Likes to do that to sort of thing when they find a traveler on their own. Warned you, though, didn’t I? Not safe out here alone.’

‘But…how—’

‘Magic,’ the boy said grimly. ‘Dark magic.’ 

Percy shuddered, then turned to face the boy in rags. He looked even worse than before (those fingernails were really something!). Yet Percy couldn’t help smile. ‘You saved my life,’ he said. 

The boy shrugged, then placed a calloused hand on Percy’s back. ‘Come on. We should get out of here before the Wixxer tries again.’

Percy nodded gratefully, and followed his new friend back through the trees, rags, dirty finger nails and all.