Ryn awoke.

The colours dancing across the inside of his eyelids had turned orange. Bright morning sunshine oozed in through his bedroom curtains.

He lay for a moment with his eyes still closed, enjoying the feel of the feather mattress beneath his limbs. His sleep had been dreamless and content.

He drew a deep breath in through his nostrils. From downstairs he could smell wafting up the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread being prepared by his mother.

“Ry-y-yn!” came her singsong voice from below. “Time to get u-u-up! Breakfast’s ready! Come on, you don’t want to be late for the Fair!”

“Coming, Mum!” Ryn called back as he opened his eyes. It was good to be alive. He hopped out of bed, gave a little shiver at the drop in warmth, and dressed quickly in his simple brown overshirt and trousers before pulling on his leather boots.

He glanced at his tousled brown hair in the looking glass hung on his wall and ruffled it a bit so it stuck up less, then opened his curtains.

The village was already well awake; men, women and children all hurrying this way and that and getting things ready for the Spring Fair, carrying boxes of fruit or pulling carts full of wares. He was surprised that they hadn’t woken him up earlier.

Just then a high pitched noise sounded from somewhere far away. Odd. Ryn thought it must be someone squealing with excitement at the fair. Maybe the Spring Totem had just been put up. A few people outside looked up at the noise for a moment, then returned to their work.

Downstairs the aroma of bread was even stronger. Ryn gave his mother a good-morning kiss on the cheek and settled down at the kitchen table to eat.

“Where’s Dad?” he said to his mother as she joined him at the table for bread and strawberry jam.

His mother, though age had wrinkled the lines around her eyes and mouth, was beautiful, with long golden hair and a kind, heart-shaped face. It was odd to think of your mother like that, but Ryn knew that everyone thought she was beautiful, and he was proud of her. He was a mother’s boy, through and through, and he knew that too. But he didn’t mind it one bit.

“Your father’s out helping set up,” said his mother. “Odrik sent one of his boys; said he needed some help setting up the market stalls since so many have people have come to trade today. I let you sleep in.” The corner of his mother’s lip crept up. “Seventeen year olds need their sleep, after all.”

“Thanks.” The boy grinned cheekily back at her.

From outside, a high pitched cry sounded, this time closer, then suddenly stopped. A tingle ran up Ryn’s spine.

“What was that?” he said.

His mother had frozen in place, one hand still holding a knife in midair, from which jam began to drip slowly downwards.

“I’’m not sure,” she said. “It sounded like a…”

“...scream.”

A horrible crunching noise came from next door, the sound of wood snapping.

More screams, very close now.

Ryn and his mother stood up.

Their front door slammed open--it hadn’t been locked, why would it be?--making a tremendous bang as it hit the wooden wall it was built into.

Now Ryn’s mother screamed, high and desperate.