Amelia Pearson smiled sleepily at her playing children. She lived on a farm, and her husband was busy, getting all the cattle in order. She was not one for hard work. She preferred to do the cooking. In a way, her and her family were very old fashioned.
She had soft blond hair, and tanned skin, but that was due to her large amount of time dozing away in the sun. Her pale blue eyes were friendly, and she gave off a warm persona. Her children, Leon, Arthur, Percy, Abigail and Mary all ranged between 16, and 5, Leon being 16, Arthur and Percy were 14 (and a half, as they proudly reminded everyone), Abigail being 8, and Mary being 5.
Leon was out with friends, having had an argument with his Father earlier in the day, and stubbornly riding out to town to vent with his friends. Amelia sighed. Leon was so unlike his father. His father was a 'man's man' and believed that men ought to be doing hard work, like being a mechanic, or a farmer, or a police officer. None of this 'art crap' as Roger Pearson (Amelia's husband) put it.
Leon, however, was set on becoming a graphic designer.
That was Leon's passion. Art. He wanted to be the next Picasso, or the next Van Gogh.
Although the two men, Roger and Leon (Amelia already considered her boy a man), looked alike in appearance, they were as different as different could be. They both had dark brown hair, and hazel coloured eyes. Broad shouldered, narrow waist, and a toned physique due to the long hours spent working out on the farm.
Arthur and Percy were the next Weasely twins. They were both mischevious, and God forgive her, were 'devilish little bastards at time,' as Amelia often muttered under her breath after their latest pranks. They both had Amelia's blond hair and their father's hazel eyes. They were also tanned, and were beginning to develop their father's physique. Both were thin, and strong, from hefting hay onto the back of the truck.
They had no idea what they wanted be yet, and Amelia and Roger accepted that. 14 (and a half) was too young to be deciding what you wanted to be.
Abigail (or Abby) was top of the class, and wise beyond her years. The 8 year old spoke like a 50 year old. She had wide, intelligent blue eyes, and a calm exterior. Amelia sometimes worried about her child's seriousness. But, the girl knew how to lighten up, too. Something Amelia was eternally glad for. Her blond haired angel would laugh, and giggle like an immature 8 year old, and Amelia would forget that Abby had a serious nature.
Mary was adorable. The dark haired girl had cheeky eyes that only little kids can get away with. She always wore her curly hair in two plaits, probably the only reason her hair was curly. She had one hazel coloured eye, and one blue eye. Amelia had worried about her baby girl being bullied at school because of it, but the first day of primary school had come and gone, and she had no problems.
Mary and Abby were playing now. Abby adored Mary, after an initial resentment of her. Arthur and Percy were playing not far away, tossing a ball to each other. It was a warm Saturday afternoon, and Amelia was tired. Roger was out, feeding the cattle or something. That was his way of venting. Go out on the farm and work off your rage.
Amelia closed her eyes, and there she drifted off, something she would come to regret.
As the shadows began to lengthen a strange sense came over the yard. Arthur and Percy straightened. A chill seemed to sweep over the yard, despite it being the middle of summer. Abby was quiet, and she too stood. Mary giggled in delight, as she caught a butterfly. Noticing her siblings silence, she too quietened, and saddened, let go of the butterfly, believing she had caused it.
She thought Abby, Arthur and Percy had gone quiet because Mary had caught the butterfly, and she knew how much her siblings loved butterflies.
But that wasn't the cause.
"Mummy?" Abby whimpered. Their mother was fast asleep, almost as if she were dead.
"What's hap- happening?" Mary asked, struggling to get her mouth around the big word.
"Something's out there," Arthur said, his voice detached.
"It's cold," Percy whispered in fear.
"What is it?" Mary asked, annoyed at being left out. Little did she know, to be left out would be being saved, from a fate far worse than her siblings being annoyed at her catching a butterfly.
To be left out, would to ultimately guarantee her life.
"We don't know," Abby whispered, her young, usually so calm and strong voice guaranteed.
"Why won't Mummy wake up?" Mary asked. Her childish innocence would soon dissipate over the hours.
"I don't know," Arthur said, his voice still distant, his eyes glazed over. Being the oldest (by a whole minute and a half), he felt some degree of responsibility. But he had a nagging suspicion as to what it was. He had heard the rumours.
Rumours of a strange being. A strange being that took young children, and slaughtered anything mercilessly that got in its way. He glanced first to his twin, Percy, and felt his stomach clench. His twin and he were too old for this being.
The two would be slaughtered. Slaughtered without remorse or even a flicker of emotion.
Then he glanced at Abby and Mary, who were huddling closer together. They would be taken.
His mother? She was asleep, and something told Arthur that this was no natural sleep. This sleep was brought on by the strange coldness sweeping over him and his siblings. This coldness that penetrated the bones, freezing one's insides.
But, weren't they just rumours? Just stories? All fiction, no fact? Arthur tried to reason with himself. It wasn't true.
Except, as his heart hammered violently in his chest, beating against his ribcage, like an out of rhythm drum, he knew it couldn't be anything else.
He glanced back to Percy, and knew that his twin was thinking the same thing.
"We won't let it take them," Arthur murmured.
"Not without a fight," Percy growled.
"Won't let what take who?" Mary whined.
"Shh, keep quiet," Abby hushed.
"Go try and wake Mum," Percy ordered.
"Why?" Mary cried.
"Just do it," Arthur said, his voice slightly harsher than he had intended.
"I'll go grab Dad's golf set," Percy offered.
"Find his shotgun, if you can," Arthur told him, scooping up the ball and the bat, he had lying out the front. In the distance, he could only just make out the figure of a vaguely human being, suspended on long, tentacle like things. The most definitive thing about the vague silhouette was the crimson red tie that could be seen. The rest appeared blurred whereas this stood out, almost like a beacon.
Arthur refused to turn his back on the being.
He knew what would happen. Mary and Abigail would be taken.
Taken, never to return.
And him?
Ice cold fear flooded through his veins, and for a moment he felt he would go insane, from the sheer adrenaline rush.
He let his imagination get out of hand – or was that the strange being's influence?
He envisioned his bleeding corpse strewn out on the ground, partially dismembered, his bloodied arm on the other side of his lawn, his shredded index finger lying halfway between his dismembered arm, and the gory scene of his body.
His eyes flew wide open, and his pupils dilated, to almost pinpricks.
In that moment, before what little remained of his sanity was completely torn apart, he heard three words whispered in his ear.
The slender man.