Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 16

England, November 1931
Once disembarked, a man in black tuxedo showed them into a gleaming silver Rolls-Royce and drove towards
London. Jamie and Sixten were too busy making card castles to notice the scenery outside the window changed
from crowded streets to isolated lanes.
“Lads, do me a favor and go move that pot plant aside, ’fraid this car won’t fit through,” wheezed the driver.
Jamie and Sixten clambered out. A rhapsody gale of wind disturbed the timeless complexion of the lane. It was only
when Jamie surveyed his surroundings that a bolt of horror and realization struck him. The cobbled street. The
Rolls Royce had already disappeared down the corner, into the dense fog.
“No,” he heard Sixten gasp. Whirling around, he felt his heart stop abruptly. There was a man who was wearing a
malicious smile that twisted his hawk-like features. “Home is where chaos grows, trapping the innocent and
devouring lost souls, wiping our mind until all that is left fades into darkness.” Then the fog thickened for a moment,
and when it parted, there was nobody there.