Eldercote

At the furthest end of the longest street in Eldercote, there was a house.

The house was the type that nobody goes near, all sorts of local myths, stories of ghosts and hauntings. Strangely enough, it didn't look the part. Short and squat, the cream coloured paintwork was crumbling, in some places so much so that the brickwork underneath was visible. A rotting wooden door stood beneath what once was most likely a porch- the only evidence remaining being a dozen or so lumps of stone on the gravel pathway. Windows were curtained over by swathes of hanging ivy: of the poison type or not, no one was ever willing to get close enough to find out. Brambles and creepers had twined their way through the rusted iron metal work of the fence and gate. The roof was tiled in red stone, the colour only just visible beneath the layers of moss that blanketed it, covering everything, from the chimney to the skylight. It looked your typical neighbourhood cottage, albeit a little worn.

All the stories told about this house followed a similar line: a girl who had lived there that was a beautiful dancer, and loved to dance the night away in the meadow, under the stars. Eventually, she left the village, rarely coming back to the house that she owned and had lived in all her life, became the principal ballerina for a well known company and toured the world for years and years. The final ballet she danced in was one that the company did not like to do, since it had brought them bad luck in previous years- yet requests for it had been so high, they had no choice. Parts were given, rehearsals took place, costumes were made and the public informed. The company were to dance Swan Lake, for the first time in fifteen years.

As the principal dancer, this girl from Eldercote was to be Odette.

After the opening night, ticket sales only went up. Critics stated that it was 'the most powerful depiction' of Swan Lake they had ever seen. Piles of pointe shoes built up inside dressing rooms, supplies of makeup steadily grew less and the closing night grew near. Prince Siegfried flew through his leaps, Odile turned with perfection, and the portrayal of Odette's sorrow and despair left the audience with lumps in their throats and tears in their eyes. It took the world by storm.

Then, as the curtain fell on the final act of the final show, Odette did not feel triumphant, or proud - instead rather restless, as though she had not just danced her heart out for three hours, but was waiting to go on for her first entrance. Alleviating the uncomfortable feeling in her legs caused by standing still, she stepped into a chaînée. Finding release in the small movement, she did another. And another. And another, launching into a series of fast-moving posé turns afterwards.

The rest of the company had no idea what happened next. The official story is that she had a fatal accident while dancing; the story most often told is that she just couldn't stop dancing, so she danced until she died.

Thus, the house at the furthest end of the longest street in Eldercote remained deserted for decades.

It was a cloudy day in mid July when a particular feeling of boredom had settled over the Treham siblings and their best friend Chloe, the sort of boredom where, if something is not done about it immediately, the rest of the day will be thrice as bad as the beginning of it was. Owing to this, fifteen minutes later saw the three of them striding down the longest street in Eldercote, determination in their hearts and courage in their heads, bags swinging on their backs- bags packed with torches, Lucy's penknife, three bottles of water, and most importantly, lunch. The Treham kids (and Chloe) were going to be the first to go inside Des Petits Cygnes for eight years.

The rusty iron gate creaked as they pushed it tenderly open, and Jon was the first to step through onto the path beyond. Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they made their way down the path towards the porch, but apart from that, they could hear no noise. No birds, no insects. Even the cows on the meadow were silent for once, and all the cars driving over the canal bridge must have been too far away to hear. The silence was eerie, and Alfie (the youngest of the triplets by 6 minutes) hurried to catch up with Chloe in front, lest he be left in the garden by himself.