• You know those surveys where your class votes what’s most likely to happen to you? Well I was voted most likely to take off with a stranger. It wasn’t until years later, when I was walking home at the age of 16, that I realised what they meant. My classmates weren’t implying that I was stupid enough to fall for the ‘I’ve got some candy’ trick. See I’ve always been a daydreamer, living in my own faerie-tale land. Ever since I was little, I was waiting for my prince to show up and take me to a magical land. I had my mother read the same happy-ever-after stories at night, and insisted that my window stay open at night so he could come and get me. Although I had never gotten anything but moths and bugs, I still kept my faith. That’s what my friends were waiting for; my departure with my knight in shining armour.
    My name is Ally, and the day I realised this was Friday the 16th of October, 2009.

    I recalled the harsh dream I had experienced last night and shuddered, the images still vivid in my mind. To say I was scared of birds was wrong; I hated them. I didn’t shy away from pigeons like other people did when birds were their phobia. I merely scowled at them, wishing death to them. I dragged my shoes along the ground and I trailed home from my last day of college. I’d never really dreamt a lot before, usually waking up in the mornings after a blank and dreamless night. Why had such a vicious nightmare crept up on me at this moment? I’d always believed dreams had special meanings behind them. Out of habit I readjusted my bag on my shoulder, and turned into the narrow alleyway just a few streets away from home. I was so lost in thought, it took me a moment to notice the older man leaning casually against the brick wall. There was something unusual about him. My heart sped up; I hunched my shoulders and walked faster. The man looked like he was in his early thirties, but he seemed worn, as if he had seen too much in his lifetime to be fair. There was something oddly familiar about him. Had I met him before? Perhaps we had crossed paths somewhere in my small town. After all, it was perfectly reasonable that he could also be living in Brenton. I studied him as I approached. I didn’t recognise him from anywhere. I told myself to relax. It was perfectly normal to loiter in alleyways in broad daylight without seeming suspicious. My over-active imagination was kicking in, exaggerating his dangerous features. Like the way his hand twitched, like he was ready to grab me. Like how his forehead creased into a deep frown, as if he were concentrating on my approach. He seemed so laid back and yet so aware. His head was tilted back against the rough brick, and tufts of his shoulder length brown hair was strewn carefully around his neck. He was scruffy, but clean. Everything about him – from his hair to his skin to his clothes and shoes – was rugged, and there was something about this that I liked. Something about him drew me in, like a predator attracting its prey. I quietened my steps, realising as I got close that his eyes were shut and he stood, still tilting to allow the sunlight to bathe lightly on his face. I tiptoed past him as quietly as I could, almost frightened. As I passed him, I released my breath in relief, until words aimed at me froze me in my tracks.

    “You’re late, Ally,” spoke a gruff voice from behind me. Pools of lights splashed across my hair as I whirled around to face the voice’s owner. The guy stayed perfectly still, his eyes still closed. Had I deceived myself?
    “Excuse me?”
    Upon hearing my voice, the stranger looked directly at me.
    “Ally Frank?” He spoke without moving, but his eyes were fixed on me. His eyes pierced through me. In my mind I begged him to look away, if only for a second. I turned my body fully to face him, ready to defend myself, and considered my answer carefully.
    “Yes... who wants to know?”
    The man stood straight, and suddenly seemed threateningly tall. Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieved a curled piece of parchment paper. He unrolled it to reveal a list of names, scrawled in untidy black ink. As he did this, I ran through basic defence from physical health class. Which way was I supposed to twist his arm if he came at me?
    “According to this, the Headmaster of Cystella Castle School is expecting you to be present and enrolled by tomorrow evening.”
    “I don’t know that Headmaster, or that school. Besides, I’m too old for school now.” I smirked slightly at my release from college. All of those years, and finally I was free.
    “Not too old for this school. And I beg your pardon, Miss Frank,” the man said formally, stretching out a slender hand. I flinched back from it instinctively. “I am Sir Perry Oaken, Headmaster of Cystella Castle School. You’ll become familiar with it.” He smiled a crooked smile which relaxed me slightly. I touched my hand to his as I shook it, noticing his rough looking hands were surprisingly warm and comforting to touch.
    “I don’t know if anyone has told you Oaken,” I replied, “But most teenage girls don’t take off with older strangers.”
    “Oh, but you will. Observe.”