When Abigail Whistler entered this story, it was due to a giant, POP!

       This, POP sound was so loud that she immediately shot up in bed and let go a terrified yelp. Her mess of long, brown hair fell down her face like an impossible puzzle of knots and a large sketchbook - the one with the sticker of a frog on its cover saying “Ribbit” - fell from the bed and clunked onto the floor. A stack of pencils clattered after it, causing another jump, before Abigail realised that she had fallen asleep while drawing again. Throwing the blankets from her, she swung her legs out of the bed and shuffled through the silhouettes of unpacked boxes and bags which littered her path. You changed rooms a week ago, she thought to herself, should have unpacked by now.       

       Then, without warning, another sound came, this time a massive crash from down the hall, which caused her spine to stiffen and a little whimper to crawl from her throat. Her mind whispered tales of a thousand, imagined horrors that might await her if she were to investigate and it pleaded with her to forget the sound and crawl back under the safety of her blanket. Abigail, being 10 years old and of a curious nature ignored this completely, gently opened her door and tiptoed out of her room. She thought it strange, to be treading so carefully, considering the volume of bangs and crashes from her parents' room. As if the tiny thump of my delicate feet were going to disturb such a thing, she thought.

       She did it anyway and reaching the end of the hallway, she placed her ear against her parents' door. Abigail was surprised to hear the sound of a small war coming from inside; a mess of shouts and grunting, as if a large number of people were involved in a hair pulling contest. She was even more surprised when a huge BANG came from the other side of the door, as it sounded as if a body had been thrown against it. This was accompanied by a wailing sound; a terrible, pained bellow, like that of a giant boar being squeezed. Of course, Abigail had never actually heard a giant boar being squeezed, but she imagined the sound to be of a similar quality. All these thoughts of boars and hair pulling contests and such made Abigail terrified of what might be happening within that room, but her curiosity got the better of her. So, after taking a deep breath and summoning every fibre of courage from within, she thrust her hand forward and threw open the door.

       She immediately wished she hadn’t.

       Within was chaos. Her parents' bed had been tipped over and thrown to the side of the room and in its place, there stood a woman. Well, ‘a woman’ might be misleading, as not only was the creature eight feet tall with a face like a car crash, but she also had tentacles where her legs should have been. Her skin, from the top of her head to the tips of her limbs appeared to be made of some form of flexible wood and her eyes blazed with an eerie, purple fire. Within those tentacles, which swept and whooshed about the room at a terrifying pace, were Abigail’s parents. Each had a tendril wrapped tight around them and both were, rather bizarrely, still asleep, completely undisturbed by the peculiar position they had found themselves in.

       Abigail stepped warily into the room.

       “Oh g-gosh.” A small voice said and Abigail turned to see a figure to her left. He was standing in the corner of the room, beside the door, fidgeting his hands and legs as if he needed to pee. “Hello, little g-girl who is now staring at me quite intently.”

       The figure continued and indeed, Abigail was. She saw that he was a man of around twenty years of age, slender, with delicate features, a wave of curly hair parted across his head and two rather pointy ears sticking out of each side. His body trembled within the black velvet jacket which he wore like his mother had forced upon him. On the shoulder of his right arm there appeared to be a symbol of some kind. It looked like a clock.

       “You've got a little girl situation there, Gilbert! Do something about it!” Another voice shouted. It belonged to a girl, a girl who reluctantly stood in the path of the creature. She looked to be around 13, though her pale skin, scarred cheeks and spiky, white hair gave her a far greater air of maturity. As Abigail watched the girl dodge the clawed hands and sweeping tentacles of the monster, she became aware of another figure. It moved quickly, darting around the back of the ghastly, tentacled woman and swear words flew from its mouth at an alarming rate.       

       "Arthur!” The white-haired girl shouted, “Stop mucking about and get that mongrel of yours working!”

       Arthur, Abigail presumed, was the young boy leaping about with a grumpy scowl on his face and an impressive mastery of swearing. His clothes seemed ancient; brown tweeds, black, polished shoes and short pants, which bunched up around his shins. Abigail had seen an outfit like that in the old black and white films Nana used to fall asleep to on a Sunday afternoon.

       “Heimlich!” Arthur shouted, “Get the Witch!”

       Witch? Abigail thought to herself, her mind flipping within her skull. Did he just say, Witch? Then she gasped, as with one graceful, gymnastic flip, the boy landed on the other side of the room, just as a dog, seemingly from nowhere, launched itself through the air. There is no polite way to say this, but the dog was, well, ugly. He seemed to be of the Bulldog variety but its face looked as if it had chased one too many parked cars. As he flew at the creature, long plumes of dribble streamed from its flubbery mouth and the Witch recoiled in horror and let out a scream, one Abigail recognised as the sound of a great boar being squeezed. A tentacle flew through the air and attempted to swat the dog away, but Heimlich was having none of that and with one swift movement, he clamped his spit covered teeth into the limb and refused to let go.

      A sound came from the Witch that cannot be adequately described here, but it was as if a lawnmower and a rooster were having a wrestling match in her throat. It filled the entire room - the entire house - but no matter how much she screamed, or how wildly she thrashed her limbs, Heimlich would not let go. She began to move her hands before her in a series of frantic gestures which, as Abigail would come to learn, meant the Witch was casting a spell. It was Dark Magic, the darkest kind and from those arcane movements, a ball of flame erupted behind the creature. It blazed into a circular shape and at its centre a huge hole appeared, as wide as the room itself, an ashen landscape made of withered trees and dead ground. The Witch saw her escape and moved towards it, Heimlich still attached to one tentacle, Abigail's parents entrapped in the others.

       “Heimlich! No!” Arthur shouted, leaping through the air and grabbing hold of the dogs’ tail.

       "She's using the Dire Flame to get back to Sombre!" Briar shouted. "Stop her!"

       "Um... my parents?" Abigail said meekly.

       But no one seemed to hear her as Heimlich released his grip on the Witch and fell backwards into Arthur's arms. Crawling hastily towards the portal, the creature paused a moment to hiss at those in the room, before the flames wrapped themselves around her and pulled the Witch into the world beyond. For tense moments, silence filled the room, interrupted only by the sound of Heimlich noisily licking himself. Then, without warning, the Witches tentacles threw themselves back in through the portal and grabbed at them all. Gilbert threw his arms above his head in fear and yelped in an unfamilar tongue. Arthur ducked beneath the terrifying grasp of the Witch's appendage, but Briar rushed forward, charging at the tentacles as they writhed and twisted before her.

       “Back, you gross, horrible thing, you!” She cried, holding her arms out as she approached. “You have no place here!”

       The portal and the world beyond shuddered as if it feared her presence and the tendrils retreated back into the murk they came from. The flame began to feast upon itself, growing smaller and smaller and then, with a disgusting, wet, slurping sound, the portal disappeared. Complete and utter silence followed and the three strangers - and their dog - stood within it.

       “Well,” Arthur eventually said. “That could 'ave gone better.”

       Against her will, Abigail let go a slight cough that had been building for the past ten minutes and the intruders slowly turned to face her.

       “Oh m-my…” Gilbert said.

       “Get us out of here. Now.”

       Briar spat, her voice like steel. From the centre of each of Gilbert’s eyes, two brilliant, white suns began to burn and they grew in brilliance until it looked as if they would consume his entire face. Arthur, with Heimlich slobbering and panting in the crux of his arm, strode over to Abigail and with his free hand, reached into his tweed, jacket pocket.

       “Apologies for the inconvenience, young lady.” He said politely and handed her a rectangular card.

       Then, he ran back to his colleagues and Abigail averted her gaze as the light from the strangers eyes grew so bright that it swallowed them all. Then there was an almighty POP sound and when Abigail opened her eyes again, they were gone.

       Disappeared.

       Into thin air. Hands trembling, mind racing, Abigail looked at the chaos her parents' room had been left in. Huge spots flickered and disappeared before her eyes from the light which had left with the intruders. Then she felt the card in her hand. She looked at it, squinting to decipher its meaning. Upon its front was an emblem of a clock and on its back, something was written.

       It said, You have just been saved by the 11:59ers.You’re welcome.