The cold air stung Lester’s cheeks, and his fingers felt frozen. Even so, he gripped the handlebars of his bike firmly, training its small light on the white painted line marking the edge of the pavement. Somewhere in the darkness to his right lay a steep roadside ditch, and he was careful to steer clear.

Amanda and Mae rode beside him, the three of them taking up the entire southbound lane to the double yellow line. There was no need to worry about oncoming traffic. The sun wouldn’t be up for another half an hour, allowing the headlights of any cars to be seen long before they arrived. Additionally, as it was the weekend, there would be no buses shuttling kids to school or adults going to work. At most, they might encounter a slow-moving tractor, driven by a local farmer, up early, rushing to get the season’s last cutting of hay into the barn before the rain they could smell on the air arrived.

Lester loved this time of day. It was one of the reasons he liked having a paper route. Soon the town would wake, and people would start to go about the mundane tasks of everyday life. But right now, in the moments before dawn, the possibilities were endless. Lester could let go of everything that would seem so important just a few hours from now; school, his family, his future. Some days, he felt he might keep riding and never go back. However, he knew that once the sun came up, the weight of the world would return. Still, it was fun to pretend.

“Seriously, Lester?” Amanda said, her breath showing in the air as it blew out from the scarf wrapped around the lower part of her face. “Can’t you just tell us where we’re going? It’s freezing out here.”

“Turn!” Lester yelled in reply and veered off the pavement onto a dirt track.

Mae and Amanda followed, their bikes rattling as they rolled up and over several rollercoaster-like humps.

While most of Giles Hollow sat atop the hill, a few random houses were scattered among the deep woods of the valley below. These were connected to the main village by a series of unpaved lanes that saw little to no attention from the town. During the spring months, the rain and melting snow could render mud so thick that many of these rustic routes became impassable.

“Wee!” Mae squealed as they picked up speed and passed through a dip that made Lester’s stomach drop. She wore a wool hat with a rabbit’s face knitted onto the front. It had matching grey and pink ears that flapped behind her as she sailed along.

They continued to descend, the trees growing thicker and taller as they went. Gnarled limbs intertwined above them, reaching out from either side to create a dense canopy that transformed the narrow road into a woven tunnel.

From the bottom of the valley they heard a long low whistle, followed by a rhythmic clacking. If they kept going, they would eventually come to the river that marked the county’s edge and the freight trains that wound their way along its banks.

Lester brought his bike to a stop, and Mae and Amanda did the same. The sun was rising. Its rays filtered through the mist that hung in the air, casting a gray haze around them.

“You do realize we’re going to have to bike back up all of that, right?” Amanda said, pulling the scarf from her face. “This had better be worth it.”

“You can judge for yourself,” said Lester. He removed an oversized postcard from his delivery bag and passed it to Amanda. “You know the symbol from the paper in the alley? I knew I’d seen it before.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Come to the annual Giles Hollow Historical Society’s fundraiser,” Amanda read. “What’s this got to do with anything?”

“Turn it over,” said Lester.

The front of the postcard showed an old black and white photograph of a small cemetery, surrounded by a shiny wrought iron fence and thin maple saplings.

“Oh. That is interesting,” Mae said, leaning in close.

“What is?” Amanda asked, squinting at the image.

“Look past the cemetery,” said Lester.

Beyond the fence and gravestones, sticking out from behind a tree, stood a black mailbox with a red metal flag. It was a standard model, the same one most people in town had in front of their own houses. What set this one apart, however, was the bright white hourglass symbol someone had painted on its side.

“The newspaper had me deliver one of these cards to every stop on my route last summer,” Lester said. “I searched our garage for nearly an hour last night and finally found one behind a bunch of bins. Good thing recycling is Bernard’s job. He just chucks it all in a pile in the corner.”

“So who’s mailbox is it?” Amanda asked.

“No idea,” said Lester. “It’s impossible to make out the address. And did you know there are nine cemeteries in Giles Hollow? The historical society has a map of all their locations, though most are no longer in use.”

“Really?” Mae said, sounding legitimately interested.

“Really gross,” added Amanda. “No longer in use because they’re full of super old decaying bodies.”

“True,” Lester said cheerfully. “Like the one from that postcard. Which happens to be located just around the next corner.”

Rising like rows of gray teeth from the earth, the headstones were the same, but the once small trees from the photograph had grown substantially. Lester could have wrapped his arms around one without his hands being able to touch on the other side. A deep green moss covered the ground, and scaly brown rust had slowly crept its way up the iron fence, leaving only the spikes on top in their original black.

Though it too showed evidence of the intervening years, the mailbox still stood. It leaned forward on its post like a tired sentry, guarding the end of a long driveway. The strange painted symbol on its side was faded but intact.

Years ago, the surrounding grounds must have been almost regal. The gravel drive once meandering its way through a lush orchard before disappearing over a slight rise toward what was surely a stately home beyond. Presently, however, tall grass grew up through the crushed stone in random clumps, and the orchard’s trees, neglected for too long, poked unpruned branches out at sharp angles. The overly sweet smell of rotting fruit hung heavy in the air.

“Okay, what’s the plan?” Mae asked.

“There’s no name on the mailbox,” Lester said. “So, I guess we have to go see if anyone’s home.”

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. so-and-so,” Amanda said in mock conversation. “We were wondering if you could tell us anything you might happen to know about an ancient war between The Dark and The Light.” She rolled her eyes on the off chance her sarcasm had gone unnoticed.

“That’s why I brought this,” said Lester holding up his newspaper bag. “We knock on the door and say we’re selling subscriptions to The Giles Hollow Mosquito.”

“And?” Amanda asked.

“And — we see what happens,” said Lester.

“Wow. Did you stay up all night working that out?” asked Amanda. “Are you sure it’s not too complex to pull off? Too many moving pieces?”

“I think it’s quite a good plan,” said Mae.

“Thank you, Mae,” Lester replied, giving Amanda a look.

“Even if it is a little light on details,” Mae added.

“Fine,” Lester said. “Do either of you have a better idea?”

“Nothing that doesn’t involve me going back in time and staying in bed this morning,” Amanda muttered.

Several minutes later, they stood with their backs to the overgrown orchard and gazed up at a massive stone staircase, sitting atop a string of elaborate arches. It climbed into the air with an elegant curve, the last step ending two stories up at nothing.