Prologue
Kingdom of Zurich, 1784
The boy was afraid.
Despite sharing the small loft with his older brother, Mike, and his sister Claire, their close proximity as they snored away in their beds did nothing to disperse the sense of heavy dread in the air, hanging above him like thunder clouds.
It felt like something was sitting on his chest, pressing down on his heart and lungs until he couldn't get any air in, and when he opened his eyes to the darkness, he was certain he could see something perched on top of him, a creature black and winged and ominous.
Nightmare. He was warned about them, he just didn't believe in them, these demon witches that came into your bed at night, bringing with them misfortune, death and bad dreams, whispering evil things and singing scary lullabies.
Nightmare.
Then, as his eyes adjusted to the thin moonlight coming through the window, he realized there was nothing there at all.
The boy took in a deep shaking breath, his lungs capable again, and then slowly sat up. The loft was cold, his labored breathing causing ice crystals to form in front of his eyes. Even though the fire from the central hearth below tended to die out in the middle of the night, the heat was usually trapped up top with them. He'd never felt cold like this before, not in September.
He looked to his brother and sister, sleeping in their narrow beds, the hay stuffing askew beneath the woolen blankets. In the dim light they looked peaceful, sleeping soundly, though their breath also froze in the air. Thirty years from now, when the boy turned thirty-five, he wouldn't have to worry about temperatures hurting him, but for now, he was shivering.
Not just from the chill.
Because there was someone else in the loft with them.
One minute there was nothing there, the next a shadow appeared in front of the lone narrow window.
The figure of a man.
A man without a head.
The boy opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. Not even air. He could only stare wide-eyed at the headless figure blocking the light of the moon.
Yet, for all the raw terror that was pulsing through his body, there was also this heavy sense of grief and sadness. It radiated out from the headless figure like smoke and the boy could feel the grief sinking into his skin, altering him from the inside out.
Go away, the boy thought, and his words were shaking from fear in his own head. Go away, go away, go away.
The headless figure just stared. Even though he had no head, the boy could still feel eyes on him. It was like the figure was sizing him up.
Like he wants to take me to the Red World, the boy thought. Where I will be torn apart, limb from limb, and eaten alive.
But then the figure turned to the side and walked across the loft, making no sound on the wood floors, and started down the ladder toward the ground floor.