Saturday’s edition of The Giles Hollow Mosquito featured a large front-page photograph of the collapsed pumpkin display above the headline, Costumed College Kids Create Catastrophe. Within its pages, there were no less than three separate stories dedicated to the riots that had occurred the night before. In short, the mayhem was being blamed on a group of disorderly students and a mix of what authorities were calling “various outside agitators.”

According to the reporting, the police had sealed off Main Street and spent the rest of the evening carting van loads of people to the local precinct. The published mugshots of several of the offenders did little to convey the intended gravity of the situation, however. While they certainly seemed appropriately somber, the putrid green of their zombie makeup made them look like the captured henchmen of an incompetent comic book villain.

The dean of the college publicly condemned those responsible, insisting that these were not the values they tried to teach their students. She went on at length about the need for the school’s community to do a great deal of soul searching as to how they could regain the town’s trust.

The Elmwood City Board of Selectmen had called an emergency meeting, and there was already talk of canceling next year’s celebration.

It was, by far, the most exciting thing to happen in the area for years. The reality that the vast majority of people attending the festival had left by the time the trouble started, meaning almost no one had actually been in any real danger, did little to slow what was sure to be a lucrative news day.

Though he’d been caught in the middle of what was now being dubbed The Pumpkin Riots, a completely different set of concerns occupied Lester’s thoughts as he tossed copies of the double-thick edition into the quiet of the early morning. His head swam with questions. Not the least of which was why his father and Mr. Poole had been chasing the boy from the accident?

When Ben had dropped him at home, Lester’s mother had been waiting up. She’d somehow heard about all the commotion and was concerned when he came limping in on his sore ankle. Deciding it would be best to keep his story simple, Lester had explained how he’d twisted it in one of the bounce houses. This seemed to satisfy her, and she’d helped him up the stairs to bed. As she’d tucked him in, she’d told him that his father wouldn’t be home until much later due to an emergency at work. Lester felt fairly confident he knew what that emergency was. When he’d left for his paper route the following morning, his father’s car still wasn’t in the garage. Did that mean Truck Boy had escaped?

The Ditch’s paper landed perfectly in the middle of his walkway with a satisfying thwack, and Lester coasted his bike into an arc that sent him back up the other side of the road.

Passing the dark forest, he didn’t have to peer searchingly through the shadows of evergreens to try and spot Amanda’s estranged aunt hiding behind a tree. This time she stood out in the open, the rising sun glinting off her white-blonde hair like a beacon.

Lester thought about continuing by without stopping, but he had no real reason to be rude. What did he care if the Poole siblings didn’t get along?

“Good morning, youngest North,” Jennie Poole said in her velvety voice, watching Lester coast to a stop several feet in front of her. “You can come closer. Don’t worry. I don’t bite — much.”

She looked exactly as she had the other two times Lester had seen her. Her silky hair spilled down onto the shoulders of her long dark coat, which draped over her body like a cloak. Lester wondered if she owned any other clothes.

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“Good morning, Ms. Poole,” he said, rolling his bike a few tentative steps forward.

“So, you’ve discovered who I am. I knew a smart boy like you would be able to work it out.”

“You’re Amanda’s Aunt, Jennie. Mr. Poole’s sister.”

At the mention of her brother, her eyes narrowed. “Daniel and I ceased being siblings in anything but name long ago.”

“Is that because he married a Gray?” asked Lester, taking a chance. To his surprise, she smiled.

“Do you think me a simpleton? Someone so small and petty they must resort to ignorance and prejudice? No. Our argument was not about my brother’s engagement. But rather, his decision to turn his back on hope.”

Her gaze became unfocused as though she were looking beyond Lester into an unpleasant memory. Then, with a shake of her head, her tight-lipped smile returned.

“Forgive me,” Jennie Poole said. “The past grows heavier with time. But none of it has anything to do with you, youngest North. Or does it?”

For a brief moment, her cool facade slipped, replaced by a look that almost seemed motherly. Then just as quickly, it was gone, leaving Lester to wonder if he’d imagined it.

“That reminds me,” she said, reaching into her coat. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” Lester said nervously. “But really, it’s not necessary.”

“Now, don’t tell me the last thing I gave you hasn’t come in handy. Especially in light of all the recent excitement.”

“Were you at the festival?” Lester asked. He found it hard to imagine Jennie Poole anywhere other than her cottage or these woods. But then again, there was obviously more to this mysterious woman than it might first appear.

Ignoring his question, she pulled something from her coat. “I made it myself,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice.

Reluctantly, Lester held out his hand, and she gently placed a small wood carving onto his palm. It was a raven, perched on top of a stone. The detail was incredible. Every feather had been intricately sculpted to the point that it seemed the bird might take flight at any moment.

“You made this?” asked Lester.

“Read it,” said Ms. Poole, inclining her head towards the carving.

There were words etched around the bottom of the stone, and Lester rotated his hand as he read aloud. “Love can do much, but duty more. What does it mean?”

“It means that soon you’ll have to make a choice. You’ve reached the fork in the path that winds through the wood. It’s too far to turn back now. So do you continue on the road laid out for you, or do you take the untrodden way? Even though it’s too dark to tell where it ends? Remember, youngest North; the safe road does not always remain safe.”

“I don’t understand,” said Lester.

Jennie Poole leaned in close. Her voice was low even though there was no one else around.

“Do you know what hunts them, boy?”

“You mean, The Light?” said Lester.

“Bah!” she scoffed. “All light does is cast shadow. The brighter it gets, the more unseen things become. In the end, there will be a price, and do you think those fools care who pays?”

“Then what are you talking about?” asked Lester. “If you’re not going to make sense, take your bird back.” He held out his hand, but she was already moving away.

“It’s a gift,” she said, stepping into the woods.

“Well, I don’t want it,” said Lester.

“Oh, you will. When the time comes, you will,” said Jennie Poole, ducking under some branches and disappearing into the dark. “Take care, youngest North,” she called from somewhere beyond the trees. “Often the road less traveled — is less traveled for a reason.”

Lester knew Amanda’s aunt’s cryptically dire predictions should worry him, but he found himself more angry than frightened. The last thing he needed was yet another adult in his life that answered all questions with riddles. Everyone wanted to tell him what to do, but none of them seemed to think he should have a say in it.

“I don’t care!” he shouted into the forest. “Do you hear me? I don’t care!”