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"Grandpa, tell us a story, please." Ann looked at her grandfather with those big puppy dog eyes little girls are so good at. Feeling in no mood to deny her anything, he consented.

"What sort of story would you like to hear, Anny? A story about a princess perhaps? Or maybe one about a knight?"

"Tell me the one about Jordan and the evil mad man, Grandpa."

"You know your mother doesn't like for you to listen to those kind of stories before bed. You could get me into a lot of trouble like this little lady." All of this he said in a mock threatening sort of voice, shaking his finger for emphasis but unable to keep a smile from his lips. His young grand-daughter had fallen in love with his horror stories that some how made their way into love stories by some weird twist of fate. Having been an author for years, he loved to make up stories off the top of his head for his little red headed fireball of a grandchild. How he loved that amazing burst of lightening that had found its way into such a little girl.

"I won't have any bad dreams, Grandpa. Serious. Word of honor," she said, her voice and face completely serious, or as serious as a five year old could get.

"All right, but only since you promised. After this, it's straight to bed with you, understand?" She nodded her head quickly and climbed into his lap. Smiling, he began his story. "A gentle breeze blew through the trees in a small field. Flowers bent against the wind, trying to stand. there was a sound in the woods like nails on chalkboard. The a screech filled the air; coming to a sudden stop and sending chills down the spines of may animals. Not a single living this was present in the vicinity that didn't shiver at t he sound. Withing a few minuets of the screech stopping, another noise, like the sound of a very large animal crashing through the undergrowth, made the animals in at least a one mile radius jump out of their skins. Everything went black and fuzzy like a camera losing it's connection.

'What happened? Where am I?' Jordan asked aloud. He was a young man of about fifteen. With a fit body and longhair pulled back in a ponytail, he looked like a rough sort of person; the type that you would find in a dark alley. A scar ran down his right arm. His hair was fire, and his eyes were emeralds. Everything about him had that hardened look. The only thing different was his voice' it was sort of a whine but could be as unsentimental as everything else. Once again, he spoke up. 'Where am I? I asked you a question!

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