Pan

one

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chapter one
a highly unconventional young boy

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There was a tapping at my window. The wind was howling outside and I ignored it, passing it off as the trees outside hitting the side of the house and rolled over in my bed. 

Then the tapping came again. 

My eyes slowly opened and I glanced over at the window. The window itself was hidden by the pulled satin curtains and I couldn't see much other than blurred shadows and darkness. 

I stilled under the covers and waited nervously for the tapping to come again. In London, if there was a tapping at your window, one probably should not go and see what it is. 

Tap, tap, tap.

I flinched and felt my heart rate accelerate in my chest. Nervously, I clutched my sheets close to me and curled into a ball- I covered my head with the duvet. In the warmth of the sheets, the sound of the weather was muffled and the window seemed light years away. I relaxed very slightly. 

That was a mistake. 

There was a scratching noise, like nails on the wooden window pane and then the unmistakable sound of the latch being lifted. It squeaked and pinged as the golden chain of the latch dropped out of the lock. The terrifying thing was the lock was on the inside of the window. The wind screamed loudly as the window opened with a creak. Lightning flashed and through the white covers, I saw the shadow of a lithe figure dart across the room. 

Screaming loudly, I grappled for anything. I furiously tucked myself underneath the thin covers of my bed even further and felt tears dribble down my cheeks and wet the mattress. Trembling, the light flashed all around my room and a dark figure was inching ever so closer. 

An arm reached out, I felt a pressure above my head and then the sheet was pulled cleanly off me. I screamed loudly and crawled to the head of my bed. 

Thunder cracked like a whip and lightning sliced through the sky, brightening my room. In the sudden burst of light- I saw him. 

His hair was long and unruly. What seemed like leaves and sticks were laced through his brown curls. A patchwork of fabric covered his torso in a makeshift shirt while his pants were made out of what might have been some sort of fur- one pant leg was shorter than the other. He was young, possibly younger than my own tender age of sixteen. 

The patchwork boy stepped forward and held out his hand and then the room went dark again. All I could hear was my breathing and the beating of my heart. I flinched when I heard crunching- like someone stepping on leaves. 

"Amelia." 

His voice was soft. 

"Amelia, please." 

Slowly, I peered up from behind my hands. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and his outline became more solid and I could see his arm, still outstretched for me to take. 

I swallowed. "That's not me. You've got the wrong window!" 

The boy didn't falter, if anything, his arm seemed to stretch further towards me. "I came through exactly the right window, Amelia Finch. You called for me."