CHAPTER 1

A/N – Hello everyone! As the summary says it, this is a story I adopted from my fellow author Republic-of-Yolossia and basically the first three chaps are his work, with very little tampering on my part. Anyway, I do hope you guys will enjoy this absolutely grand plot we have devised together and which couldn't be left for dead :))

Tsvetan - Bulgaria

Alin - Romania

Peter – Sealand

Charlotte – Wy

Kuzey - TRNC

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kuzey looked around nervously, sharp eyes scanning the gloomy, murky forest they were in for anything sinister that could attack the unsuspecting group of children. Peter scoffed.

"Of course it is! What sort of idiot do you take me for?"

Kuzey opened his mouth to retort but their other friend, Charlotte, elbowed him. He gave a small grumble, watching the little Englishman attempt to force open one of the dusty, grimy windows of the abandoned house that stood before them. It was small, and took up one storey, barely more than a decaying shack. The windows were opaque, and the wooden walls covered in dirt and cobwebs.

The sun had long gone down, and the trio was huddled together in the darkness. They'd not meant to wander so far from home, they had been simply curious about what was in the woods near their town, and had gone exploring. Now, they were frightened and cold and just wanted to run home to their parents, but they didn't know where home was anymore. They had wandered for hours, cold feet trudging over undergrowth and mud as they stared at the endless expanse of trees around them, desperately searching for some sign of civilization.

It had been Peter's idea to take shelter in the little hut, and since he was the bravest out of the three (or stupidest, as Kuzey and Charlotte mentioned repeatedly), it was his job to go in first. He finally managed to lift the rusty, stiff window, creating a gap large enough for the three children to squeeze themselves through.

Peter was the first in, peering around the tiny room, empty of furniture, eyes straining in the darkness before deciding the coast was clear, and beckoned for the other two to follow him. Kuzey helped the youngest member of the group through before climbing in himself, glancing behind him once more to make certain that they weren't being followed.

When all three of them were inside, the blond pulled out a tiny torch, using it to check the corners of the room for anything malevolent or scary. Satisfied that they were alone, he turned to the other two.

"Okay, we'll stay here for the night," he began, "Then look for home in the morning. Maybe then, our heads will be clearer."

"Or maybe our parents will call the police and they'll find us here before that," suggested Charlotte, "At least then we'll not have to worry about trying to find a way out of here."

"True!"

"Are you positive it's deserted?" Kuzey glanced uneasily at the door, leading to a second room in the hut.

"Sure," Peter wandered over and kicked the door open, "See? Nothing to worry about!"

"Are you sure about that?"

The children screamed, wheeling around brusquely to find a hunched figure in the doorway, clothed in something which looked like an oversized black hoodie. It also covered the top half of the man's face, but they could see he was grinning, sharp teeth glistening in the rays of moonlight spilling in through the window.

"Who are you?" Peter cried, shielding the other two and putting his fists up ready for a fight.

The figure's grin widened. "I'm your worst nightmare."

"Oh please," Kuzey scoffed, "You're not Peter!"

"Hey!"

The stranger chuckled, lowering his hood. "Don't be afraid, children. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to know what you're doing in my home."

He had strawberry blond hair, scruffy yet vibrant and silky, his pale face clear of blemishes, shining red eyes bordered by thick lashes and his frame petite, delicate and graceful. He seemed completely flawless in appearance, apart from the dust and dirt covering him, like it had been years since he'd last bathed.

"We're lost," Charlotte admitted, peering from behind Peter.

"Oh? Oh dear, you poor things!" The stranger's words sounded false and cold, and Kuzey and Charlotte exchanged nervous glances, but Peter appeared unfazed. He stepped closer, smiling hopefully.

"Do you think we can stay here with you, mister?" he inquired, "Just for a bit! We're really tired from walking."

"Of course!"

The stranger beckoned for them to follow him into the next room, disappearing through the doorway. As Peter went to follow the man, Charlotte held him back.

"I don't like this," she hissed, "He looks dangerous."

"We should cut from the scene while we still can," added Kuzey, eyes flicking towards the window.

"Oh come off it!" Peter scoffed, shrugging Charlotte's hand away, "You two are a bunch of big babies! What choice do we have anyway?"

Kuzey looked like he was about to argue back, but the stranger interrupted them. "Come on!" he called from the other room, "I have a fire going on in here! Come and get warm. There's nothing to fear!"

Peter threw a smug glance in Kuzey's direction before wandering into the other room, his friends slowly, cautiously following. They found themselves in a tiny bedroom, similar in appearance to the previous one, but with more furniture. Dirt and grime made the stone floor almost invisible, and in the shadows, the children heard rats scurrying about, and flies buzzing lazily. There was a grubby mattress in the corner, covered in dull, rough blankets piled haphazardly on top of each other, and a low table next to it, containing a single, black rose. A small stove stood on the other side of the room, in use as the stranger sat on the floor in front of it, warming his gloved hands with the small, crackling fire it contained. The one window in the room was covered by a sheet of dirty canvas.

"Come, sit," he ordered, motioning for the children to join him on the floor, "My name is Alin Radacanu, by the way."

"I'm Peter Kirkland," Peter replied, turning off his torch and sitting on the floor next to him. "And these are my friends: Kuzey Adnan and Charlotte Cook."

"Sorry but I don't care what your names are," Alin waved a hand dismissively, "You're just 'child one', 'child two' and 'child three' to me. Always been bad with names and to be honest, I don't really like children…" He grumbled the last part more to himself, stretching his long fingers.

"Charming," Charlotte stared disdainfully at the mucky floor before joining Peter, huddling close to her friend and the fire. Like Peter, she'd worn shorts instead of trousers, and was shivering, cold to the bone. She pulled her pink coat tighter around her, and glanced up expectantly at Kuzey. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, but they were damp and he still felt chilly. Kuzey sighed and joined his friends on the floor, brushing dried mud and dead leaves away with his shoe before plopping down next to Charlotte.

"So what are you doing here?" Peter asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing, child one?" Alin replied.

"It looks like… you live here?"

"Indeed."

"Oh, how come?"

"Hiding," the young man said with a small, sad grin. He gulped, shakily poking at the fire in the stove with a twig, watching as the flames licked at the tiny stick and it caught ablaze. He tossed it in, sighing.

"From what?" Peter pressed, looking at him curiously.

"I… it's a long story."

"So you never leave here?" asked Kuzey, frowning slightly; "You never go into town?"

"Pretty much, yes, child two."

"How do you eat?"

"I don't," Alin frowned, glaring at the children. He should have known they would ask a lot of questions, always curious, always wanting to know more, oblivious to the dangers of it. Because it was almost as dangerous as… no, don't think about it!

"Is that possible?" Charlotte's thick brows furrowed together.

"Yes, child three. Any more questions?"

"A few," Peter replied weakly.

Alin sighed, what a pain in the ass they were and it had only been what, five minutes?

"Go on then."

"Why can't you eat? Do you like living here? Doesn't the smell bother you? Seriously, it stinks something awful here. What are you hiding from? Are you scared of something? Are you hiding because you're dirty and smelly?"

"No I am not!" Alin snapped, glaring at the boy, "I'm hiding because someone did something terrible to me, and they're still living in town, walking around amongst normal people, acting like nothing happened whilst I'm… I'm… forced to live like a dog."

"What did they do?" asked Kuzey.

"They ruined me." Alin glanced at the three children, who looked up curiously, waiting expectantly for him to continue. He turned away from the fire, facing them, sitting cross-legged with his hands resting on his knees."You really want to know?" he asked, voice flat and hoarse.

They nodded at the same time. Of course they wanted to know, accidentally he'd made it sound exciting and it was so stupid, because he really shouldn't have told the kids anything.

"Maybe we can help," Peter offered, "We're all pretty smart for our ages!"

Right. Alin gave a short, bitter laugh. He sneered at the trio, trying to hold back more laughter as they shrank away from him.

"I'm beyond the help of you mere mortals," he told them. "This is something rather not of this realm, kiddies, not for the likes of you."

"You never know," Peter sniffed, shrugging, "Maybe we can offer a fresh, new look at your situation."

The strawberry blond studied him for a minute, taking in his smooth, innocent, childish features. His head was held high, jaw sticking out determinedly and his eyes fierce. Behind him, Kuzey and Charlotte were nodding in agreement. He bit back an ironic remark along the lines of 'yeah, you and the yogurt fairy…'. Indeed, better leave the fucking yogurt fairy out of this.

"Fine, sure. Why the hell not?" He rolled his eyes before leaning closer, grinning wickedly, "If you think you can keep up, that is. This tale isn't for the faint-of-heart."

"Oh please," Charlotte scoffed, "I've probably watched scarier cartoons!"

Alin laughed again, shaking his head despairingly. "All right, if you're certain. Now listen carefully you brats, because I'm only gonna tell this story once. And you're here to witness that, aren't you lucky? Now, this is a tale of greed and destruction! It is the tale of a man… and a monster."

Peter scoffed. "Isn't that last sentence from the Hunchback of Notre Da-?"

"Shut up and listen to my story!"

Peter rolled his eyes, folding his arms and mimicking Alin in a high-pitched voice. The man glowered at him before continuing.

"So, years ago, before you brats were probably born even, there lived a boy…"

"Fuck," Alin hissed, wading through ankle-deep water to get to his kitchen, "Oh fucking shit! Fuck its mother's hat*!" He spewed out more curses as he splashed through the flooded kitchen to where the taps were spilling even more water into his house, lunging forward to turn them off. The sink was filled to the brim, water pouring over the sides onto the worktop and floor. He turned around, looking in horror at the soaked room.

Early that morning, he'd awoken to find his water supply cut off, probably from a burst pipe, and fiddled half-heartedly with the taps before leaving for university, not realising he'd left them on, and at some point during the day, the water had come back on. Now the ground floor was flooded; his carpet was ruined; the walls were soaking; and the sockets all bust. He sighed, picking up a mop and getting to work. How would he explain this to the landlord? He'd be made to pay through the nose, possibly getting evicted altogether. Maybe if he opened all the windows and doors, the water would spill out and dry off on its own. No one would need to know.

He threw the front door open, pushing water out with his mop, and froze. His neighbor. Alin lived on the end of his street, in a semi-detached little house that bordered a similar building. He didn't know who lived there, only that they were alone, and very secretive. There was a good chance some of the water had leaked into their house too, causing what he hoped was minimal damage. Alin would have to visit him and apologise.

Really, this whole mess was the last thing he needed right now, not after the long, terrible month he'd had. He was behind on his schoolwork, losing sleep and had neglected his friends and family, all because of the strange flowers. They just turned up suddenly, in his house, his rucksack, sometimes even in his pocket as he walked along the street. He'd just reach up to pull something out of his shirt pocket, and find a tiny black rose sitting snugly amongst tissues and scraps of paper. He'd reach into his bag during class, and prick his fingers on a rose lying at the bottom. He'd come home, tired from a day of lessons only to find a vase he'd never seen before sitting on his dining table filled with the black flowers.

It scared him beyond belief, and at times he'd been tempted to move out, leave the town and go back to his parents. But his pride wouldn't let him. Besides, he was enjoying his literature degree at the local university, and didn't want to throw his education away over something so trivial.

But was it? Someone was breaking into his house to do this, and, although they weren't taking anything, he still wanted them to stop. They were invading his privacy and breaking the law too. Maybe he should go to the police about it.

As he considered his options, like he'd done for weeks now, he slowly mopped up the water, throwing open the window, letting in the fresh breeze and twittering of birds. He looked out of the tiny window at his garden, overgrown and plain, the occasional flower poking through. A large wall prevented him from looking over into his neighbour's garden, even from his second storey bedroom window. Secretive weirdo.

They'd only moved in a few months ago, after the previous family had suddenly emigrated one night, not even introducing themselves except to leave a note and a jar of homemade jam. Alin had gone over to thank the man, who'd signed his note as 'Mr. Borisov', but he wasn't in. Something had felt odd about the note and gift, and he'd thrown away the jam without trying any of it, an action he immediately regretted. Rose jam was his favourite kind. The neighbour wasn't home any of the times Alin had visited, or maybe he was, and was simply ignoring him. It made Alin almost not want to bother telling him about the leak, but Alin wasn't raised to be rude, and Mr. Borisov would find out soon enough anyway.

Alin groaned as he wandered into the sitting room, wet socks squelching as his cold, wet feet splashed through the shallow flood. This was going to take fucking ages to clean and dry!

"Shit taps," he hissed, looking in despair as the water swirled around the room, ruining the walls, floor and furniture. He threw the mop on the floor, snarling as he stomped back into the hall. There was no use trying to do this now, he'd probably burn the house down in a rage. Maybe his neighbour would help calm him down.

As he walked out into his front garden and stared at the dull, slightly sinister house, he realised a conversation with the faceless man could possibly rob him of the last of his patience. Alin predicted that he'd probably burn both their houses down.

He laughed at the thought. Like he'd dare! Alin wasn't tough or intimidating, like some other men. He couldn't fight, or wreak havoc. He had a slight build, no muscle, no toned limbs, and was a shy, timid man. Well, if one was to put him in a room with his best friend Arthur, and they could talk for hours about magic and legends and the occult, but with everyone else? He wouldn't know what to say. No, he was far too easily afraid, which was why he preferred living alone.

Still, he had to do this. Walking up his neighbour's path, Alin knocked on the door and waited. He hummed to himself, desperately trying to flatten his messy hair whilst looking around at the neat little front garden, with rows of small, jewel-like flowers in the flowerbeds, and rich green grass cut smartly.

The door finally opened, revealing a young man with black hair, neatly parted, and cold, calculating green eyes. He was calm and cool, giving a friendly smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, and Alin couldn't help but stare - he was unnaturally handsome. There was something else about the man, a feeling he stirred inside Alin, one that told him to run as far away as he could from Mr. Borisov and never look back. But Alin wasn't particularly wise, so he ignored that feeling and focused on another - familiarity.

He'd seen this man before.

To be continued

*Romanian swear, 'it' refers to the situation. Anyway, in Romanian one can be as creative with their swears as they want just for the sake of stress relief, please don't try to find deeper meaning where there is none :)))))