The Return
Only a year had passed since Fox Smith’s first crossing at fifteen. Now, at sixteen, he stepped once more through the Gates of Dawn. This time, Nathan and Andrew Brooks, along with Michael King, followed close behind.
The forest swallowed them in silence. Cobwebs clung to their shoulders, branches brushed against their arms, and the air felt heavier than Illinois air. Fox moved with certainty, his stride steady, as if he already knew the proper path.
Michael broke the hush first, brushing a strand of web from his sleeve.
“Dang, Fox—how long were you planning to keep this little secret?”
Fox pushed aside a branch and stepped into the open. Before them stretched a vast landscape of green wheat fields, rippling under a wind that carried whispers.
“It’s not my secret,” Fox said evenly. “This place was here long before I ever came to Taylorville.”
Andrew snorted, kicking at the dirt.
“So we walked through a cobweb‑infested forest and came out the other side. Big deal.”
Fox turned, his eyes steady.
“The issue is, Andrew, we’re no longer in Taylorville.”
Andrew gestured at the horizon. “Sure we are. Wheat fields outside town, same as always.”
Fox shook his head. “No. Not Taylorville, Illinois. Not even our world. We’re standing inside a pocket dimension. Dane County.”
The wind carried a low murmur across the fields, like voices buried in the stalks. Nathan stopped, uneasy, as the truth began to settle over them.
The three boys trailed behind Fox as he led them onto a narrow country road. Arwin trees lined both sides, their branches arching overhead like ribs, the wind whispering through their leaves. The road stretched on in silence until Fox stopped abruptly.
Before them stood the remains of a one‑story cinder block house, its walls cracked, its roof sagging under years of neglect. Fox’s breath caught as he stared at it.
“This is where I came the first time,” he murmured. “I thought maybe there’d be a phone inside. Instead…” His voice faltered, the memory pressing heavy against him.
Michael glanced at the ruin. “What happened?”
Fox’s eyes narrowed, his tone grim. “I met the Unbound.”
Nathan shifted uneasily, scanning the shadows that clung to the broken doorway. Andrew scoffed, though his voice lacked conviction. “Unbound? Sounds like one of your ghost stories.”
Fox didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the shack, as if expecting something—or someone—to step out of the darkness again.
Michael frowned. “Who are they?”
Fox’s eyes darkened. “They used to serve the Yellow Queen. But they left her… traded her shadow for someone worse. The Candy‑man.”
Nathan’s voice was tight. “Candy‑man?”
Fox nodded. “A creature who takes in runaways and lost children. He doesn’t put them to work in fields or kitchens. He sells them. Body and soul.”
Andrew scoffed again, but his voice cracked. “And they thought you were one of those kids?”
Fox’s jaw tightened. “They tried to take me to him. Said he’d ‘find me a place.’ I refused. That’s when they told me how to reach Penryn instead.”
The boys fell silent, staring at the shack. The wind rattled its broken windows, and for a moment Fox thought he heard whispers again—voices from that first encounter, urging him toward the Candy‑man’s lair.
Nothing stirred within the shack. No Candy‑man, not even the Unbound. The back wall had collapsed, leaving the vine‑choked windows open to a pale shaft of light. Dust motes drifted in the glow, silent reminders of what once lurked here.
Fox’s gaze lingered a moment longer, the memory pressing against him like a weight. Then he turned, his voice low but firm.
“Let’s go.”
He stepped away from the ruin, his boots crunching against the gravel road. Nathan, Andrew, and Michael followed, each casting uneasy glances back at the hollow shell of the house. The wind sighed through the Arwin trees, carrying whispers that faded as they moved on.
They walked on, the road stretching endlessly beneath the arching branches. The silence pressed heavy until Nathan finally spoke, his voice edged with curiosity.
“Hey, Fox… how did you ever get back home? I mean, those doors shut tight after we entered the forest. All four of us tried, and nothing budged.”
Fox slowed, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
“The Yellow Queen got me back home,” he said quietly.
Michael blinked. “Wait—the Queen? You mean she helped you?”
Fox’s jaw tightened. “Helped, yes. But not out of kindness. She wanted me to know I was like her. That’s why she let me go.”
Andrew scoffed, though unease flickered in his tone. “So we’re supposed to trust some ghostly monarch who plays games with you?”
Fox shook his head. “No. You don’t trust her. You survive her. And if she’s watching us now, it means she has a reason.”
The wind stirred the branches above, whispering like voices hidden in the leaves. Nathan glanced upward, unsettled, as if the Queen herself might be listening.
“So great—how are we supposed to get back home? Ask Fox’s girlfriend?” said Andrew.
“We don’t have to. That’s why we brought the bracelets from the hub with us. We can teleport back there anytime, without the Yellow Queen’s help,” said Fox.
“So that’s why you told us to grab one,” said Michael.
“Yeah. I figured it would be an easier way to get back home than asking a trans‑dimensional god for help,” replied Fox.
Nathan turned the bracelet over in his hand, the metal catching a faint glimmer from the pale sky.
“Still feels strange,” he muttered. “Like it’s humming under my skin.”
Fox nodded. “That’s the point. It’s tuned to the hub. As long as you wear it, you’ve got a way out.”
Andrew smirked, though unease flickered in his eyes. “So we’re trusting some piece of jewelry instead of your girlfriend the Queen. Great plan.”
Fox’s gaze hardened. “She’s not my girlfriend, Andrew. And don’t joke about her. She hears more than you think.”
The wind shifted, carrying a whisper through the Arwin trees. For a moment, all four boys froze, listening. The sound was gone as quickly as it came, but Michael shivered.
“Fox… was that her?”
Fox adjusted his pack and started walking again. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve got the bracelets. Just remember—if things go bad, don’t hesitate. Use them. Dane County doesn’t forgive mistakes.”
The boys followed, each fingering the cold weight of the bracelet, suddenly aware that their lifeline might be the only thing standing between them and the Queen’s domain.
The forest swallowed them in silence. Cobwebs clung to their shoulders, branches brushed against their arms, and the air felt heavier than Illinois air. Fox moved with certainty, his stride steady, as if he already knew the proper path.
Michael broke the hush first, brushing a strand of web from his sleeve.
“Dang, Fox—how long were you planning to keep this little secret?”
Fox pushed aside a branch and stepped into the open. Before them stretched a vast landscape of green wheat fields, rippling under a wind that carried whispers.
“It’s not my secret,” Fox said evenly. “This place was here long before I ever came to Taylorville.”
Andrew snorted, kicking at the dirt.
“So we walked through a cobweb‑infested forest and came out the other side. Big deal.”
Fox turned, his eyes steady.
“The issue is, Andrew, we’re no longer in Taylorville.”
Andrew gestured at the horizon. “Sure we are. Wheat fields outside town, same as always.”
Fox shook his head. “No. Not Taylorville, Illinois. Not even our world. We’re standing inside a pocket dimension. Dane County.”
The wind carried a low murmur across the fields, like voices buried in the stalks. Nathan stopped, uneasy, as the truth began to settle over them.
The three boys trailed behind Fox as he led them onto a narrow country road. Arwin trees lined both sides, their branches arching overhead like ribs, the wind whispering through their leaves. The road stretched on in silence until Fox stopped abruptly.
Before them stood the remains of a one‑story cinder block house, its walls cracked, its roof sagging under years of neglect. Fox’s breath caught as he stared at it.
“This is where I came the first time,” he murmured. “I thought maybe there’d be a phone inside. Instead…” His voice faltered, the memory pressing heavy against him.
Michael glanced at the ruin. “What happened?”
Fox’s eyes narrowed, his tone grim. “I met the Unbound.”
Nathan shifted uneasily, scanning the shadows that clung to the broken doorway. Andrew scoffed, though his voice lacked conviction. “Unbound? Sounds like one of your ghost stories.”
Fox didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the shack, as if expecting something—or someone—to step out of the darkness again.
Michael frowned. “Who are they?”
Fox’s eyes darkened. “They used to serve the Yellow Queen. But they left her… traded her shadow for someone worse. The Candy‑man.”
Nathan’s voice was tight. “Candy‑man?”
Fox nodded. “A creature who takes in runaways and lost children. He doesn’t put them to work in fields or kitchens. He sells them. Body and soul.”
Andrew scoffed again, but his voice cracked. “And they thought you were one of those kids?”
Fox’s jaw tightened. “They tried to take me to him. Said he’d ‘find me a place.’ I refused. That’s when they told me how to reach Penryn instead.”
The boys fell silent, staring at the shack. The wind rattled its broken windows, and for a moment Fox thought he heard whispers again—voices from that first encounter, urging him toward the Candy‑man’s lair.
Nothing stirred within the shack. No Candy‑man, not even the Unbound. The back wall had collapsed, leaving the vine‑choked windows open to a pale shaft of light. Dust motes drifted in the glow, silent reminders of what once lurked here.
Fox’s gaze lingered a moment longer, the memory pressing against him like a weight. Then he turned, his voice low but firm.
“Let’s go.”
He stepped away from the ruin, his boots crunching against the gravel road. Nathan, Andrew, and Michael followed, each casting uneasy glances back at the hollow shell of the house. The wind sighed through the Arwin trees, carrying whispers that faded as they moved on.
They walked on, the road stretching endlessly beneath the arching branches. The silence pressed heavy until Nathan finally spoke, his voice edged with curiosity.
“Hey, Fox… how did you ever get back home? I mean, those doors shut tight after we entered the forest. All four of us tried, and nothing budged.”
Fox slowed, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
“The Yellow Queen got me back home,” he said quietly.
Michael blinked. “Wait—the Queen? You mean she helped you?”
Fox’s jaw tightened. “Helped, yes. But not out of kindness. She wanted me to know I was like her. That’s why she let me go.”
Andrew scoffed, though unease flickered in his tone. “So we’re supposed to trust some ghostly monarch who plays games with you?”
Fox shook his head. “No. You don’t trust her. You survive her. And if she’s watching us now, it means she has a reason.”
The wind stirred the branches above, whispering like voices hidden in the leaves. Nathan glanced upward, unsettled, as if the Queen herself might be listening.
“So great—how are we supposed to get back home? Ask Fox’s girlfriend?” said Andrew.
“We don’t have to. That’s why we brought the bracelets from the hub with us. We can teleport back there anytime, without the Yellow Queen’s help,” said Fox.
“So that’s why you told us to grab one,” said Michael.
“Yeah. I figured it would be an easier way to get back home than asking a trans‑dimensional god for help,” replied Fox.
Nathan turned the bracelet over in his hand, the metal catching a faint glimmer from the pale sky.
“Still feels strange,” he muttered. “Like it’s humming under my skin.”
Fox nodded. “That’s the point. It’s tuned to the hub. As long as you wear it, you’ve got a way out.”
Andrew smirked, though unease flickered in his eyes. “So we’re trusting some piece of jewelry instead of your girlfriend the Queen. Great plan.”
Fox’s gaze hardened. “She’s not my girlfriend, Andrew. And don’t joke about her. She hears more than you think.”
The wind shifted, carrying a whisper through the Arwin trees. For a moment, all four boys froze, listening. The sound was gone as quickly as it came, but Michael shivered.
“Fox… was that her?”
Fox adjusted his pack and started walking again. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve got the bracelets. Just remember—if things go bad, don’t hesitate. Use them. Dane County doesn’t forgive mistakes.”
The boys followed, each fingering the cold weight of the bracelet, suddenly aware that their lifeline might be the only thing standing between them and the Queen’s domain.