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Before—Ben Johnston
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Ben unzipped the fluorescent-orange fanny pack at his side, and drew out his handy pink bottle of sunscreen. The day was an excellent day to take photographs. He’d been trampling through the wooded area of Oak Street for the last hour, snapping photo after photo of the lush green foliage. The day had been mostly cloudy, but now that the sun was coming out, he needed to re-apply.
He fired open the spray and let the cool beads hit against his exposed arms and legs—it was refreshing, to say the least. Then he fished out a stick of sunscreen from his pack and spread it generously across his face. Sometimes the sunscreen felt more like an addiction than a necessity, but with having such pale skin due to his albinism, he needed to keep the rays out.
Ben placed the items back in his fanny pack and zipped it up with one quick pull. He raked a hand through his white hair, shaking it out before lifting his camera up to his face. A twisted old tree with gnarled limbs and a crooked trunk, not ten feet away, practically shouted his name.
“Hello.”
Startled by a female voice and the snap of the camera, Ben stumbled back and caught himself against the base of another tree. Thankfully, Oak Street was lined with them.
Ben felt the light touch of a hand on his arm and glanced up, meeting two brown irises.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” A young woman with bright red hair smiled. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
His heart thumped wildly. “I’m fine.” He pushed himself up and checked the lens of his camera for any scratches. Truthfully, he wanted to avoid her eyes, which were focused on him. He wasn’t good at talking to women.
“So, what are you taking pictures of?” Her voice was soft with an English accent.
Ben finally looked up, positive the blush on his face was as red as a ripe tomato. He scanned her up and down. The swells of her perfect breasts didn’t escape him, as her chest was the first thing he couldn’t tear his eyes away from. He swallowed his nervousness and hurried to meet her face before she thought he was a pervert. But he couldn’t stop the question from slipping into his head of what her breasts would feel like in his hands.
“Um, just some trees,” he stuttered. Finally calming himself, he then noticed her unusual outfit. “What are you wearing?”
Her blue dress was completely out of place in the middle of Oak Street. It was old-fashioned, adorned with vintage buttons, a stiff bodice, and a full skirt that flared at her hips. Her hands, which she clasped below her chest, were covered with olive gloves. He found the whole scenario to be more than weird.
“Oh, this?” She chuckled and brushed her gloved hands over the skirt of her dress. “It’s part of my work but it’s been slow, so I decided to take a break and go for a walk. Did you think I would actually be wandering around town wearing this?” A smile lingered on her face.
Ben smiled in return and ran a hand along his jaw. “That must have been a long walk then.”
“Not at all. I work at the end of the street.”
He wrinkled his nose. “There isn’t anything on this street besides trees.” Maybe she’d meant she was practicing for a play somewhere close by. Theater kids would do that all the time at the park on the other side of town.
Still smiling, the woman twirled a wild curl with one of her gloved fingers. “You didn’t know? There’s a museum at the end of this street.”
A museum? There wasn’t any museum out here. She either had to be mistaken or she was screwing with him.
Sensing the question hanging between them, the young woman giggled playfully. “You don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say that.” Ben tugged at the collar of his shirt nervously.
One of her auburn eyebrows rose. “Have you been to the end of the street today?”
He shook his head. “No, but I was at the end of the street last week and there wasn’t anything there.”
“Why don’t you follow me, then?” The redhead turned on her heels and swayed her hips as she sauntered away.
Ben didn’t want to stop talking to the pretty woman. Without hesitation, he jogged after her. “What’s your name?”
The edge of her lips quirked up, and she wrapped her hand around his bicep. “I’m Fannie.”
“Fannie,” he said softly. He liked the taste of her name on his tongue—he liked the touch of her hand on his bare arm even more.
“And yours?”
“My what?” he asked, startled.
“Your name, silly.” She gently swatted at his arm, causing heat to creep into his cheeks once again.
“Ben. My name is Ben Johnston.”
They trekked slowly through the trees, a mysterious redhead on his arm—he couldn’t complain. As they walked, he snuck quick side-glances at her, noticing the light sprinkle of freckles running across her nose to her chest. He hadn’t seen them from afar.
Up close, she was more than pretty—she was beautiful.
In his twenty-three years, Ben only had a handful of short-term girlfriends. It had been more than two years since his last, and he was ashamed of himself. It was hard to have a meaningful conversation with another person when one was a hermit. Fannie seemed nice though, unaffected by his condition, and genuinely sweet. He wouldn’t mind hanging out with her sometime.
“And here it is,” Fannie said.
Ben’s pale blue gaze flicked from Fannie to the end of the street, and he gasped, his eyes bulging. A building much older than anything built in town stood tall before them. It was magnificent. There was an angle in there somewhere just waiting to be captured—he could feel it buzzing in his fingertips like anxious bees.
“You weren’t kidding, were you?” He turned his head from Fannie to the large stone structure, then back at her. “This ... this wasn’t here before.”
She looked at him as if he was crazy. “It’s been here a while. You must not have been paying attention.”
He wiggled out of her grasp. “Look, uh, Fannie. I come out here every week. Believe me, I would’ve noticed this place. How could anyone not notice it?”
“The trees were cut the other day.” She pointed at the tree stumps surrounding the building.
Ben narrowed his eyes at the trees like they were hiding all kinds of secrets. “Something isn’t right here, Fannie. I think I better go and talk to someone.” Who was he going to ask? His non-existent friends and family? He could ask one of his neighbors, though.
“Wait.” Fannie grabbed his arm again, tighter than before—a little possessive even. “Come with me inside, and I can show you around. It’s only me today.”
Ben studied the curved arch of the doorway, skeptical of the mystery as though it still wasn’t real. He couldn’t believe his eyes. His gut told him to go back the way he’d come, back to the safety of the forest where he could continue taking pictures. But that pleading expression on Fannie’s face pulled at him more.
“Okay, but only for a bit.” He could talk to his neighbor once he got back home.
“Perfect.” She tapped the tip of his nose with her index finger.
Once they crossed the archway, Fannie reached for the golden knob and opened the door. Ben closed it behind him and followed her down several hallways, paying more attention to the sway of her hips—how they dipped from side to side—than any of the surroundings. A heat spread through him, shooting straight to his length. Ben adjusted his pants, but he could still feel himself straining. He started counting backward before he embarrassed himself. If she turned around and peered down at him, he would bolt.
Just as he relaxed himself, Fannie came to a complete stop at the end of the hallway.
“Where are we?” he asked, moving past her into a circular room.
“The belly of the beast.”
He took a hard swallow—the room they were in was oddly arranged with various glass statues. There were no windows and no doors in the new territory he was about to enter. The gruesome and unique aspects of the glass statues had Ben reaching for his camera to capture the moment, but Fannie entwined her fingers with his and pulled him to the middle of the room.
His gaze fixed on a display and he wandered away from Fannie, taken by a glass scene of Peter Pan. This was one of his favorite stories, and to see it so twisted and different made his fingertips twitch with the need to snap a picture. Peter hovered in the air above Wendy, a knife hidden behind his back. Wendy’s hand was in his other, following wherever the Lost Boy might lead. Her expression was taken, wondrous even, because a boy could fly.
As Ben raised his camera, he somehow knew Wendy wouldn’t be able to escape the danger.
“This way, Ben,” Fannie drawled. He turned around and walked to where she was standing, now in front of a Jack the Ripper display. “This one is my favorite.”
“I can’t believe they never solved that case.” Then again, the technology wasn’t as sophisticated during that time. Ben took another photo, wishing he’d brought his digital camera instead of his vintage film one.
“She was incredibly smart.”
He puckered his lips. “It wasn’t a woman.” It wasn’t that he believed a woman couldn’t commit the crimes, but rather what the evidence had said. The letters were signed by Jack.
Fannie smiled, a bit too wide, and something about it didn’t feel right, snapping him out from the distraction of this place and her. Ben always found himself caught up in taking pictures versus what he should be doing. He needed to leave.
“I gotta go.” He stepped to the side, placing him in front of a display that held a large bridge, naked trolls underneath, and a broken goat on top. Three Billy Goats Gruff.
“Sure.” Fannie cooed, her grin growing wider.
Before he could respond, a violent wind knocked Ben to the floor. His face smacked into the marble, sharp pain radiating through his teeth. Warm blood filled his mouth as he tried to push himself up. The invisible force picked up again, pulling him and his camera toward the display.
High-pitched laughter echoed in the room that could’ve only come from Fannie.
Ben closed his eyes. The feeling of falling was harshly interrupted by the impact of his body against solid ground. He opened his eyes, blinded by the bright rays of an orange sun hanging overhead. Was he back in the forest? He had to be dreaming.
Fannie was nowhere in sight.
Slowly, he pushed himself up to all fours, still dizzy from whatever had happened. He was right about one thing—he was beside a forest with the beginning of a path that led to a hulking bridge. Ben brought himself to his feet, eyes on the bridge as he reached absently for the fanny pack at his waist.
Only, it was gone.
In its place was a sword. His whole body trembled as he spun in a circle, trying to spot anything familiar. Nothing.
Panicked, he shot forward and sprinted for the bridge, hopeful he would just wake up if he kept running. Halfway across the stone structure, he tripped over a small rock, losing his footing again. For the third time that day, he was knocked to the ground. He’d never fallen so much in his life.
This is madness, he thought. He started to push himself up and came to an abrupt stop when a naked woman with olive skin and thick black hair lifted herself from over the side of the bridge. His jaw fell open as she walked toward him with rosy peaked nipples and perfect dark curls between her thighs.
“You are mine,” the enchanting woman growled. She was extraordinary, radiant, and sparkling like sunshine. He couldn’t rip his gaze away from her, even if he wanted to.
Ben yearned to kiss down her throat, feel her nipples in between his teeth, press his digits into the heat between her legs. He wished he had his camera to keep a piece of her. The actual sunshine from the sky blinded him for a split second, and once it cleared, he was no longer face to face with a gorgeous woman. Instead, he met the eyes of a malformed beast with saggy skin and rotten teeth who stood as tall as a giant. What was in front of him, he’d only seen in books or movies. There was no way it was real—but then again, the sword on his hip was tangible.
Troll.
Heart pounding out of his chest with fright, he spider-crawled backward to avoid the beast. Ben stopped as something washed over him, as if a spell was drawing him to the creature, its allure. He closed his eyes tightly to push the pull toward the troll away as he stood to take off running. The scent of decay invaded his nose and his lids flew open. He shouted as the beast’s monstrous hand swiped at him, plucking him up from the ground. Ben’s ribs bit into his lungs, cutting off the oxygen that he was desperate to drink in. He wanted to rub at his throat for air, but his arms were trapped in the troll’s deadly grip.
As the sun scorched his pale flesh, all he felt was the burning and lack of air supply, until there was nothing left for him except blackness.
Billy rubbed at his head, feeling a little dazed about where he had just been. He stared at the foliage around him and out toward the bridge farther ahead. It was about time he took an adventure, so he began his journey to discover what lay on the other side of the bridge.
