Excerpt:

In Trytonville, they tell the tale of the boy who never came back.

A witch beguiled him, they say, with lilting songs and winsome words, drawing him ever deeper into the wood. And, though he knew he should not, when she held out her slender perfect hand, he took it, and disappeared from all mortal realm.

The villagers knew their search was useless when they found his shoes in the center of a path, as if he had just stepped out of them but left no footprints.

His mother wailed, his father cursed, but his brother simply watched, wide-eyed and quiet. He, too, had heard the witch’s song, beheld that beautiful hand. He remembered the warning, though, or perhaps his courage failed, and he ran along the path toward the village and light.

Yet, even as an old man, the brother of the boy who never came back always wondered—what if?