The blade of a large knife held by the silhouette shines under the sky.
And as I stare into the reflection along the metal, my limbs grow ice cold.
I see a dark mask, a hooked beak, and my mind conjures the imagery.
A plague mask.
A death mask.
“Sullen.” I reach for him but don’t move otherwise, the pits of eyes reflected in the blade staring at me, at the knife, at Sullen. The person is closer to us than Sanford, and who else would they be hunting?“Run.”
A wicked laugh erupts in the woods, causing creatures to scurry around us, but we don’t wait to see which ones. We begin to sprint as Sanford calls out his grandson’s name in a panic, but we don’t slow down, even if I am so sick of running.
So fucking tired.
Sullen could die out here.
I see the holes for eyes from our pursuer inside my head as we keep going, my chest heaving, my lungs nearly bursting.
Sullen didn’t question me, his hand in mine, and I squeeze my fingers tighter around his larger ones, but I desperately want this to end.
And part of me hopes I trip and fall. Offer myself as some spoiled, useless sacrifice for our pursuer. But the reason I won’t both devastates and decimates me.
Sullen wouldn’t let go.
Sanford screams his name again. It’s shrill and garbled, both at once, and bats or birds or both explode above our heads from the canopies of the thick trees.
A shiver cuts down my spine and I can’t help it.
I turn to look, even as Sullen says,“Don’t.”
I’m compelled to.
I want to know if Sanford is getting his throat cut.
I want to know if a macabre red waterfall is falling down his neck right now.
I wonder when I became so dark.
But as I look…
Sanford is still running.
The plague mask is closer.
I almost stumble, my ankle twisting because Sullen hasn’t stopped running and he won’t let go of my hand and I can’t give him up just yet.
The glint of the blade raises in the night.
But the person in the mask stops.
Suddenly.
Oddly.
Strangely.
They don’t do anything.
