Witch Hollow (Books 1 and 2): Witch Hollow

By I.D. Blind

A short and cute fairytale for kids about a small Irish town, filled with magic and Robert Burns' poetry.
 

That spell was wrong!

When three young witches, Electra, Cassandra, and Medea, decided to practice witchcraft, they had no idea what consequences the wrong spell could have. Ghosts that scare the townspeople, and an old witch with an eerie wail are their minor problems.

Meanwhile, sixteen-year-old Eric O'Brian is sent to live in a small town called Hollow, which seems to be stuck in the 1800s. Soon he finds out that the beautiful town full of colorful ravines, green highlands, and dense forests, is not an ordinary one: flowers that whisper, a shop that steals the time, and a hanged man coming to life on the Halloween night lead him to believe that Hollow is a mystical place inhabited by witches.

After meeting the mysterious girls and befriending them, Eric becomes a part of the world with time traveling, medieval bards, flying brooms, and paintings with parallel reality.

Then a murder happens in Hollow...

• Language: English
• Publisher: I.D. Blind
• Release date: Dec 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501468742

Book preview

Contents

BOOK 1

1. Something Wicked This Way Comes

2. Eric

3. Hollow

4. Enchanted Garden

5. Witches on the Meadow

6. Library

7. Trouble

8. The Dinner

9. The Chase

10. Music Lesson

11. The Old Curiosity Shop

12. A Cure for the Neighbor

13. Halloween

14. The Wrong Spell

15. Bags of Herbs

16. The Maiden and the Minstrel Knight

17. Magic Ink

18. The Bard’s Song

19. Blue Castle

20. Under the Ice

21. Banshee

22. Old Friends

23. At the Cemetery

24. The Fight

25. Otherland

26. Banishment

27. Sad Revelation

28. And the Story Ends

Epilogue

BOOK 2

1. Letters

2. Back to Hollow

3. Concert

4. On the Field

5. Diary

5. Diary

6. Birthday

7. Boat Ride

8. Lash and Blood

9. Admonition

10. Arrest

11. Expectations

12. Art School

13. Unexpected Revelation

14. Chocolate Fair

15. Tournament

16. The Creature

17. Straight through the Mirror

18. McAlisters

19. The Silver Key

20. Treehouse Memories

21. A Flight on a Broom

22. Tarot Session

23. Planning the Future

24. The Lonely Widower

25. The Woman by the Fountain

26. The Whistler

27. Travelers in Time

28. The Last Candle

29. The Fountain Riddle

30. The Cave

31. Silhouettes in Fire

32. Funerals

Epilogue

About the Author

Helpful Links

Also by I.D. Blind

Excerpt from Book 3

References

That spell was wrong!

When three young witches, Electra, Cassandra, and Medea, decided to practice witchcraft, they had no idea what consequences the wrong spell could have. Ghosts that scare the townspeople, and an old witch with an eerie wail are their minor problems.

Meanwhile, sixteen-year-old Eric O’Brian is sent to live in a small town called Hollow, which seems to be stuck in the 1800s. Soon he finds out that the beautiful town full of colorful ravines, green highlands, and dense forests, is not an ordinary one: flowers that whisper, a shop that steals the time, and a hanged man coming to life on the Halloween night lead him to believe that Hollow is a mystical place inhabited by witches.

After meeting the mysterious girls and befriending them, Eric becomes a part of the world with time traveling, medieval bards, flying brooms, and paintings with parallel reality.

Then a murder happens in Hollow...

1. Something Wicked This Way Comes

The town of Hollow was waking up from sleep. At dawn, Medea was passing through the dense bushes and leafy trees of the forest. Her gaze slid upon the ground, looking for the necessary plants. Medea had such keen eyesight and extensive knowledge of magical plants that no petal could escape from her.

The Sight was a gift, one of those she received with birth. The knowledge, however, was the result of long hours spent at the library and at Aunt Andromeda's pantry full of recipes of potions, lists of plants and their drawings, and diaries of witches, bound in old, tattered covers. Dried plants, berries, and herbs were hanging in the dark corners of the pantry; candles, crystals, and mirrors were neatly placed on the shelves, along with jars, bottles, and flasks with liquids of secret origins. The secrets of the pantry were alluring, but entering the place was strictly forbidden. Needless to say that the ban was the force that pushed Medea and her elder sisters to commit an unacceptable act, namely, sneak into the pantry, and with trembling hearts thumb through the recipes, touch the cauldrons and ladles, look inside the flasks, and prepare potions.

Medea was the one who visited the pantry the most. With such keen eyesight, the dim candlelight was enough for her. She read recipe after recipe, and later shared them with her sisters.

And Cassandra was the rarest visitor of the pantry. She always warned about bad signs, had a constant foreboding, and preferred sitting on a swing in the garden, listening to the singing of the birds while Medea slaked her appetite for knowledge.

They communicate so beautifully, Cassandra would say about the mockingbirds and robins. You can learn so much from them by only listening to those feathery beauties, and it’s totally unnecessary to climb into Aunt's pantry. I can sense trouble.

A week ago Cassandra warned about danger, but no one listened to her. Medea was too brave and reckless to be scared by another of Cassandra's omens. The last few months the sisters had been sneaking into the pantry and learning to make potions. They were doing it late at night, when the family was asleep. Until now, everything they had prepared never worked: the withered flowers didn’t bloom; Medea's face didn’t alter, although they made a Disguise Potion; and Cassandra didn’t become invisible after drinking an Invisibility Mixture. But the girls didn’t give up, and continued their studies. This time Medea suggested preparing a Levitation Potion, for as she said, every respectable witch was able to fly, and the witches of Hollow shouldn’t stay behind.

Hollow was an old town divided in two sides by the mighty river Sirtalion, and the two sides were at odds with each other. Once upon a time, a feud broke out between the town's residents. Although those days were now behind, people on the East Bank hadn’t forgotten about the feud. The townspeople dared not go near the small blue castle at the edge of the forest, believing that witches lived there.

Women shunned the residents of the castle, even though no one would publicly declare that the mistress of the house was a dangerous witch. Andromeda behaved politely and smiled civilly while passing through the narrow lanes and alleys of the town, and never shouted curses. Sometimes desperate women would come to her for help—even those who called her a witch behind her back—and she would give them potions or would read their fortunes with a crystal ball, candles, and cards.

Andromeda's three nieces, Electra, Cassandra, and Medea, were not welcome on the East Bank. Instructed by their uncle and aunt, the girls never responded to the insults and offenses. They were also forbidden to show any magical skills around the Easterners.

One morning, Medea shared her plans with Cassandra about making a Levitation Potion.

I don’t know. Cassandra shook her head. I think the recipe is complicated. And I don't want to prepare anything. I’ve been having a bad feeling lately.

I’ll do the hard work, and you will only need to watch the moon and let me know a few days before the phase.

Fine, Cassandra sighed. But my heart feels—

Please, don’t start again. You’ve been listening to the crows so long you have started cawing yourself.

Do you even know how much you can learn from them? Two days ago I was listening to a crow, and it turns out—

Please stop! I don’t want to hear about the crows. But I want to fly like them. Let’s find El and see what she says.

Cassandra and Medea found Electra near the lake, with an album and pencils, sketching the landscape. Medea hurried to tell her sister about her plans.

A Levitation Potion? Why?

Because I want to fly.

But we have brooms and umbrellas for that!

I want to fly without a broom, like the ancient witches did.

Electra laughed. You’re raving, Medea. That’s impossible.

"It is possible. I read about it in a book. We only need to prepare the correct potion. And I have already found the recipe in the Encyclopedia of Potions."

Even if you have found the recipe, I don’t think we can prepare it. It has to be something complicated if no one has done it for so many years.

It’s not complicated at all. Just a few plants stirred together. So, shall we make it? Or are you a coward?

It’s not about cowardice. Electra reclined on the thick grass, closed the album and stared at the lake. The weather was calm, and the smooth surface of the lake resembled a round mirror, reflecting Cassandra's favorite birds. The water is quiet, Electra said. There will be a quarrel.

Medea snatched a pebble, and with all her strength cast it into the water. A gurgling sound came out and circles appeared on the surface of the lake.

Not anymore. She smiled.

At other times, Electra would have laughed at her sister’s quick wit, but now she was thoughtful.

Flying without brooms, she muttered. But we don’t fly that much. Or have you forgotten about the Easterners? If they see us in the air—

They won’t! We’ll use the potion near the forest, just like the brooms.

Electra looked at Medea. No black magic.

Of course not.

No curses or hexes.

Absolutely!

You know the recipe?

By heart.

Oh, I don’t really know, we’ve been working on the Invisibility Mixture recently.

Please, please, please, let us do it, Medea pleaded. According to the book, it’s not even a dangerous potion. I’m tired of cooking the Invisibility Mixture. It’s been already a month, and we still haven’t become invisible. I want to try something new.

On their way home, the girls decided when they would practice the witchcraft and assigned the roles: Cassandra would watch the moon, Medea would collect the plants, and Electra would try not to change her mind at the last moment so that their efforts were not wasted. The latter was added by Medea with her usual irony, but the sisters never took offense at the ironic remarks of the youngest of them.

When the girls returned home, loud voices came from their castle. The pebble thrown into the water hadn’t helped. They stopped at the door, not wishing to interfere with the quarrel. As always, they would wait until the brawl was over, and then would head to the kitchen, where Aunt Andromeda had prepared a delicious dinner, and would help her set the table.

The girls were hungry, but Jack, angry as always, had closed the way to the long-awaited dinner. It was better to stand a little while with an empty stomach than to face him when he was so angry, yelling at the top of his voice. The quarrel would end the same way—Jack would run out of the house, leave for the whole night, and be back in the morning.

And so it happened: a young man of seventeen opened the door and walked out, his white Irish setter scampering after him. The girls looked after their cousin and his dog.

Don’t worry about him. A tall man with a kind face appeared in the doorway. It’s his awkward age. Come in, my dears, it’s time for dinner.

Uncle Colin, we have heard about this awkward age for a long time. Will it ever come to an end?

Uncle Colin put his arm around Medea’s shoulder and led the girls into the kitchen. A divine smell had spread all over the place. Aunt Andromeda was getting a pie out of the oven, and without looking up, said to the girls, Hurry up, sweethearts, lay the table.

The cupboards opened as the girls rushed to them, and plates, cups, knives and forks darted out. Each of the girls knew which cupboard she had to run to, and if one of them was late even for a second, the kitchen utensils would fall on the floor. The whole process was divided into seconds—catch the plate, run into the dining room, put it on the table, and be back in time to clasp the salt shaker or the glass. Sometimes the girls would get in the way of each other, and not managing to get back to the cupboard in time, would ask their aunt for help. Having no wish to lose her favorite porcelain plates, she would slow down the pace or would catch a pot in the air and pass it to one of her nieces.

When the table was heavy with a pot of apple soup, roast duck with vegetables, and a raspberry pie with a crunchy crust, the family sat down to dinner. The girls were silent; their uncle and aunt were the only ones talking. First about their son Jack, then about the crop, the weather, and finally about Aunt's sudden departure. Upon hearing the news that their aunt would be visiting their grandparents, the girls exchanged covert glances. Her departure coincided with their plan, and was just what they needed. Otherwise, it was much too hard to hide something from her all-seeing eyes.

The next three nights, Cassandra sat by the window for an hour or two, watching the moon and the constellations, and making records in her notebook. And Medea, with the first rays of the sun, went to the woods, looking for cinquefoil, clover, and belladonna.

The day after Aunt Andromeda had left, Cassandra told Medea about the state of the moon. The best day for conjuring is tomorrow; the phase of the moon and the movements of the planets are favorable.

The next morning, Medea went to the forest for the last time. Just in case, she picked some fern and nettles. On her way home, she stopped near the garden, looked around, and cut off three buds of roses.

You cut off the buds from the garden? Cassandra stared at her sister.

I had to, Medea whispered, emptying the contents of the basket on the table in the pantry. Buds of a beautiful flower are necessary for the potion.

Aunt will kill you if she finds out.

"She may see the missing buds, but she doesn’t have to know that I cut them."

They heard steps behind the pantry.

Uncle went to bed, Electra whispered, coming in. It’s time. She closed the door, and the pantry plunged into darkness.

I will light a candle. Cassandra turned to the shelf on the wall and snapped her fingers. The candles, arranged in a row across the shelf, lit up one after another. The dim light gradually increased in strength, and the pantry brightened up.

Let’s do the work, girls, Medea giggled. "Cassie, take a board and a knife and cut the leaves. El, bring a cauldron, kindle a fire, and boil some water. I will get the book."

From the top shelf, Medea took a book in a black leather cover, laid it on the stand, and carefully thumbed through it. The book was old, the pages dry and yellow. She moved her fingers slowly, so as not to spoil the Encyclopedia of Potions.

Reaching the necessary page, Medea examined the drawing, took a piece of chalk, drew a large circle on the wooden table, then copied the symbols from the book inside the circle.

Electra took the chopped leaves from Cassandra and threw them into the boiling water.

Now stir hard, Medea said, and returned to the symbols on the table.

The girls shuddered when a peal of thunder boomed outside. They stared at each other, their faces reflecting the glow of the candles.

They listened. The rumbling repeated.

Thunderstorm, Cassandra said. We shouldn’t cast a spell during a thunderstorm.

Why? Medea asked.

I once overheard Aunt saying it’s dangerous to cast a spell during a thunderstorm.

I haven’t heard anything like that.

Let us stop. I have a bad feeling.

That's enough. We have already begun, we won’t stop!

Cassie, don’t be afraid, Electra took her hand. Nothing bad is going to happen. I hope so, anyway, she added under her breath.

With a sigh Cassandra went back to the leaves on the board. Thumbing through the book, Medea found the next page, ran her eyes through a few paragraphs, and whispered words she didn’t yet understand.

A storm began. The drops hit the walls and the only window of the half-dark pantry. The wind whistled its way through the cracks; the candle flames flickered.

Electra and Cassandra kept throwing the chopped leaves into the cauldron and mixing them. They stirred long and hard, until the leaves formed a greenish paste, then removed the cauldron from the fire and placed it on the table. Medea put white candles around the circle with symbols.

Light the candles, she told her sisters. Electra snapped her fingers. The candles lit up one after the other. Medea took a bottle from the shelf, dripped a bit of colorless liquid into the cauldron, and began stirring the potion with a wooden ladle. She took another flask with blue liquid and dripped some drops into the cauldron. Something inside hissed and began to foam. The girls gathered around the table, watching the potion thicken and rise up.

Medea looked at a page in the book and read aloud:

"The moon, the sun, and the world, hear me now as I'm your lord. The spirits of light take my hand, hear me now as I command."

Electra and Cassandra stared at her.

What’s that? asked Electra.

A spell. Don’t interrupt.

Are you sure about it? Electra asked dubiously.

Hush! You should not interrupt.

Thunder pealed out as silver lightning tore the sky. Cassandra’s blood ran cold, hands began shaking. The harder the rain poured, the more she paled. She squeezed Electra's hand; her eyes begged her to stop the conjuration. They both repented of casting the spell, but Medea was totally absorbed in the action and didn’t respond to their requests.

"Potestatem ventus, da mihi fortis alis. Repeat after me," she said.

Medea, you shouldn’t say that, it’s black magic, Electra told her.

No, it’s not. Everything is checked. It’s an ordinary spell.

"I don’t like it. I don’t want to say that. I have a feeling it’s from the Dark Diary."

It’s safe. Let’s do it already.

I won’t say that, Electra almost cried.

Hush, El, Cassandra whispered. Please, let’s finish this.

Medea frowned. Alright, give me the roses.

I think you don’t even know what you’re doing.

I know everything, but you don’t want to help me. Give me the buds! I’ll do it alone.

Time was short, and Medea was acting in haste. She tore the petals off the buds and tossed them into the cauldron. Some of the buds had short stalks with thorns; several times they scratched her fingers till they bled, but Medea didn’t pay attention to the scratches. She grabbed another bottle, dripped some liquid into the cauldron and again stirred it. Electra and Cassandra exchanged glances. It seemed that Medea didn’t understand what she was doing.

Medea, that’s enough. Let’s finish this, Electra told her.

Not until I’m done.

She took some pollen from a wooden box and sprinkled it into the cauldron. Then she tried to scoop the cauldron to the fire, but it was heavier than she’d thought, and she poured the potion on the table. Medea hurried to wipe it with her bare hands. Electra and Cassandra rushed to her aid. The green mixture stuck to their hands and left stains on their clothes. The symbols on the table were almost erased, but there was no time to draw new ones. Having cleaned the table, the girls were in the sticky green mess up to their elbows. Medea once again read the spell in the book, then told her sisters to hold hands and close their eyes. The potion in the cauldron seethed, turned purple and began to smoke. Dense vapor formed inside, rising to the ceiling. The scent strengthened, and the steam thickened. The table shook, but none of the girls opened their eyes. The vapor congealed, and inside it, at first dimly, then more distinctly, a silhouette appeared. When Cassandra finally opened her eyes, she saw a fully defined shape. She blinked, but the silhouette didn’t disappear. Electra and Medea stood with their eyes closed, until Cassandra pulled their hands.

Giiiirls, she whispered in awe. Girls, what is this?

They fell silent and opened their eyes. Electra uttered a quiet squeal.

Shrouded in steam, shining with the light of the fire from the stove, something was staring at the petrified girls.

Ragged lightning cut through the sky, a peal of thunder followed it, and for some long seconds the pantry plunged into silence. The silhouette turned around and slipped out of the crack in the door.

If Electra hadn’t managed to put her palm over Cassandra's mouth, her sister’s scream would have awakened Uncle Colin. Medea rushed to the door and peered into the corridor. Darkness reigned there. No traces of the creature. Electra grabbed her arm and pulled her back inside.

What was that?

I don’t know.

This is terrible, Cassandra muttered, her breath heavy. Terrible. An old witch, we evoked the old witch.

I don't know what that was, Medea whispered.

We evoked an old witch during a thunderstorm. Cassandra’s voice faltered.

Stop it, said Electra. You both keep silent and listen.

They quieted down.

Nothing.

The rain was over. Rare drops were falling on the window, making a dull sound.

Did you hear that? Electra asked.

No.

I didn’t hear anything either.

Electra turned to her sisters. What time is it?

Almost three.

Quickly, put everything in order. Hurry!

The girls took out rags and brooms and began cleaning the pantry. They put the flasks in their places, took the cauldron to the basin and poured the potion there, washed the cauldron, gathered all the unused plants and buds, cleaned their hands, put out the candles and the fire in the stove, and hastily tiptoed to their bedroom upstairs. Without turning on the light, they got into their beds. Rustling sounds came from the yard and the girls exchanged worried glances.

I shall check. Electra’s legs shook as she went to the window.

What is it?

I don’t know. Can’t see anyone.

Let me have a look. Medea lowered her feet to the floor, then bent down and began to look for something under the bed.

What are you doing? Electra asked in a whisper.

The brownies stole my slippers again.

It’s not the time! Hurry up and come here.

I knew it, Cassandra whispered. I knew this would happen.

Hush! Electra and Medea turned to her. You will wake up Uncle.

Don’t hiss at me.

Then don’t moan. You’re only making things worse.

The yard was quiet; the things seemed to be in their places, just the way they had been left: an axe and firewood on the left of the barn, an empty bucket near the well, the rake near the beds. Hiding behind the curtain, Medea looked around the yard, but didn’t notice anything strange. They returned to the beds.

Do you think it’s in the house? asked Electra.

But what was it?

Not what, but who. It was an old witch with a broom in her hand and a hat on her head. Do you understand? An old WITCH!

Cassie, what are you talking about? Medea rolled her eyes.

I saw her clearly, and the broom, and the warts on her face.

It was not a witch, Electra said.

Then what was it?

Something wearing a bird’s mask. A man in dark clothing, with a mask shaped like a bird’s face.

Cassandra and Medea stared at Electra.

A bird? El, please.

But I saw it! Tall, in a long robe, the mask of a bird instead of a face, the beak almost reaching the waist, holes for the eyes.

A witch and now a bird? You should hear yourselves. You both are out of your minds.

What was it, then?

I don’t know. Medea shook her head.

I thought your recipe was correct.

Do you mean to say that my recipe evoked a human-bird?

A witch, it was a witch.

Hush, Cassie! Yes, that’s what I want to say. You messed up something.

Are you blaming me? But I didn’t mess up the recipe!

I’m not blaming you, it’s my fault. I am the eldest and should’ve stopped this when there was time.

Four months of difference don’t make you the eldest. I am also to blame, said Cassandra.

I tell you what, girls, everything can be fixed. Tomorrow, I shall search the library. If we did something wrong, we shall fix it, Medea said.

We must hurry before anything bad happens, said Electra.

We must hurry, Cassandra agreed. I feel that something wicked this way comes.

2. Eric

A month ago, Eric O’Brian arrived in Hollow. He didn’t want to leave his hometown, but he also didn’t want to stay there. Eric hated school and skipped classes. This happened last semester, when he skipped April and half of May. When his father found out about it, a big argument broke out. Eric promised to finish with the truancy, but soon began to skip his classes again. Another call from school, and Eric realized that this time he was in big trouble.

If he doesn’t want to settle down, I will send him to live with my relatives in a town far away, Eric's father said. Let him see that life is not just playing the guitar or going surfing. Let him toil and moil, maybe it will lead him to his senses.

Eric's parents sent a letter to Hollow, and a month later received a reply from Albert O’Brian, the second cousin of Eric's father, who was ready to give shelter to his good-for-nothing nephew.

What's the matter with you? Eric’s mother asked for the umpteenth time, helping him pack his belongings. What do you lack? We gave you anything you wished. This is how you show your gratitude. And now you’re leaving for a town which is not even on the map.

Maybe it's for the better, was muttered with indifference.

Do you think it’s going to be easy there? Jane O’Brian snorted. You never lacked anything, and now you’ll be living in a place where almost everything is done with physical work. She slammed the suitcase. David says you’ll benefit from it, but as for me, I don’t know what to say.

Nor do I, Eric said quietly.

Jane seemed confused.

Mom, I don’t know what to say to you, but I don’t like my life. I'm sick and tired of it.

Well, if your parents have managed to tire you during these sixteen years—

Mom! Why do you never listen to me? That’s not what I said. He grabbed his guitar and put it in the case.

Will you call me when you arrive?

Sure, I will.

Jane hugged her son. Behave well, dress warmly, don’t get into fights, and listen to your uncle and aunt.

Mom, that's enough. He broke out of her embrace. I have to go, or I’ll be late, and dad will boil like a kettle.

Don’t talk like that about your father.

Eric hung the guitar on his shoulder, grabbed the suitcase and walked to the door. While he was getting into a taxi, his mother managed to warn him about flu, sore throat, pneumonia, and all kinds of viruses that could be picked up in distant countries.

After flying for twenty-two hours on two planes, then traveling four hours by train, Eric was sitting at the bus stop and waiting for bus 85. Judging by the map, he was still several hours’ journey from Hollow. He was tired, eyes were sleepy, but if he fell asleep he’d miss his bus.

The bus finally appeared: a small blue vehicle, almost empty inside. Eric sat on one of the front seats. To drive away the sleepiness he looked out the window. His eyes were weary. He had been unable to sleep on the plane, the train was noisy and had lacked fresh air, and now falling asleep was forbidden, as the note clearly stated: The third stop, near the large oak tree.

The bus was moving slowly, as if it had caterpillar legs instead of wheels. And the longer it drove, the more beautiful the place looked. Little by little, flourishing meadows replaced the streets. The road became green with verdure; tall trees, steep hills, and vein-like rivers appeared on the horizon. If only Eric didn't feel so sleepy.

The bus came upon the second stop. Now he could barely distinguish the colors. There was a lot of green—the big dense forest, and a lot of blue—the clear cloudless sky.

Finally, the third stop. Almost dozing, Eric shuffled to the exit. There was the big oak tree, with a bench under it that looked like a wooden arbor.

Now what? he thought, sitting on the beautifully trimmed bench. He knew he ought to get the note with the address and read the number of the house. He’d get it eventually, but for now he’d take a short nap. He was overcome with an irresistible drowsiness, and it was so good there, so nice and pleasant, and he wanted so much to sleep.

One of the witches of Hollow was passing across the road when she spotted the stranger, and coming closer, looked him over from head to feet. The young man was sleeping peacefully, his head resting on his hand. Electra looked at his black vest, blue jeans, and white sneakers. With the same interest, she looked at his suitcase and the case with a guitar, then returned her eyes to his face. The stranger was young, with dark hair and smooth, fine features. He must have started dreaming of something bad, as his Adam's apple rose and fell, giving away his anxiety. His eyelids moved, and it seemed he was about to open his eyes, but the stranger kept sleeping.

Electra looked around. There was no one nearby. She glanced back at the sleeping fellow and almost touched his shoulder, but changing her mind, pulled her hand back. Moving away from the bench, she went towards the lane, looking back a few times. The young man continued sleeping, and soon she lost the sight of him.

Eric had a strange dream. He was riding in the bus, though not through the greenery and fields, but across the vault of heaven. Glittering constellations shone in the sky: Cassiopeia, Ophiucus, and Altar passed before his eyes, and finally Orion, the stellar idol with a sparkling belt, came into his sight. Eric stared at it for some time, until a strange sound came from somewhere nearby. It resembled a croaking, which soon became louder, and could now be heard from somewhere close. The volume increased so much that made him wince. Eric threw his eyes open. For a second he still heard the loud croaking, which then turned into a cell phone's ringtone.

A quiet evening had fallen over Hollow while he had been sleeping on the bench. Rubbing his eyes, he answered the call.

Sweetheart, have you got there already?

Mom?

Eric, your voice sounds strange. Has anything happened?

No, Mom, everything is fine. He rubbed his eyes again and looked around. I’m tired, but yes, I’m in Hollow, and I’ll be at the O'Brians’ in ten minutes.

Eric didn’t know where his relatives’ house was or how much farther he had to go to reach it. He’d make use of the note eventually, but right now he wasn’t worried: it would be hard to get lost in such a small town.

Do you like the town? Is it warm? Did you eat on the road?

Mom, everything is fine. I have to go.

Sweetheart, do you remember what I told you? Be careful.

Mom, I remember everything. Don’t worry. I have to go.

Shall I pass anything to Father?

My best wishes. We’ll talk later, I must go.

Take care, sweetheart.

Eric turned off the phone and took the note with the address from his pocket. "... from the large oak tree to the right, until the end of the alley, then to the left, next to the bramble bushes, to the beginning of the stone path, the sixth house on the right, with a red roof."

These people have never heard of numbers on the houses, Eric thought as he headed right, towards the alley.

The path stretched away like a strip; brick houses stood in the distance. The sun was setting, and having no wish to spend the night under the open sky, Eric hurried to find the house with the red roof. As written on the note, it was the sixth house on the right, a two-story building with a courtyard and an apple orchard. Eric put the suitcase on the ground and looked around. After living in a bustling city full of exhaust gas and the disgruntled cries of its residents, he was surprised to see a place where not a single car had passed, nor was a single cry heard. Instead of the usual dust, the air smelled of pine needles, and the infrequent rapping of a woodpecker and the barks of squirrels were the only sounds that broke the reigning calmness.

Looking for someone?

Eric turned around. By the house next door, leaning on the wooden fence, a girl was looking at him. Finally, a living soul. Eric was beginning to doubt that Hollow was habitable.

Looking for someone? she repeated.

Eric took the guitar from his shoulder, put it on the ground next to the suitcase and walked to the fence. Yes, I’m looking for the O'Brians.

You have succeeded in your quest, the girl laughed. You’re standing in front of their house.

Eric smiled. I'm Eric.

Dinah.

How beautiful, he thought, looking into her dark blue eyes. All the beauty of the place, the clean air, and the serene sky faded when Eric saw Dinah McCormack. A beautiful creation for the sake of whom it was worth coming to Hollow, suffering nausea, dust, and the train's evil-smelling passengers. Under the shade of her long black lashes, the blueness of her eyes was bewitching. This place is going to be interesting, Eric thought.

Somewhere near Dinah's house a knock was heard. It stopped for a second and started again.

That’s my brother chopping wood.

I see.

Dickens! Dinah called. Dick, come here.

From around the corner a young man with an axe in his hand appeared.

This is Eric, he came to the O'Brians.

The fellow’s face remained impassive. He looked at Eric, then at his sister, and went back to the woodpile. A moment later the sound of the axe cutting wood started again.

He's not very polite, Dinah said. Why did I even call him?

It's alright. So, do you live here?

She nodded. And judging by your luggage, you’re going to live in Hollow, too.

I guess so.

Dinah opened the gate of the fence and came out. Come with me. She went to the O'Brians' house and Eric hurried after her.

Mrs. O'Brian! Dinah knocked at the door several times.

Inside, the lock clicked, the door opened, and a golden-haired woman appeared on the threshold.

Mrs. O'Brian, this is Eric, he is looking for you.

Mrs. O’Brian looked at Eric, and a moment later exclaimed, Eric, my dear boy! But how... hurry up, come in. Albert, Eric has arrived!

Where is he? Riona, bring him here, a male voice sounded from somewhere inside the house.

Eric and Dinah entered the house, and Mrs. O'Brian led them to her husband. Albert O'Brian, a portly man in his forties, with a short black beard, rose from his armchair and hurried to his nephew.

What in thunder! My son, I'm sorry, I forgot everything, as always. He gave Eric a hug, then looked at the calendar. I’d even circled the date, and still forgot to meet you.

"Ah, Albert, you