It was nearing midnight, and though the moon shone full, it was still dark. Justin walked forward, tentatively, following an old path in the woods. He had heard the legends. The hushed whispers of the folk of the town he grew up in. That there was something that could give him anything he had ever wanted. Something unnatural. He heard the rumors: that you had to bring gifts – an offering of sorts. He had spent the last week meticulously gathering what he needed: a yarrow flower, a cat’s paw, human blood – your own blood. You’ll find your dreams at a crossroads. It was a phrase well recorded with the town. Every victim of an unsolved murder within the last hundred years in his town had the phrase carved into one of their arms. Granted, there weren’t many of them, but there were enough to make people wonder. The phrase repeated in his mind over and over. He grew nervous. The Crossroads Justin stopped. In front of him, the path split. A crossroads, he thought . He was...