Chime Hours Prologue

Alfred Jones had always stood out. At 5 years old, he was louder than other children, far more mischievous, always wanting to be the centre of attention. At kindergarten, he was the envy of the class, thrilling his playmates with tales of the amazing adventures he embarked upon; fabulous stories of dragons and pirates and aliens, and how he, the Hero, would always save the day. At home, his parents marvelled at his energy as he darted through the house or the garden, his younger brother Matthew often in tow. His mother would gloat about her son's 'charismatic and engaging personality', and how it was such a shame that Matthew, introvert that he was, seemed to show none of these traits. Alfred was coddled and spoilt rotten by his parents and neighbours alike, and his life would have been absolute bliss, had it not been for one unfortunate factor.

Alfed could see things that weren't supposed to be there.

Since a very young age, he'd been aware of certain entities that no one else appeared to pick up on. The glimpse of a misty figure passing round a corner, a glint of eyes in the darkness, or occasionally a ghostly face or two. At first, he would rush to his parents or a teacher after such an encounter, sobbing and whimpering. But he received little more than a comforting nod and the assurance that there was nothing there, that he was just 'imagining things. After a while, Alfred grew to realise that he would find no true solace from these adults, and so was left with no one to confide in but his brother. Matthew would listen silently to the older boy's garbled accounts, believing him completely, but even then Alfred wasn't satisfied; Matthew could listen, but he would never really understand.

The days weren't hard. Alfred found distractions in the games he played, the lessons at preschool, the cartoons on tv. But when it was time for bed, and the silence and shadows crept in, he would find himself gripped by terror. At night, there were no diversions to keep his mind from the creatures that lingered within his vision. His dreams were plagued by haunting apparitions. Nightmares were frequent. Even the nightlight that flickered benevolently by his bed became something to fear; a burst of hell fire, or a will-o'-the-wisp^[1].

So it came as a surprise to him when, one night, he dreamt of a field full of pink roses^[2]. Blue eyes wide in bewilderment and wonder, the boy slowly turned on the spot, taking in the serene environment.

"Oi, you gonna stand there spinning all day, or what?!"

A young voice startled him out of his reverie, and Alfred nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise. He shielded his eyes against the sun and glanced upwards.  A small boy around his own age was stood on the crest of a hill, gazing down at him with arms folded. He was wearing a flowing green cape, with wild blond hair that stuck out at numerous odd angles, giving him the appearance of a scruffy cat, and even from this distance Alfred could make out his striking green eyes, and even more striking eyebrows. He blinked.

With an annoyed sigh, the other boy strode down the hill towards him, a heavy scowl distorting his features. He stopped just short of Alfred, apparently greatly annoyed by their difference in height as his scowl deepened when he had to look upwards. He jabbed at Alfred's chest with a slender finger.

"And what do you think you're doing here, exactly? Who are you?" As he spoke, his obviously British accent became clear, ever so slightly marring his suspicious words. The elegent voice seemed far beyond his years, and didn't match with his immature appearance. Alfred could only gape for a moment, before finding his voice.

"I...ah, I'm Alfred...?" he offered. "This...is my dream, isn't it...?" He was rather confused. Why was this stranger demanding to know his business, when this was his dream?

The other blond also seemed bemused now. "Dream? I don't think so. I'd know if I was dreaming." And with that, he stomped off in the opposite direction. Alfred hesitated, then ran after him.

"Wait! I don't know your name!" he insisted upon catching up with the Brit. The boy turned to give him a condescending look, before rolling his eyes.

"It's Arthur.." he muttered, then jumped when Alfred shoved his hand forward. The child was grinning now.

"Nice to meet you, Arthur!" he exclaimed, snatching Arthur's hand and shaking it violently.  Arthur spluttered indignantly, snatching his hand back.

"Wish I could say the same...Alfred..." he grumbled.

oOoOo

From then on, Alfred dreamed of that field every night, and Arthur was always there waiting for him. The Brit was rude and seemed constantly irritated by Alfred's presence at first, and the American was somewhat cautious of the whole scenario, but as time went by the two gradually came to relax around each other. Alfred learnt that Arthur came from a big family, and was often ignored by his parents and siblings, so the experience had left him incredibly bitter for one so young. However, he also realised that the (slightly) older boy had a kind personality deep down, along with a love for all things magical. It had amazed him to discover the faeries that occasionally followed Arthur, and even more so the knowledge that here was someone else who was just like him, who could see the things that no one was supposed to see. The revelation thrilled the both of them, though Arthur was better at concealing his excitement. A friendship was surely and steadily formed between the two.

Now, Alfred no longer feared the night time, knowing that his new found friend would always be there for him.

That was, until one night, when Arthur disappeared.