The Wandmaker's Granddaughter

Prologue: The Wandmaker's Granddaughter

As night fell on the little Irish village, that didn't really have a proper name, nothing much could be found out of the ordinary.  The street lamps burst to life as dinners were being set and the last cars were pulling in from those just getting off from work.  The only thing that was strange in this little town was the metallic taste that hung in the air.  The growing hum of electricity slowly building into clouds in the distance.  Mrs. Groudich, the village's eldest member, complained about her joints to her grandchildren as they ate their evening meal.

A burst of light awoke the little sleepy town with false daylight for a split second before, just as suddenly, returning to black.  To the average viewer it would have appeared to be the first strike of lightning for the night.  The families who lived furthest from the center of town, however, knew it was a far more sinister flash.  Upon more careful inspection, it could be noted, that as the light struck the scene, a figure appeared.

The figure, dressed in black, almost blending into the night, began to move towards the edge of town as soon as the light cleared.  A cape fluttered behind the silhouette as it approached the final house on the edge of the village.  Unlike the other houses along the street, which were all alight with noise and activity preparing to feast for the evening, this last house sat dark and bare.  Not a soul seemed to be about in this home, but the hooded being continued towards it with such intention, that they could not be deterred by anything this Earth had to offer. 

The first hints of thunder rolled in from the distance as the figure finally reached the garden gates leading to the dark little house with the teal doors.  Reaching out from the black hooded cloak a ghostly white hand hovered above the garden gate which opened silently, by a power not known to the average human.  The figure silently approached the house and appeared to be floating all the way to the front door.  With another wave of the hand the door opened, and they entered soundlessly into the house.  As another rumble of thunder rolled over the small Irish town, the last glimpse of the figure disappeared behind the closing door.

The wind picked up and trees began to sway as the storm's reach finally found the town.  In the storm, nothing could be heard but the wind and rain.

When the police questioned the town the next day they would say that the couple who lived their seemed completely normal. Little Lissia from across the road would tell them she saw flashes of red and green light coming from inside the house during the storm. It must be observed, however, that little Lissia was all of five years old, and it is the curse of five-year olds to tell the truth but never be believed. What she saw, in fact, was the truth. During the storm Mr. Alfred Moore, aged 32, and Mrs. Alea Moore, aged 31, died under suspicious circumstances. The police ruled it a murder suicide for there was no sign of forced entry or anyone else having been in the home that fate full night.

It was concluded throughout the town, however, that Amelia Moore, the young daughter of the deceased, was very fortunate to have been away with her grandfather at the time of the unfortunate occurrence. She went to live with her grandfather in England after such a horrific incident, so early in her young life, and to the people in the sleepy Irish town, it would come to be the end of her story.

However, where this may be the town's end to Amelia's story, it is only the beginning of ours.