Poplar Lane

As soon as I posted my last blurp I found my other story. This is just a teaser:

Towering aspens quivered in the summer breeze, their colorful leaves dancing to a whispered song winding through the trees. Walking down the lane I could hear each tree beckon me. This place always sent a chill up my spine. With every passing tree, my willpower wore down. I had been told never, ever, under any circumstances to go into the forest, for therein lived a man who was said to be a murderer. But such a beautiful forest could not be dangerous, I reasoned. Maybe I’ll just go in for a moment. I don’t have to be home for another half of an hour. Fifteen minutes, just a little walk and besides, no one really lives there.
Walking through the woods I felt the simple beauty of the delicate aspens and the towering giant oak trees. How could anyone be scared of such a quiet place? After my first adventure it became a daily routine and most days I ate my lunch under the shade of the larger aspens. Weeks later I was walking through the trees and heard a twig snap behind me. When I turned around I saw an elegant young woman standing behind me. He stood easily a whole head above me. Studying him quickly from had to toe, I noticed he was sturdily built with a trim waist and broad shoulders, covered by khaki breeches and knee-high leather riding boots. His vest was burgundy velvet layered under a fitted overcoat made of navy blue brocade finished with a crisp white cravat. His chiseled body was distinguishable even under his regal garb.
“Pardon me, Miss, have you seen my horse?”
I answered, my mouth gaping. “Um, no, I haven’t.”
“Blast it all. He seems to have run off while I slept.”
He ceased his turning and searching to stand, tall and elegant, staring at me with wide eyes and furrowed brows.
“May I inquire as to your name, Miss?”
Remembering my manners, I closed my mouth. “Yes, my name is Catherine.”
“Just Catherine?”
“Oh no, Catherine Mandelstam.”
“Catherine Dominique Mandelstam.”
“Yes, how did you know my name?” I asked.
His face turned pale and his eyes glazed over.
“Sir are you all right?” I inquired.
Coming to his senses, he started and stared at me with unabashed interest.
“Sir, are you all right?” I questioned him again and touched his arm.
He jumped as if I’d burned him.
“Please excuse me, Miss,” he said.
With these last harsh words he turned on his heel and strode off. Dumbfounded, I scurried after him hollering, “Hey, where are you going?”
He didn’t stop but instead started running toward the edge of the wood across a meadow and into a small shed. Finally the porch of the old moss-covered shack and opened the door.
Inside were several small windows and a door on the opposite end. The rickety shelves held glass beakers full of strange liquids and an odd array of items. Ignoring these I proceeded to open the door. But halfway open an overwhelming dizziness washed over me. My knees gave out and I fell onto the grass outside the shanty, the blue sky covered by a different man staring at me.
“Are you all right?” he questioned.
Unable to answer, I slipped into the blackness flying at me.