The Sands of Neverland

by ThunderWorks

Follow the first-hand account of 22 year-old, Sid Alton, who is pulled into the dangers and adventures of Neverland. He soon realizes that this is not the Neverland he thought he knew and becomes entangled in a war that has been raging for a century. Winter does not have an Icy hand, he has a Iron Hook.

5. The Wolf

The Wolf

Thunder and heavy rain woke me up the next morning. The temperature was cold, but thankfully not freezing like it had gotten last night. There was still snow on the ground, but the rain was starting to melt it away, and patches of grass were starting to push through.

I pulled the hood up as I stepped outside. Nothing looked familiar during the day time and since the sun was being blocked by the rain clouds, I couldn't get any kind of idea what time it was or what direction I needed to go, or even what direction I was already going.

My thought process went like this: This is an island, and probably not a very big island. If I keep walking in one direction eventually I'll get to the ocean and I'll be able to orientate myself better from there. On top that, everyone came by foot, so where ever they came from, it's within walking distance.

I was at least able to tell from which direction I had come from last night, so I figured I'd go the opposite way and hope for the best.

I couldn't say exactly how many hours I walked, as I didn't know when I started, and by the time I came to the shoreline, the clouds were still heavy and dark and rain continued falling from the sky. I started to see breaks in the trees and hear a roar of ocean waves and the wind started to pick from, blowing in from the sea and I quickened my pace.

By now the cloak was heavy, completely drenched from the rain and being dragged in the snow and wet dirt, however the inside of the cloak was still warm and dry and though it slowed me down, it was better that I leave it on as my thin leather jacket wasn't going to hold up out there.

I pressed on, keeping in a straight line rather than turning down any of the paths I crossed. Of course this was the more difficult way to go, I was constantly tripping through mud puddles or getting snagged on low branches or bushes, but with this way I knew exactly where I was going. Soon I saw an opening through the trees and several yards away could actually see waves crashing down on the shores.

I pushed myself through the trees and practically fell in down in the sand. It felt so good to be out of the forest, I was beginning to feel claustrophobic in there. I walked down closer to the waterline to get a better view of the sky but when I got to the water's edge, it wasn't the sky that caught my attention anymore, it was the sea.

There was a bright blue glow coming from the foam. It washed up along the shore, and even highlighted waves rolling into the shoreline. I knelt down and swished my hand around in the water, which made it glow even brighter. I lifted up the cloak so it didn't drag behind me and walked through the surf, when I looked behind me I could still see my footprints in the sand which were now outlined with bright blue rings. I don't know what it was, but I just thought it was the coolest thing ever. It was like this all up and down the coast line, this soft blue light rolling with the waves.

The skies however, were still dark with clouds; out over the ocean it was much darker than back over the island, and from that I was able to figure out I was on the eastern shoreline and heading north. A huge mountain towered up above the forest, its peak shrouded by the low-laying storm clouds. To the south of me, there was nothing but the glowing surf, but to the north, I could see a faint golden glow over the horizon. Lights!

I trotted up the shoreline, trying to stay on the compacted sand. As I got closer I started to notice just where the tree line reached the beaches, there were lanterns. These couldn't have been made by any 'natives' on the island, they looked like old Victorian style street lamps and there was a line of them running all up the coast, leading me to the yellow glow. I diverted course and walked up to the other side of the beach, closer to the tree line to stay in the light.

'I must be getting close,' I thought.

And I was.

Just up ahead I saw a small cluster of lights, probably about a two miles up. Two miles is a long way to walk, but at the same time, these were lights, and lights mean people. I'd rather have people two miles away than nowhere in sight. I picked up my pace even more to keep myself moving, and keep warm, but as to not tire myself out and kept thinking to myself, 'I hope someone here can help me.'

As I walked up the shoreline the lanterns were placed closer together, giving off more light on the shores, and I could see the shapes of a town and the masts of tall ships. Soon the lanterns were only spaced a consistent six feet apart from each other, and I could see ahead of me a wooden staircase, lit by two lanterns on either side of the railings and leading up to a boardwalk set high above the sand. Next to the steps was a wooden sign, framed in ironwork with the following message:

KING CHARLES HARBOUR

SOUTH GATE

EST 1911

O Lord Almighty in whose hand all victory rests and all war is destroyed. Grant me that thy hand may strengthen my heart so I may fight well and act courageously so my enemies may fall before my sight.

"Wow, that's not creepy or anything..." I said to myself. I looked up at the steps to the town. A gust of wind caught me and sent a chill down my back. I slid my hand up the wooden rail, damp with rain and snow, and walked up into the town.

Part of me was surprised there was no one walking around outside, but then again, given the weather, who would want to be walking around outside in this.

Victorian style street lamps and lanterns swinging from strings lit up the snow covered streets of the town. Many of the small houses and shops were half timber style buildings with decorative stained glass windows lit from the inside by flickering candles. Blue, black and white banners hung from the street lamps depicting rampant wolves which snapped in the wind. The breeze began to pick up, and I pulled the cloak tighter around me. The wind became stronger, blowing snow and rain into my face. I pulled the hood up over my head and ran to the nearest shop and stood under the eaves of the roof in an effort to stay dry. I had no idea where I was, no idea where I was even going and I was beginning to feel so cold my hands were going numb. The wind chilled my earrings, making my ears ache, and I couldn't for the life of me get my nose to stop running. I was almost surprised that my snot didn't turn into icicles.

The wind changed directions and started to blow snow into my face. I pulled the hood down further and took a few steps back around the corner of the building to get out of the way. I moved backwards though, not expecting anything to be behind me, but my foot bumped into something sitting on the ground and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard this 'something' yell out. I jumped away, keeping my back pressed against the side of the building and looked down next to me.

He was just an old man, a ragged old man, reminded me of one of the homeless people I've seen while in the cities. All he had on were a pair of ripped pants, a torn shirt and a grey and stained woolen frock coat that was practically falling to pieces. His hands were black with frostbite and his bare feet were black and bleeding from the snow. I pulled the cloak closer to me and took a few steps away from him.

"I see you've returned..." he said in a cracking voice. He turned his head to look up at me, his left eye white with blindness and the tip of his nose frostbitten.

"Excuse me?"

"He said you'd come back..."

I inched away from the man, but he leaned over closer to me, twisting his head around in all sorts of odd directions.

"I'm sorry, you must have me confused with someone else... I need to get going..."

"Konik Soh!" he shouted, pointing a boney, black finger at me, "Konik said so."

I just shook my head and tried to turn away but a cold hand wrapped around my ankle, "Du Konik Soh! II inne nis! Du Konik Soh, Du Konik Gahii! Au ir! Au ir!"

Now I knew this man was talking nonsense, well, more like screaming it at me. I pulled away from him, but he made another grab at me and managed to trip me.

"Get the hell off me!"

" Du onne ir nega!" He pointed at the cloak.

I looked down at King James's cloak, "This? What about this?"

The old man recoiled in disgust and hissed at the cloak, "Wretched beast! The day he dies will be a blessing for us all! Oh but he won't. The very Hell we all fear would just spit him back out again! The God I know would never create such a foul creature as he. What blaspheming whoreson who calls him himself a god, who threatens to overthrow the One Almighty! He is no god, but a demon! With the sly tongue of the Serpent himself. I'd say he were the Devil if the Devil wasn't afraid of him too. He is not of the divine, but a thing of the earth created from sin!" The man's one-eyed stare suddenly became unfocused and distant, "And in sin he created another..." He pointed his icy finger at me again, "...you..."

I shook my head, "No... You're out of your freaking mind!"

"The spawn of the beast himself! Oh to be trapped in such a filthy, earthly form!" the man started to scream wildly now, "Fly little bird, fly away from here!" He pulled a rusted dagger from inside his coat and made a swing at me. I scrambled to my feet and ran. As the man tried to stand up and follow me, he slipped on a patch of ice and fell on his face into the snow. I didn't bother to check if he was alright, I just took off running as fast as I could. His screams still rang out across the town.

I ran down the cobble stone street until I was out of breath, I practically slammed myself against the railing once I reached the boardwalk to stop myself, and to keep myself from slipping. The cold air made every breath I took burn my lungs and the rain hitting my face made the wind feel even colder.

"What the hell was that about?" I leaned against the rail, trying to catch my breath. "There's something wrong with that guy!" I turned around to look down into the harbor. Four ships, that I could see, were docked there. Their cabin windows and port holes were all glowing with soft lights, so there were certainly people in these ships; the task was finding which one belonged to King James.

After I caught my breath, and made sure no one was following me, I walked down the boardwalk steps to the harbor docks. More street lamps lined the edge of the docks, casting an orange glow on the five ships. The first one I passed under was a gold and black painted galleon. A golden griffin rose up in a regal pose off the forecastle, its wings spread wide under the ship's bowsprit. The eyes were carved in a way that made it seem like it was following me as I walked across the dock. This was the Wicked Griffin.

The next ship was lit up by a lantern hanging from its figurehead. An angel, with flowing hair and a gossamer gown graced the front of the brig Edgar Jex with a harp clutched against her breast and a lantern held out in front of her, guiding her way. Green and gold Celtic knot work decorated the sides of the hull and flying at the top of its main mast, the Irish tri-colors.

The ship next to that was much larger. Painted in green and white with a large red dragon, wings spread wide across the bow, was the giant man-o-war, Her Majesty's Dragon. The Dragon sported three gun decks and had a total of 90 guns; a second-rate man-o-war. This was the biggest ship docked here in this harbor, but as grand as it was, it just didn't seem like the ship I needed.

I passed by the Dragon and on to the next slip where the last ship rocked quietly like a ghost. Red light flickered around the bow of this ship as it moved with the waves.

While the rest of the ships were well lit and brilliantly painted, this one was entirely black with a thick blue stripe running along her sides. She seemed to have a permanent shadow casted over her and was the only ship actually chained to the dock, like some wild animal; her heavy anchor chains clicked and rattled with her movements. I stared up at her bowsprit as I passed under; a wolf, frozen in time as it leaped off the bow. Pieces of blue glass were set into the wolf's eyes which flickered red in the dock lantern's light as the ship gently rocked in its slip. The gun ports were framed with wood carvings painted with a glossy white and blue, mimicking the appearance of ice and snow, while real snow powdered the tops of the ship's railings. Her black sails were rolled up and only one flag was flying; black and blue colours with a large white wolf head at its centre. Its mane flared out around its face and its ears pointed to look like devil horns. Light poured from the tall, blue windows of the stern quarters, and under the sound of the waves and tapping rain was the spinning melody of a harpsichord. Painted along her bow, in icy white letters was her name, The Wolves of the Sea.

I nervously laughed to myself, "And here I thought I was looking for the Jolly Roger."

I hesitated for a moment before walking up the gangplank; the timbers of the ship creaked and moaned with the howling wind as if to say 'get back!" and I felt the waves start to rock the planks of the dock. Even though I didn't see anyone on board keeping watch, I still felt like I had eyes all around me, probably due to all of the wolf heads on the gun port doors with their flickering glass eyes. I took hold of the rope railing, took a deep breath and walked up.

On deck, lanterns hung from the mast poles and sat at the end of the railings on the back staircase to the quarterdeck. Their blue glass casted a cold glow across the deck of the ship and when the wind picked up, it swirled the snow around like dancing ghosts. Towards the back of the ship were two doors on either side of the large staircase. Each door was held together with decorative iron work and the wolf design that was on the flag and gun ports was also on the doors as a three-dimensional iron centre-piece.

The somber melody of the harpsichord's song grew louder as I walked across the deck, closer to the back cabin. I reached the bottom of the staircase and stared up at the door, framed by two blue lanterns. From inside, a soft, but deep voice began to sing and I couldn't help but to stop and listen.

"In the bleak Midwinter

Frosty winds may moan

Earth stood hard as iron

Water like a stone

Snow had fallen, snow on snow

Snow on snow on snow

In the bleak Midwinter

Long, long ago,"

"Wow…" I whispered. The singing stopped, but the graceful song played on. I cautiously started up the staircase, focusing on the warm music emanating from the behind the cabin door and trying to stay as quiet as I could in the hopes I wouldn't miss the next part.

"Desire lit inside me

As I walked through the snow

I went to the village

So I could buy a rose

Upon the sound of your name

The rose shattered before me

And now all I have is just

One petal for thee,"

At the top, I stopped in front of the cabin door, a large iron wolf head stared back at me, however there were no eyes on this figure, so the rain water that ran down its nose were like tears falling from empty sockets. I rested my head and hand against the wolf and listened as the singing continued. There was such a comforting quality to the voice that I had almost forgotten how cold it was outside. For a moment the freezing rain and wind didn't bother me anymore.

"What shall I give you

Poor as I am

If I were a shepherd

I would bring a lamb

If I were a wise-man

I would do my part

Yet what I can, I'll give you

I'll give you my heart,"

I felt around the door for the handle. My hand was so cold I almost couldn't even feel it. I eventually found it and pushed the handle latch down with my thumb and tried to ease open the door but several heavy thuds rushing up the staircase brought me out of my trance and I quickly turned around. A short bearded man in a grey wool coat with pistol in hand was bounding up the stairs after me and before I even had time to realize what was happening, he shoulder checked me into the door. The back of my head hit the iron wolf and I fell down. He grabbed the front clasps of the cloak and pulled me back up, then slammed my back into the door again and pressed the pistol to my head.

"Wot the 'ell you think you're doin' up here, boy?"

"No, no, it's okay, I need to see King James…" The man was pressing against my neck so hard I could barely breathe.

"He don't want nothin' ta' do with you. Now you git! He wants no visitors this time 'a night!" He threw me down on the floor. "If I see ya on this ship again I'll blow ya brains out, aye?"

I was scared to get up because I didn't want him throwing me down the steps. I stayed down until he took a few steps back away. It took everything in me to jump up as fast as I did and latch back onto the cabin door.

"You sneaky son of a…"

I pushed the door open and allowed myself to fall inside. The man gave me a shove and I fell back down on the floor. A heavy weight pinned me down and once again, the barrel of the pistol was at my head.

"I got him, Sir! I'll blow his bloody brains out, I will! He thought he was bein' sneaky but I…"

"MR. SMEE!" The music stopped and an inhuman roar erupted from the back corner of the cabin and the man on top of me froze.

"Y-y-y-yes, Sir…"

"Get off of him at once!"

Mr. Smee pulled the gun away from my face and stood up. I lifted my head up and noticed that there was a small puddle of blood on the floor. I had fallen so hard that I bit my lip and was bleeding.

"This is no way to treat one of my guests. I wanted you to keep watch, not murder everyone who comes on board." I couldn't actually see King James from where I was laying, but I recognized his voice.

"I-I-I didn't know you were expecting company, Sir. I…"

"No matter, I will take it from here, Mr. Smee."

"B-but Sir."

"It's fine, Mr. Smee." He was beginning to become more annoyed.

"I-I didn't…"

"That means leave Mr. Smee!" King James' usual smooth voice came out as a harsh growl.

"Aye, Sir…" and with that he shuffled out of the cabin and pulled the door closed behind him.

The floorboards creaked as King James took a few steps over and his shadow casted down over me. When I rolled over and looked up at him he smirked and raised an eyebrow,

"Need a hand, mate?"

"I think so, yeah…"

"I have one I can give," He smiled at me and reached for my hand with his and pulled me up off the floor.

"My apologies about that, dear, my bo'sun's an idiot."

I put my hand up over my mouth to catch any blood that dripped,

"It's okay. Not the first time today this happened." When I looked up at him, the first thing I noticed was his bright blue eyes. It could have been just the orange candle light of the cabin, but his eyes had such a lively glow to them, his whole face did. He no longer had that cold, cadaverous appearance from last night, now he actually looked like he was alive, and dare I say it; he was smiling, though his smile only lit up half of his face.

All of his hair was pulled into a ponytail, which reached down to his waist, and was tied in front of his left shoulder. This time, rather than white, he was dressed a long black robe. He wore just a simple silver bead pierced through his lip, rather than the heavy talon from last night, and a pair of oval lens glasses rested on the tip of his nose. It was the end of the day, he wasn't trying to impress anyone, he was just trying to be comfortable, but even then, he was still impressive to look at. Probably having something to do with the fact he was so tall, which was further exaggerated by how thin he was.

His smiled faded when he noticed the blood dripping down my hand and pulled it away from my mouth.

"What did you do, bite your tongue?"

"My lip."

"Oh… I know how that feels." He raised an eyebrow at me. He was referring to when I head-butt him in the face just the night before.

"Yeah, sorry about that…"

"No worries mate. Go take a seat in front of the fire, I'll get something to clean that up for you."

"No, it's fine, I don't wanna bother you or anything. I only came here to give you back this and then leave." I took the cloak off and threw it over my arm to give back to him.

"Leave?" he laughed, "No! Go sit by the fire and warm up. I wouldn't kick you out on a night like this!"

He smiled again, and nudged my shoulder, directing me to fireplace.

As I walked over to the back of the cabin, I looked around. There were so many things that caught my attention that it was hard to focus on just one. Yes, the outside of the ship looked cold and terrifying, but the inside had a warm and welcoming appearance.

The windows of the cabin were made of bottle glass; the panels were made up of circles that looked like the bottoms of glass bottles and varied in their shades of blue and festive red banners with gold trims and embroidery hung in front of the beams between each window.

The back wall was lined with two large book cases, and at the centre of them was a wide, roaring fireplace. The mantle was carved so that it looked like a snarling demon, with fire licking from its mouth and eyes were cut away on either corner so that they too, glowed with light.

Above the fireplace hung the crest of the Wolves of the Sea. A blue shield bearing three, silver rampant wolves was held in between two larger wolves, and underneath, a banner that read, 'Tempus Conglaciat'. A very fitting motto for the ship.

' Time has Frozen Over '

In front of the fireplace were two Victorian style chairs. Their wooden frames were painted gold and their cushions were a ruby red with the wolf design from the flag embroidered on the backs.

I almost made it to the chairs but I stopped when I saw what was guarding them. Lying in front of the fireplace was a large, grey and white dog. He almost looked like a husky, but he was a lot bigger and had a fuller mane and tail which was sweeping slowly side to side. His ears were perked up and his gold eyes stared into mine.

"Uhh, hi dog…" I walked a little more slowly now. The dog's tail began to wag faster and once I reached the chair and sat down, he sprang up and began sniffing at my pants. I put my hand down to pet him and he lifted his nose up, licked me a few times, then went back to sniffing. At least I knew he was friendly.

"Oh my goodness, a visitor! I know, he's so fascinating! You just have to smell everywhere he's been and not leave him alone, don't you?" I couldn't help but to laugh at King James' overly enthusiastic, and sarcastic, narrative to his dog. He had a light, but brisk walk as he came over to me from across the cabin; he brought with him a small white piece of cloth in his hand. When he reached me he knelt next to the chair and handed me the cloth for my lip. He then grabbed the dog's collar to pull him away,

"I'm so sorry, is he bothering you?"

"Nah, he's fine. Just very excited." I reached down to pet him again with my free hand, but the dog jumped up on my lap and tried licking my face. At this point King James pulled his collar to get him off me,

"Do you mind?" He asked. The dog simply looked over at him then gave him a quick lick across the mouth.

"Oh, Rogue!" He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, "Gross!" He gave Rogue a light shove to the side and then turned his attention towards me, "How's your lip, mate?"

"I think it stopped bleeding," I pulled the cloth away from my mouth; there wasn't as much blood as there was earlier, just a few little spots.

"It looks like it's at least slowing down. You'll be fine, it's just a nip." He stood back up and looked down at Rogue, who was patiently sitting in front of me, tongue out, panting and playfully wagging his tail. "As for you, ya little monster..."

Rogue snapped his mouth closed and his ears pointed, but only for a moment. After Rogue realized he wasn't in any real trouble, he started to wag is tail again and pant, his lips pulled back in a wide grin.

"Just push him and tell him to piss off if he's annoying you."

"He's fine right now."

"The moment I turn my back, though, he's going to jump up again, watch him."

Sure enough, King James was right. As soon as he turned away Rogue stood up and jumped back up on me again, sniffing furiously at my shirt. I tried to push him off, but his nose tickled and I was laughing so hard I just quit. If he got all his 'sniffing' out of his system I figured maybe he'd stop, so I let him do his thing and after he was satisfied that I wasn't a threat, or food, he calmed down and plopped down next to the fireplace again.

King James returned a second time, but now with a pewter tankard and set it down on the little table next to my chair and right away I began to smell chocolate.

"And I will join you in just a tick... as soon as I find where I put my wine..." He slowly scanned the cabin then pointed over to his harpsichord and trotted over to it, "I'd lose my shadow if it wasn't attached, I swear to you!" He joked.

Steam rose up from out of the mug and I lifted it up and took a look inside. Just as I thought; hot chocolate. I wrapped both hands around the tankard, tried taking my first sip, and as expected, I burnt my mouth. I tried taking a second sip, then a third, but kept flinching each time. I heard King James laugh from behind me,

"Just don't learn do you?" He said, returning back to the fireplace and setting his wine glass on the table next to his chair. My blunt response of "nope," made him smile.

He let himself collapse into the Victorian style armchair and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Oh my God…" he breathed, "It's nice to finally sit down and relax."

"Yeah, must be nice." I was being a bit sarcastic, but wasn't trying to sound like a jerk.

"Hope you didn't have any trouble finding the place..."

"No, not really. Only walked all day in freezing rain and snow, almost got stabbed by a screaming hobo then got body slammed into a door and held at gunpoint.. twice. Nah, I'd say it was pretty easy." Now I was being sarcastic.

"Screaming hobo?" King James chuckled, "What was he screaming about?"

"I dunno, something about demons and 'Konigsol', or something."

King James raised an eyebrow, "What was that last part?"

"Konigsol? I don't even think I'm saying that right."

"Konik Soh." He corrected, "Two words. It's Pique, the Piccaninny language." He took a sip of wine, "Not sure why he'd call you that though."

"Is that a bad thing?"

He shrugged, "Not really. I know I've certainly been called worse. It's nothing you need to worry yourself with."

"Alright, I'll take your word for it..."

"There's been a lot of tension in the Harbour for quite some time now. Don't let that scare you away though, it's a lovely little town, but even we have our problems every now and again."

"What kind of problems?"

"The Natives have been... restless lately. Attacks on both the Harbour and up in Port Victoria have become more frequent and more violent. And of course, anything that happens here, it's all put on my shoulders. So things have been, yes, a little rough these past few days."

"Like last night?"

"Last night? Oh God, I wish I could forget last night!" He paused for a moment and took a slow breath, "I didn't get any sleep at all last night when I got back... I couldn't." His voice got softer and almost seemed to trail off.

His answer surprised me, "So, you didn't want to kill those kids?"

"What? No, not if I could have helped them. But they were beyond saving at that point. There was nothing we could do for them except put them out of their misery."

"Saving them from what?"

"From Peter." He straightened himself out in his chair and looked more directly at me, "He brings children here, enticing them with stories of adventures, and flying, and never having to grow up or have any responsibilities. And children, being children and only understanding the short term of things, they follow him here. Some of these children are simply looking to explore something new, while for others, this is an escape. They come from broken homes and abusive families and when an opportunity presents itself, well of course they take it. Anything to get away. It's sad really. Some of these children are coming from one dangerous place to another without ever realizing the mistake they're making."

"I didn't realize Neverland was so bad."

"It can be an absolute nightmare. You know," he took a quick sip of his wine, "I'm actually surprised you made it this far. I thought last night would have been the last time I ever saw you."

"Trust me, I thought I was dead too."

"No, I'm serious. That cavern you were in was a Piccaninny burial mound. If anyone would have found you in there they would have killed you on the spot."

My mouth fell open and I almost dropped the mug in my lap, "What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to, but I figured it would have been better not to mention anything and upset you further. It's rare anyone goes in there, so it was actually safer for you to have stayed in there that night than to run out and risk getting shot by one of my men, or worse, attacked by those Lost Children."

"Yeah, what was with those kids last night? I noticed they seemed really... off, it was a little creepy... Okay, it was really creepy."

"Those were Lost Children."

"I don't follow... "

"They've lost themselves."

I shook my head, "I'm still missing something, I'm sorry."

King James rolled his eyes at me, "That's right, you're new here. Well, to explain it the best way that I can for you, think of it like this; the imagination is the easiest place to get lost in. You can do anything, you can be anyone, you have complete freedom there. The Neverland works in the same way, except being that this is real life so in turn, there are consequences for what you do. When children come here Peter fills their heads with these ideas that they're able to do anything and it's like a dream come true for them. Just about anything they can imagine can become a reality. That's how they're able to fly, they simply believe that they can, and with a bit of extra fairy dust, they're off. That's all it takes.

So the children begin to become the people that they think they are, and over time, they lose who they really are. They forget where they came from, their family, their friends back home, everything that made them who they are is forgotten until eventually there's nothing left of who they once were.

By allowing themselves to forget everything and everyone, they're destroying themselves. It's the events that happen in your life that guide you and shape you into the person you are today. If all of those events are forgotten, well then who are you? What are you? You're nothing.

It's been said by some people that these children lose their very souls, leaving nothing but a shell of their former selves, and judging by the things I've experienced, I would almost have to agree with them."

"So what ends up happening to these kids?"

"Depends on how far they've gone. Some can still be saved and are taken back home. But the ones that can't be saved, and can't be brought back have to be killed. There's no other way to help them, unfortunately. I don't like doing it, I'd rather not do it, but it seems to be the duty bestowed upon me here. I almost don't have a choice. The people who don't understand look at me and say 'how can you do this, how can you kill these innocent children?' You can't think of them as children, not anymore. Innocent, yes. But certainly not children. So I'm left with a choice; I can either kill them now or allow them to suffer further."

"But wait, if there's in their little 'imaginary world', how are they suffering?"

"Those children decay from the inside out until they're nothing but basic survival instincts who can do nothing but growl and bite. Yes they're happy at first, but over time it wears off. The game isn't fun anymore and they want to stop, but they can't. This is who they are now, they can't go back to who they were, because the person they once were no longer exists. Outside of their 'imaginary world' as you called it, they have nothing. To live indefinitely with no conceivable purpose, no past, no future, nothing. To me that's suffering."

"Okay, I'm always up for a riveting conversation myself. I'll ask you this; is it still 'suffering' if the children don't know that they're suffering? Okay, so if they lose all sense of reality, how do they know they're say, 'choosing the wrong option', if they don't know that there's a better option out there? Hold on..." I knew what I wanted to say, I just couldn't get it to come out right. I felt like I was just talking in circles and not making sense, "If they've forgotten everything, how do they know what they've lost? Boom, there it is! That's what I wanted to say."

King James laughed. He didn't have to think very long to give me an answer, "It's a gradual decline. At first everything is great, they love it here. But then things start to sink in, they're never going to see their families or their homes again and they begin to feel sad, or scared. After that is where the separation happens. They either continue missing their homes, and over time become weaker, which is when they either die on their own or end up getting killed, or they become stronger and are able to take care of themselves.

The children who wanted to leave in the first place, they forget much sooner, but for the children that don't want to leave or have second thoughts, they're the ones that get depressed, and scared and want to go home. Sometimes all it takes is a little reminder to bring them back, but after they've reached a certain point, there's nothing you can do. You can't pull something from nothing. These are the children that are particularly dangerous because they're the ones that think this is all a game. They're the ones that come into our towns and kill people, and light homes on fire, and kidnap children and torture them out in the forest because 'it's all pretend'. It's all make believe to them. When they kill you, they expect you to get right back up again and when you don't they shrug it off and go find someone else to play with without the slightest thought that they've done something horribly wrong. They live without a conscience, they live without feeling. Remember how last night those children didn't feel cold standing out there in the snow? That's a clear way to tell. What once made them human is gone now. That's what it means to be Lost."

I paused for a moment, my tankard of hot chocolate still in my hands, trying to take in everything that King James had told me.

"Shit just got deep..."

I said this not realizing that he was taking a sip of his wine and I made him laugh. He probably wasn't expecting such a blunt response. He quickly set his wine glass on the table and put his hand over his mouth and nodded,

"Yes!" he choked, "There's a lot more going on than just what's on the surface."

"So you need to have a pretty good handle on who you are..."

"Or the Neverland will claim you."

I didn't say anything right away, I really didn't have anything more to say, it was so much to take in. I just slowly looked down into my hot chocolate and sighed, "I sure hope there's alcohol in this..." I could tell just by the way King James smiled at me he knew exactly what I was talking about.

"I do have whiskey..."

"Don't tell me that," My mind was already shattered to pieces as it was, I didn't need to get trashed on top of it. "And this is something that can happen to anyone..?" I asked.

"Right, however children are more susceptible to falling into this trap because they don't know otherwise. Peter insists that it's alright and as long as those children stay with Peter, it is alright, unless they break one of Peter's rules of course, with which there are grave consequences. The big one being 'no growing up'."

"But that's impossible, how can you stop yourself from growing up?"

"Like I said earlier, if you believe it, it becomes real. Age is all in your head, if you don't believe you're getting older, then you won't. There are children who have been here almost as long as I have. And they're still children."

"And if you do grow up. What can happen?"

"Peter has ways of 'thinning the herd' if need be. He's much more clever than people give him credit for. A question for you though, my dear; do you have anything on you that reminds you of home?"

I thought it was a rather odd question to bring up, but I still thought about it. I looked down at my clothes; my blue Griffon t-shirt from Busch Gardens I had gotten back in 2007 and a pair of white Tripp pants that were now covered with mud and grass stains. I shrugged,

"My shirt, I guess?"

"Make sure you don't lose that then." He said. "That could be just enough to get you out of here with your sanity intact."

"So, anything to remind me of home?"

"Remind you of home, of a loved one, of a friend, a place, anything. A little can go a long way here. Like for me," he lifted up one of his many pendants he wore around his neck; a tiny pearl cylinder topped with a silver cap.

"It's this. This holds a lock of hair from my aunt. She was the one who raised me, and was really the only person who stayed by me my entire life when the rest of my family essentially disowned me because of my 'career choice'."

I tried so hard not to appear shocked or disturbed by that, I didn't want King James to think I was being disrespectful, but then again it was just something that you don't see very often these days, and I think he understood that, at least I hope so. I know I made some sort of disgusted face, and I know he saw me, but he didn't mention it.

"This is my reminder, among other things from home that I have." He smoothed the chains around his neck, which were so tangled up in each other they were practically now just one big necklace. On one chain was a silver wolf head, and on another a tiny glass bottle which was about half full of a white, sparkling powder that gave off a very faint green glow. The one that really caught my attention though was a simple cylinder of glass which contained a tiny flower, still on its stem and bright electric blue in colour; in fact, it was the same shade of blue as King James's eyes. This was the only pendant not on a chain like the others, but instead hung from a black velvet cord.

"What kind of flower is that? I just noticed it." I asked, pointing at the pendant. It was so small I found it hard to keep my eye on it.

"A Forget-me-not," he smiled and closed his fingers around the pendant. "A close friend of mine gave this to me as a Christmas present...a very long time ago." His voice trailed off.

"Because it matches your eyes?"

"You know, everyone says that. My God, there have been countless passages written down over time just about my eyes. Annoying really. But no, actually the forget-me-not is a mourning flower and is worn by someone who lost a loved one, particularly a child."

James placed the little flower back down on its resting spot on his chest, his hand still covering it.

"So you wear that for the children who die here?"

He paused for a moment, as if he was trying to think of the proper answer.

"Some people believe that." he said. "But these are the little things that keep me from losing my mind. So far so good I think, but even on occasion I find myself slipping, especially when you've been called by the wrong name for so many years."

"You mean you're not..."

"Hook?" He raised his right arm and the sleeve of his robe rolled down to his elbow exposing just his thin wrist. His eyes shifted over to it with a slightly annoyed expression on his face. He then let his arm fall back onto the chair's armrest, "Doesn't have the same effect when I'm not wearing it." He chuckled.

"I actually didn't even realize you weren't wearing it." Honestly, I never thought to look at his arm. I only paid attention to left hand because that was the one he used the whole time. I never even noticed the empty sleeve.

"It's a bit late to be wearing it now." He rubbed his arm and pulled it in close to his chest, "It's been bothering me for the past few weeks. It's because of this damn weather, I know it. As soon as it gets cold out, it acts up."

"Did it not heal right or something?" I saw that the end of his wrist was uneven; one of the bones of his forearm was a bit longer than the other one and was stretching the skin out from underneath. I'll admit, it did make me feel a little grossed out.

"No, it healed fine, as fine as it could anyway. It's just sometimes it hurts, and sometimes it really hurts. Like it is now. It feels like my arm is filled with needles."

"I couldn't deal with that all the time. I don't know how that doesn't bother you."

He nodded, "Oh, it bothers me, but it's something I've learned to live with. You know, I found this to be awfully strange and it's going to sound bizarre, but it still feels like I have a hand there."

I almost couldn't believe it, how could you feel something that's not there anymore?

"Really!" he insisted, almost seeming quite proud of himself, "I can still move it and everything." He raised his arm and even though he didn't have a hand to move, I could see the muscles of his arm working under his skin as he moved them. I certainly wouldn't label myself as squeamish, but seeing that just grossed me out even more. Though, he was just so nonchalant about not having a hand. It didn't faze him at all, but then again, living for a hundred years without a hand, I'm sure one would grow used to it.

But it still had me creeped out.

"So like, have you ever tried to grab something with your... uh... not-hand?" I wasn't sure if calling it a 'stump' would have offended him. It didn't occur to me until after I asked the question that even that could have been offensive too. Instead, James just squinted is eyes and chuckled,

"Funny you say that, I actually have. Oh, I still do it. I swear to you, it's like I forget. It's the strangest thing." He leaned back in his chair again and crossed his legs at the knee,

"If anything though, it's the cold that always bothers me, every year. Which is a shame, because I love the cold, I love the snow, I love everything about this season. Well, everything except this damn pain in my arm. Oh well…" He smiled and took one last sip of his wine, "I guess I'm just getting old, huh?"

I shrugged, "Maybe?" I almost said 'yes' but stopped myself. I didn't want to sound insulting.

King James stood up and stretched his arms over his head, causing his robe to spread open. All he wore underneath were a pair of loose fitting black and white striped pants that reached down to the floor. I almost couldn't believe how thin he was; when he leaned back you could have counted each of his ribs and his waist was so small that his hip bones looked like they were ready to poke through his skin. He had a tattoo on his right hip of a black stingray, its tail rose up his side and curled into a hook just as it reached his chest.

"That's pretty cool," I said, nodding at it.

"This?" He looked down at the tattoo and started to laugh again, "Oh, what were we just talking about? Pain? Yes, he really hurt me, couldn't sleep on my belly for almost a month. Do not recommend it."

"Why a stingray?"

"You know, a few years back I heard someone call me the 'steel-handed stingray' and really liked the sound of it, so that's why I got him. Why I got him on my hip, I'm still trying to figure out that mistake. I have these god-awful child bearing hips, so why I decided to draw even more attention to them, I'll never know. But I suppose he doesn't look half bad here."

I knew where that name had come from, but I didn't know who else would have known about that, or who else could have known that. It was a detail that I kept in the back of my head.

This wasn't the only tattoo he had. I noticed a small four diamond pattern on his middle finger, as well as on the right side of his neck and on the upper right side of his chest. He also had something written on his right wrist, just above his injury, but I couldn't get a good look at it because he was either moving his arm or the sleeve of his robe was covering it.

"I almost can't believe how tired I am this evening. Suppose it's all just hitting me now from being out all last night."

I took a final gulp of my hot chocolate and stood up, "Did you want me go?"

"Go?" he asked, "Go where? Not back outside I hope."

"Oh yeah, forgot about that..." I didn't really have any place to go.

"You're more than welcome to spend the night here if you'd like."

"You sure about that? I don't want to be a bother to you or anything."

"If I wasn't sure I wouldn't have offered."

"True. Where could I sleep?"

He nodded towards a large couch at the other side of the cabin and waited for me to notice it. The couch had plush, red velvet cushions and Victorian curves.

"Shall I fetch you a blanket then?"

"Okay, I'm sold."

"Excellent!"

As I walked over to the couch Rogue stood up and began to follow me,

"Looks like you have a friend," King James said.

I scratched Rogue on the head and his ears twitched. As soon as I sat down on the couch he stuck his nose in my face and tried to lick me.

"Get off him Rogue! Bloody traitor." James came back over with a large wool blanket. It was a plaid, mostly blue but with some red and green and in one of the corners I noticed an embroidery of a crest with a dragon and the words 'God Send Grace' around the outside.

I took my coat and boots off and slid them under the couch and tried to make myself comfortable under the heavy blanket,

"At least I know I'll be warm."

"My aunt made that for me when I was leaving for Eton. It's gotten me through plenty of cold nights." James told me. He knelt down next to me and scratched Rogue on the back of his neck.

"I haven't seen him this chipper in days," he told me, "His sister passed away just two days ago." At this mention Rogue leaned back and looked up at James with his bright golden eyes. "I know we're both still tender about it."

"How'd she die?"

"Out on a hunt, unfortunately. Such a companion like her should have died of old age. But no, she was shot in the chest with a Piccaninny arrow, there was nothing that could be done after that."

"Couldn't just pull it out, huh?"

He shook his head, "No. I take it you've never seen a Piccaninny arrow before, they have several large barbs on their sides so pulling them out only does more harm than good. She was a Great Dane named Gypsy. Her and Rogue were almost the same size."

"What's Rogue?" I noticed he looked nothing like a Great Dane.

"He's a Never Wolf, his species is only found here on this island. I found him when he was a pup out in the forest. Amazing how an adorable baby animal can turn even the most seasoned gentleman of war into a bumbling mess." James finally smiled and gave Rogue a rough scratch on his head, "And now I'm stuck with the little bastard!"

He stood up and straightened out his back, I heard a couple muffle pops as he stood up, and by the look on his face, I could tell he heard them too.

"42's not old," he mumbled to himself, and smiled, "I just have to keep telling myself that."

"Wow, I thought you were in your late forties!" I didn't realize what I said until after I had said it and immediately froze in my spot.

He narrowed his eyes at me, "Thank you..."

"Sorry! I didn't mean you looked old, you just look older..." I know I was not helping my case at all.

"I think for a 139 I look pretty damn good."

I didn't t say anything, but he could tell I wanted to,

"I've been around a long time, mate."

"Yeah, I'd say you look pretty good for a 139..."

"Wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have all this," he slid his hand across the left side of his face, rubbing his scar.

"How'd you get that, anyway?"

"That's a story for another day." I noticed his voice got noticeably softer. "Good night." Just as he was about to get up and leaved I called him back into the conversation again,

"Hey dude!"At first he paused and raised an eyebrow at me, "Oh crap, sorry, I don't know how to properly address you..."

"James is fine, dear." he chuckled, thankfully he didn't seem to take offence to it. Some people are picky with their titles.

"Do you know how to get me home?"

He paused for a moment before answering, "I can. It's just a shame you're here at an off time. Yuletide is right around the corner and I'm certainly not going to miss that. But afterwards, yes, I can definitely see to it that you get home. I don't want you staying here longer than necessary."

"How long is Yuletide?"

"The Twenty First to the second of January, it's twelve days. Trust me, you'll want to stay. And don't be afraid to wake me up if you need anything." He smiled at me and drew the conversation to a close.

He walked around the cabin, blowing out each candle that hung from the wall, one by one, and the light in the cabin slowly faded around the room. The only light that remained came from the fireplace, and even that didn't look like it was going to last much longer.

Rogue curled up in front of the couch, just at arm's reach; he was probably hoping I would pet him. It didn't take long for me to fall asleep, my hand resting on Rogue's shoulder.

I don't know how long I was asleep for, there was no way for me to tell the time, but I'm sure it had to have been a few hours as the fire had almost completely died away in the fireplace at this point. I rolled over on my back and looked out the window. Not that I could really see anything out of the bottle glass panes, but some of the light from the dock torches shown through.

No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get back to sleep; I was probably tossing around for an hour. Eventually, I decided to get up and look around the cabin a bit. I really didn't have anything better to do.

One of the first places I went to was the bookshelf behind James' desk, mainly because of the three candles that were left lit, giving off the only light in the cabin. My intentions were focused solely on the books but a few things on the desk caught my attention. The first one being his hook.

The hook itself had a bit of a square shape to it and rather than a round curve, and was flat with a sharpened inside edge. The hook sat in a metal, faceted base which was riveted onto a black leather sleeve. A full shoulder harness was connected with brass rivets and was made of the same leather as the sleeve. This leather wasn't cow or swine leather, but instead it had a very bumpy texture, like tiny little beads and was somewhat thin, and very pliable. It was stingray skin.

Several maps of the island were spread across the desk top, marking out territories and Piccaninny encampments while a few others showed the coasts of England and another, this surprised me, was of Florida with several ports marked, Tampa being one of them. Off to the side of the desk, just under the candle holder was a stone ashtray sitting on top of a black, leather bound book. I set the ashtray aside and slid the book over to me. Carefully, I opened to one of the middle pages and skimmed through the writing,

"Commodore Yale and I took a small crew to the Jaguar House in Ebony to investigate stories surrounding the Playgrounds. Several Powers had claimed they had found it while on a hunt through the Ebony Forest, but were unable to relocate the exact spot again. 30 of the 75 Dragonmen were sent to stay with the Jaguar House and take groups of both Arch Angels and Powers to grid the forest."

I skipped a head a few more pages,

"I couldn't bring myself to say 'good-bye'. Instead I left him with just a hug and an apology."

I then flipped a few pages back and read another line,

"Oh, but the things mother's do mean nothing."

Highly intrigued, I flipped back to the beginning of the entry, it was dated 25, December 1990.

"The strangest thing happened to me last night. Certainly not entirely strange, strangely beautiful I should say, though some may disagree. I feel the need to document this event while still fresh in my mind, as they're just as important as anything else that happens in this place.

As it was Christmas Eve, and being a bit restless, I chose to pass the night through a book, not expecting to be bothered. Gypsy and Rogue were already fast asleep, helping themselves to my bed, as what's a comfortable bed without a little dog hair, right? They probably thought they were being courteous.

Just as I was wrapping up a chapter, a knock on my door broke my concentration and had startled the dogs. Rather than getting up, I invited the guest in from my chair, not really wanting to leave the warmth of the fireplace.

The guest was Alice Grimm, a courtesan of mine whom I haven't seen since early March. She was smiling, in her red velvet cape speckled with Christmas snow, and in her arms-"

A hand slammed down on the book, covering its pages. The movement was so sudden I actually jumped. James stood at the other side of the desk, his long, wavy hair hanging down both sides of his face created dark shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and orange spots flickered in his eyes with the candle light.

"You don't want to read that," he purred. He had a sharp bite to his voice which accompanied his demonic appearance.

"I don't?"

"No. You don't." Without breaking eye contact, he flipped the book closed and slid it back towards him across the desk.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know what it was."

"Quite alright, my dear. Just don't let it happen again."

"Okay... It won't."

"Good. Now, I think it would be best if you went back to sleep."

"Yeah... okay."

I started to walk back towards the couch but about half way I stopped and turned back to James,

"Hey, James. I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, my dear, it's alright, you didn't know." He started to sound more like his usual self as he slid the book onto one of the shelves behind his desk. "No harm done."

"No, I mean for whatever happened to you."

He paused for a moment and I noticed his shoulders drop a bit. He slowly turned to look back at me, a new expression on his face now, a sad one, a very sad one.

He didn't say anything, he only nodded. As he turned to go back to bed, I noticed he raised his hand to his chest and held onto his forget-me-not necklace.

I laid back down on the couch and pulled the blanket up to my chin. I suddenly became very interested in what he had written in that book.