His gaze is fixed on me. I don’t need to see the whites or pupils of his eyes to know. His stare is visceral enough to send a sharp shiver down my spine.
I decide going still is my best bet. I don’t move, remaining in place as a long, tense, uncertain moment passes where we stand and peer at each other.
But that doesn’t mean the cold isn’t creeping down the back of my neck. My fingers twitch along the edges of my sketchbook. My brain searches for even an ounce of logic, for some rational explanation for what I’m seeing, only to come up short.
Who is this man? What’s he doing here? Is he the monster that’s been haunting me? Am I losing my mind and imagining him?
I take a step back, the first movement I’ve made in over a minute. As if responding to the move, he shifts forward.
Another tense, unsettled moment passes before I make a snap decision.
I take off running.
Not toward the house—he’s between me and the path leading back to Mr. Taylor’s home. Instead, I cut hard to the side, past the snow-flaked cottage and into the trees, my feet sinking deeper in the snow as I plunge into the forest.
Branches lash at my arms. My breath tears from my chest in panicked bursts. Every inch of me urges my legs to move faster and further.
…or else.
The matter becomes life or death as I scramble through the trees in more frantic desperation than I’ve ever felt in my life.
But the woods are endless.
The trees all look the same—tall and thick and burled, serving as obstacles I must twist around and weave through the farther I run.
My pants for air grow heavier, more desperate, as I push past brambles and shrubs and earn the nicks and cuts like battle scars.
It quickly feels like no matter how hard I run, the mystery man in the mask barrels after me. I push myself faster than I’m used to yet his feet pound behind me, ever harder and closer as he gains ground.
A strangled cry leaves me as I hang a hard left, almost slipping in the snow, trying to throw him off my trail.
But it’s difficult when being chased by a man that’s as good as a beast—and as predatory as he charges after me, never once slowing up or showing signs this is anywhere close to over.
My fear becomes a scent in the air as I pant and sprint and pray I’ll somehow make it out of this.
What the hell is going on? Who the hell is chasing me into the woods? Where the hell did he come from, and what does he want?
Even more unanswered questions materialize in my mind than when I’d found the box on my bed last night.
None of it makes sense.
I don’t look back, knowing it would only panic me and slow me down further. My boots punch through the snow with jarring, uneven force, each step more desperate than the last as the terrain turns unforgiving.
The woods thicken, more trees and branches than ever, forcing me to slow up as I make my way through them cutting myself up.
My breath saws through my lungs, harsh and erratic, from both exertion and the intense fear and thrill from the chase.
But even as I force my way through more trees, I know I’m not safe. I stagger to a stop, heaving icy air into my lungs as it occurs to me I’m not alone.
He’s here.
He’s followed me every step of the way.
Predator and prey—he’s lurking among the trees as my thighs burn and lungs ache.
I wipe sweat from my brow and try to think through the haze in my mind. If I could somehow circle back toward the house, then I could?—
“Ahhh!” I scream as he suddenly appears like a freight train.
