It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled through the trees, sending autumn leaves flying into infinity. The rain battered down in quite large droplets. Any movement churned the mud and there was not a light to be seen on the small, country village of Elderwood
No wildlife dared to face the storm as the thunder clapped threateningly like a bully with a club. Not even a mouse peeped out of its hole as the lightening flashed angrily.
However, among the nightmare the village had become, stood a hooded figure. Everything he wore was as black as midnight and his eyes gleamed with hunger and rage. His cloak was so wet, it clung to him. The figure approached a battered rickety old shed and rapped a short rhythm of four on the door.
As the door creaked open, the figure spoke for the first time,
"It is time…"