by J.J. Bonds
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I’m running through the woods again. It’s different this time. The sky is an inky black and there is no moon to light my way tonight. These woods are more familiar to me; not full of stark skeletal trees like before. These trees are less foreboding. Pines and firs abound; their branches thick with needle-like leaves and prickly cones. I plunge forward, swatting errant branches from my path. I know he’s behind me and probably gaining ground. The hunter.
He’s driving me uphill. With every step I take, my escape routes become fewer. I need to turn and head back, even if it means temporarily closing the gap between us. But I have to be smart about it. I have to be controlled. Every noise I make, every snapping branch, is a song calling him to me.
I catch the scent of smoke before I see the thick plumes reaching for the sky. Could this get any worse? The smoke billows around me spreading at an alarming rate. The heat of the flames is right on my heels, tearing through the forest and scorching everything in its path. This is another of his tricks. Another means of terrorizing me.
I crest the top of the mountain and make a sharp ninety degree turn marking the start of my descent. It’s risky. This path will take me right along the perimeter of the fire, but I don’t see any other choice. If I continue straight down the other side, he’ll find me for sure. This is my best chance to evade him assuming I can withstand the flames.
I am able to cover the terrain more quickly moving downhill. I hug the tree line staying as close to the fire as I dare, hoping it will mask my scent and the sounds of my retreat. The thought of his fangs on my neck gives me a burst of energy, and I surge forward. I have to get out of here.
The smoke is becoming thicker, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. I am forced to slow my pace to a steady jog. It’s impossible to tell which direction I’m going now. I’ve completely lost my bearings, not that it matters much since I don’t really know where I am. I drop to a fast walk and rub my eyes with the backs of my hands. They come away black. I’m covered in ash that has rained down from the dark sky.
As I stand there trying to wipe the soot from my face, he speaks. “I knew I’d find you eventually.” His voice is disturbing to say the least. It has the lilt of someone who’s about to come completely unhinged, of someone who has only the slightest grasp on reality. I still don’t know what he wants, but I’m not about to ask. Instead I crouch into a fighting stance and prepare myself for the inevitable.
Like before, his hand emerges first. It’s just as chalky and white as I remember. Oddly, the dream smoke does not soil his skin as it has mine. I try not to let my fear show when he steps forth, his beady red eyes fixed on me. He still wears the hood so I can’t see much of his face, a small thing for which I am grateful. I know with certainty that I am in the presence of a monster. Sickness radiates from him enveloping both of us. I find myself backing away from him in an attempt to put more distance between us. It feeds his excitement. Those deranged eyes are dancing with thirst.
Before I know what’s happening, several pairs of hands descend upon me. They catch me by surprise, tearing at my clothes, my hair, my face. Scratching, clawing, biting. Blood pours down my shoulder. I break free and whip around to face my attackers. Their arms protrude from the oily black smoke; it doesn’t faze them in the least. They emerge from the smoldering flames and recognition hits me.
I know each and every last one of them. Not their names, but their faces. I remember every sad story, every damaged spirit, every broken body. I can hardly bear it. I’d rather die than face them. I crash to the ground screaming with delirium. They descend on me like vultures. Their hollow eyes say what their lips cannot. They want what I took from them. They want revenge.