I began this on 2nd November, I swear!

At the end of a busy weekend, I sat down to do my second instalment of "November Writing" at 11.45pm... I have, however, completed some other writing today, with the writing of a newsletter for our local theatre group. But it wasn't fiction and certainly not about any forgotten children! So here is the next part of my story. This bit is shorter at around 700 words. But, since it is now 12.45am on November 3rd, I thought I should post it and go to bed. My theory is that the next instalment will be longer as a result. I guess we'll see... I am already surprised by the way the story is beginning to tell itself. By just sitting down and starting to type, the story takes itself off on unplanned tangents - which are fun so far. I wonder what else it has planned for itself?!
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The hours passed. In her dream, Charlotte was suddenly cold. A fierce, biting cold that bit through her skin. Something was standing over her and she cowered, withdrawing from its menacing shadow.

“Charlotte? Charlotte!”
The something was speaking and she struggled to hear. Gradually, her dream began to fade and as she awoke, Charlotte realised that the icy cold had been caused by the loss of her blanket. The menacing shadow was her mother, now standing over her, blanket in hand.

“CHARLOTTE! Do you plan to sleep the day away, you lazy girl?” her mother said. “The sun has been up for a full hour and you have work to do. Get up this instant!” With that, she flung the blanket onto the floor and stalked away.

“Sorry, Mama.” Charlotte called after her mother’s retreating form. She sat up immediately, still groggy. Why was she so tired? She tried to remember the events of the previous night. Something had happened to her, she knew – but what was it? Try as she might, she couldn’t bring the details of the encounter into her mind. The memory of it lay frustratingly out of reach, hidden somewhere in the back of her mind.

She dressed as quickly as she could, pulling her woollen shift over her head and plaiting her long brown hair so that it hung in a thick, shining coil down her back. Having just passed her thirteenth birthday, Charlotte would soon be considered a woman and it would not be long before she would be expected to take on the responsibilities of a household. This was a prospect that terrified her. When her chores were done, she wanted still to be playing games and climbing trees, not turning her attention to cooking or sewing. She had already overheard her parents whispering about suitable husbands when they thought she was asleep at night and her heart had sank. She did not feel ready for womanhood, nor for the attention of the young men of the village. If any of them approached her, she would blush crimson and avert her blue eyes from their increasingly intense gaze. Why could she not stay a child forever? Her mind still swirled with a thousand thoughts as Charlotte staggered out into the sunlight to begin her day’s chores.

“Charlotte! Have you heard? They say the town has been cursed!”
Charlotte had reached the centre of town and was filling her bucket with water from the well when Troy came running over to join her. He was the one young man with whom she was not awkward, probably because they had grown up together. Their families’ cottages lay side by side and they saw each other every day. Troy was as good as a brother – indeed, they fought as hard as other brothers and sisters did. But they were fiercely loyal to each other too and many scuffles had broken out between them and the other children of the village when one had come to the defence of the other. In the past year, Troy had grown tall and lanky and he now towered over Charlotte. His blonde hair flopped into his face and he pushed it out of his blue eyes impatiently.

“What are you talking about?” Her bucket full to the brim with water, Charlotte turned around carefully so as not to spill the precious cargo. “Who says the town is cursed?”
“Everyone!” answered Troy. “Did you not hear of the stranger who came to the town yesterday?”
Charlotte shook her head. “There was so much work to do yesterday I barely left the cottage,” she said. “What stranger? Why was he here? Where did he come from? Is it he who has cursed us? Why would he do that?”

Troy held up his hand, laughing. “Enough!” he said. “How do you expect me to answer you when all you do is ask question after question?”
Charlotte grinned. “I am sorry,” she said. “But you said the town was cursed! Naturally, I am going to have questions. Did you expect me to say nothing?”
“Of course not,” said Troy. “Come on.” He took the bucket from her hand. “I’ll walk back with you,” he said. “Along the way, I’ll tell you what I know.”