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I spun, and there he was. Except he looked bigger. His shoulders bulged, stretching his preppy sweater and tearing it in spots. Blond-white hair sprouted from within, poking out of rips and all around his bulging neck. His bright eyes were the same though, as was the sharp flash of his teeth. “Didn’t hear me, boy?”

I stumbled backward but caught myself on a skinny tree. Shoved my foot all the way into the boot, telling myself to run.

“I’ll say it one more time, and then I’ll give up on sport. Which will mean I’ll have to make my own fun with you. And you won’t like that.” His voice deepened, became more guttural, until it rattled my cold bones. “So let’s try this again, Dev.”

I wrapped the scarf tight around my neck twice. Even in the moment, it seemed like an insane thing to be concerned about, but I kept thinking Amma would be disappointed if I lost it.

“One…” He stepped forward, and his khakis split at the thigh. He bulged out of the pants like he did the sweater, and all that fur was absurd. “Two…” Another step, and I could swear his canines were too long, like a vampire in a teen movie. “Three.”

He lunged.

I jumped, as in went airborne. When I landed, I was already running.

At first, there was no thought. I sucked in cold air, coughed it back up, and pumped my legs and arms as fast as they could go. I ducked tree branches, hopped sticks and leaves, and only vaguely realized I was following something like a small trail through increasingly heavy underbrush. When my bag, constantly bouncing against my hip, snagged on a half-dead tree, I twisted away from it and nearly knocked myself over in the effort to pull it free.

I should drop it. But then I have no excuse to come looking for Amma.

What the fuck was I thinking? Where even was I, and was it anywhere near Ferry Vale and the forest near Amma’s dig site? Or had I been drugged for days and kidnapped in some unknown lakeside place where this creepy prick could make his own fun with me and no one would ever find my body?

The fuck did that mean: Make my own fun?

The nightmare split my mind then, half of it keeping me running, the rest of it reliving the scene that haunted me regularly:

Dark under the bed, and the sound of footsteps, clomp, clomp, CLOMP, until I spotted the toes of his patent leather shoes. His voice said, “You won’t take him away from me. That’s my son.”

Pretty little deer.

The running combined with the need to not face-plant in a shrub consumed my whole body then, and I could only feel a vague gratitude. Anything that made the nightmare stop replaying in my mind.

Except that was ridiculous, because this was no nightmare, and I was actually being chased by—

Something caught my foot and the world flipped upside down. Pain bloomed in my ribs and I rolled off of them, and then back onto them, and then off again. And then I finally stopped and looked up from the bottom of a hill. My cheek stung, so I touched it; my fingers came away bloody. I sat up and bit back a yell as my right side protested.

A sound then, either the thudding of my heart or of footsteps; I couldn’t tell. I scuttled backward, around a massive, hollow tree trunk. Moss and dead bark gave under my fingers as I scrambled for something to hold onto.

“Mmmm…” That low, growling voice floated down to me. It felt farther away than I’d expected. Maybe that painful fucking tumble had actually put some ground between me and him?

I tried to slow my breathing, afraid it’d give me away. I needed to move. Needed to keep moving. But to where? I didn’t even know if I was still near Amma’s forest dig. And what if I was? Would I lead this maniac directly to my elderly archaeologist grandmother and her grad students?

He was still talking—to himself? To me? To the forest? I could only hear bits and pieces: “All that fear makes… smells so good… clumsy but juicy… delicious.”

I tried to stand, but a metallic shock of pain sliced through my right side. Fucked up my ribs. My messenger bag was probably at fault, fucking awkward thing, hanging off to one side like that. Should’ve gotten a backpack, but no, I had to look chic, like anyone fucking—

“Pretty, pretty little… smell you everywhere… coming for you… coming…”

I took the bag off and left it in the hollow trunk, then scooted along the little ravine as quietly as possible, right along the foot of the hill. That was perpendicular to the angle I’d been running at before—at least, not the same damn direction. With every movement, my ribs threatened to crack and shatter inside me. I wondered if it’d stab any important organs in the process. I almost hoped they would, so I wouldn’t have to do this anymore.

Wouldn’t have to survive.

Hadn’t had that thought in a long time. My therapist would be so disappointed if I lived to tell her.

Dirt in my fingernails, mud soaking through the ass of my jeans, blood dripping down my face like tears, I moved as quickly and as quietly as I could. Eventually I didn’t hear the growly voice anymore. However, I also couldn’t feel my hands, they were so cold and muddy, and there was a sensation like an electric knife jabbing me in the side every time I moved. So that was less good.

At the top of a small rise, I tried to pull myself up on a massive tree but gave up and crawled around the back of it instead.

And then I remembered my phone. First, I thought I’d left it in the bag and my heart nearly split in half. But then I felt for my back pocket and pulled it out…

And, of course, there was no signal. I sighed, leaned my head back against the craggy bark of the tree, and said, “Fuck.”