The house was off one of the many back roads of the city. Pete found it purely by chance; he was lost, and had only gone down the road to turn his car around.

It was an old manor house, three stories high, battling against the elements and surround forest, and seeming losing; ivy was going up two walls, and the front garden was just a tangle of shrubbery and roots. The whole area had an atmosphere of dusk about it, despite being the middle of the day, and somewhere was the sound of jaunty, off-key music being played.

Pete shivered, remembering all the tales he’d heard as a child about fae music coming from the woods.

The porch was littered with deer skulls and axes. Perfectly normal, thought Pete as he manoeuvred his car around. Probably a hunter. Probably hunted in the surrounding forest. (People did hunt round here, didn’t they? Of course they did.) And the axes were just for chopping firewood. What else would they be used for?

Pete didn’t let himself answer that.

He had nearly turned around completely when he caught saw the source of the music in his wing mirror; on the roof of the house, a figure was enthusiastically playing a child-sized accordion. They gave Pete a hearty wave as he drove off, vowing never to return to this weird-ass city.

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