I wandered across the meadow looking for Ethan. The grassland was uneven as I trod up the hillock to get a better view of the surroundings. The stretch of greenery spread for miles, with the layout spacious as the variegated greens contrasted with the pea-coloured grass.

Using my hand as a visor, I saw a row of cottages down on the far right-hand side past a series of saplings.

I suppose it's worth checking out. Ethan couldn't have gone far.

Once I got my breathing under control, I steadied myself before making my way down the hill and jogged at a reasonable pace. The cloudless sky allowed the warmth of the sun to hit my pasty skin. 

Who knows, if I wasn't wearing a baggy jumper, I could work on my non-existent tan.

My head throbbed with confusion from what he had said earlier about being stuck in another world. I had read about the basic dimensions in physics, and the fourth one represented time.

How can one person be transported from one place to another?

The smell of his minty mouthwash lingered in the air as I became paranoid he was watching from afar. His musky scent stuck on my clothes like a rash, reminding me that I wasn't going mad.

As I slowed down once again, regaining control over my breathing, a rustle from a nearby shrub caught my attention. I stopped dead in my tracks to investigate, although I knew I should carry on walking. Stupidity was the main thing that got people killed in horror films.

James Wan would be having a field day.

I tried to tread carefully along the gravel, inching closer to the rustling in the bush. A frightened crow flew out from the undergrowth with a worm dangling from its beak. I jolted from the sudden movement as its cawing coos grated against my eardrum.

From the jarring noise of the crow and the uneasiness of being stranded, my stomach churned. I gripped onto my knees, hunching over as I braced myself. 

"Quick! Come in. Before it gets dark," a sweet, honeyed voice called from afar.

Every instinct told me to run, but my feet wouldn't move. My stomach lurched, spewing my guts over the gravelled driveway. The bile burned my oesophagus with the awful aftertaste looming on my tongue.

"I'm sorry for—" I stumbled over the words, wiping the back of my mouth on my sleeve.

When I looked up, a petite woman stood in the doorway to her thatched cottage. Two terracotta plant pots stood on either side of the front step as the ageratum flowers blossomed in the heat. The violet hue contrasted against the mousy brown coloured bricks.

Thank God my puke missed her red Volkswagen Beetle sitting in the drive.

"Are you okay?" the woman cried as she hurried to my aid. A gust of wind blew her jet-black hair off her shoulders. "You shouldn't be out here by yourself. It will soon be dark."

The sweat from the neckline trickled down my back, stopping at the waistband of my jeans. I glanced around, oblivious to the stranger standing beside me.

A tangerine glow lit up the sky as the sun began setting below the horizon. "But the sun was at noon," I said, pointing to the cloudless sky. A faint outline of the moon stood where the sun should be.

I looked at the woman in bewilderment. Time had passed, and I never noticed. It was only a short while ago when I marched up the hillock, shielding my eyes from the sharp rays of the sun.

She proceeded, putting her hand on my back for comfort and reassurance, but her touch sparked uncertainty. Dad told me to stay away from strangers, especially those that do small talk. He was wary of those that got too close, seeking for personal belongings to sell online.

As if the woman read my mind, she said, "I know how this looks, but I promise I won't hurt you." She stepped back, lowering her arms by her sides. "You know my son, Ethan?"

"I—uh—" I took a moment to contemplate her intentions. Ethan was an acquaintance, and he didn't have answers, at least not a detailed explanation as to why I was here.

The more sensible part of my brain told me that this could be a trap to lure me into her home. She knew that I had met her son and probably knew my name. For all I know, she could have watched me walk across the meadow, hatching a plan in a second. Weighing the options in my hands, figuratively speaking, I was curious to know if his mother had the answers I was looking for.

She positioned her locks to one side, twisting large strands into a loose plait. "You are much paler than I imagined," she added as I attentively stepped across the threshold. "I guess you take more after your mother, Isobel."

Gee, thanks, that's cancer for you.

Swallowing the hard lump in my throat, I wondered if it was too late to turn back. "I'm assuming Ethan has talked about me."

"Of sorts, yes. I can't get much out of Ethan these days. That's teenage boys for you." She beamed, lighting up her almond-shaped eyes. Her smile created creases along the edge of her mouth. "He likes to keep to himself."

She led me into a spacious room on the left, which I presumed was the living room because of its homely vibe. A scatterback, two-seater settee in a chic grey with stumpy, rubberwood legs sat in the centre of the room. "Would you like a drink? We have orange juice or freshly squeezed lemonade," the woman said, gesturing towards the plump cushions at either end.

The cushions played havoc with my eyes because the Oxford blue contrasted with the white zig-zag patterns against the rest of the settee. 

"Just water, please," I requested as I took a seat, admiring the beauty of her home.

A 32-inch TV sat on a dark wooden unit opposite the settee. A tall shelving case stood beside the TV unit, photo frames dotted from one width to the other. I wanted to look at them to get a better understanding of Ethan and his family.

The vanilla-coloured walls remained bare, except for a quote that hung over the fireplace. 'Live life to the fullest.'

Well, that's cliché.

The traditional fireplace with the pistachio-coloured mantlepiece stole centre stage. "We hardly use the fireplace because of the warm climate here. It's a shame because the fire has its uses." The woman's voice snapped me away from my thoughts, handing me the glass of water. She gazed at my choice of clothing. "You will get used to the weather." An Afghan shawl with an unusual tribal pattern embroidered at each end covered her petite frame. "It gets chilly at night, though."

I nodded and took tiny sips of the cold liquid, soothing my parched throat. "You have a lovely home, Mrs..."

"Fiona. Just call me Fiona." She held her mug with both hands as the steam drifted into the air. "I can't believe I finally get to meet you. We rarely get visitors in Shadowbrook," she said, blowing on the contents to cool it down quicker.

She's making it sound like I'm royalty or something.

"Well, while I'm here, I wanted to ask you about the black silhouettes and the mist I saw in the meadow." My fingernails tapped involuntarily against the glass, creating a high-pinging sound.

"The mist isn't anything to fear. The silhouettes, on the other hand, are dangerous. You should stay far away from them." Her tone had changed from mellifluous sounding to solemn in a split second. Even her cheerful smile and the twinkle in her hazel irises had faded. Fiona kept her gaze on her hot beverage, avoiding eye contact. The silence grew thick and became awkward.

Residents from all communities parked their cars in the narrow, overcrowded streets of Northampton. Red handmade lanterns lined the side roads ready for Chinese New Year, and bunting displayed in windows for Eid reflected the diverse community of my hometown. I haven't seen anybody roam the streets of Shadowbrook so far, apart from Ethan.

"I'm guessing there is no nightlife here?" I scoffed, inspecting the water for abnormalities.

I'm starting to regret stepping foot into Fiona's home,  breaking the 'Fourteen rules on how to survive through a horror movie.' Number three is to never be on your own, and I blew that one. Not to mention my encounter with 'Stranger danger' at number nine.

"Actually, I think I'd better go," I said in a hurry and plonked the glass on the dark brown coffee table. A short ping vibrated on the glass top from my heavy-handedness.

"Wait." Fiona's thick shawl fell loosely around her shoulders as she stood up, exposing her duck-egg tank top. "Please, sit."

I reluctantly sat back down and picked up the glass, hoping I hadn't scratched the glass surface.

Fiona sat opposite in the sandy-coloured armchair, leaning forward as the ends of her jet-black hair narrowly missed her mug. "Shadowbrook has nightlife, but not as you know it."

Wow. Cryptic.

Fiona rested her mug on the beige carpet and rubbed her palms down her black leggings. My anxiety soared sky-high at the possibility of spilling coffee on the light carpet. "Do you believe in vampires, Erika?" She scratched her eyelid, trying hard not to smudge her winged eyeliner.

"Not really. What has that got to do with anything?" I inspected the water for white granules in case she slipped some concoction into my drink.

Fiona glided the tips of her fingers down her warm ivory cheeks. "The myths surrounding vampires do exist. Shadowbrook is tainted with supernatural entities. Vampires being one of them." 

"As in, Count Dracula?" I suppressed a laugh, tucking a strand of hair that fell across my face behind my ear.

"Yes. It won't be long until you see one for yourself," Fiona replied and raked her hand through her hair, detangling her thick mane.

I'll see about that.

A/N

Word Count: 1,690

What are your thoughts about Fiona? Is she similar to her son, Ethan?

Do you believe in vampires & the supernatural?

Have a fangtastic day!

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