He runs as fast as his legs can carry him but doesn’t seem to out-run his enemy. Through the bushes and trees it chases him. It’s catching up to him. He can only hope for a miracle of some sort.
He sees his house up ahead as he kicks into high gear, with hope of out-running his adversary. There’s nothing much he can do, really. Mark is running through the woods with something chasing him for a reason he is yet to understand. “Mum!” he shouts, in hope that she comes to his aid. He can’t call for his father nor brother, as he has none. His 13-year-old younger sister Mary wouldn’t make any difference in this situation either. He tries to understand why anyone or anything would want him dead, or at least that’s what he thinks is happening. Why else would he be running for his life? One thing he is sure of is that whatever or whoever is chasing him doesn’t want to give him milk and cookies or invite him to a party over the weekend.
He trips on a log. He knows he is surely done for now, though doesn’t seem to entirely believe it. I guess sometimes the heart needs time to accept what the mind already knows. He turns around to look at his rival. He is a man or at least what’s left of him, he has a big hole in his chest and looks somewhat transparent. The man is wearing torn clothes and a hat that looks vintage. Clearly he is not of this age, with deep dark eyes that seem to look into one’s soul and an evil smirk on his face. Mark knows the man is clearly dead. “Leave,” the spirit says. “Leave?” Mark responds in fear. “Leave!” the spirit shouts, as it claws its sharp nails through Mark’s forearm. Before it could take another strike at him, Mark wakes up. He was dreaming.
He wakes up gasping for air. His mouth is dry and sweat runs down his back. He looks at the time. It’s 06h36. “Thank God,” he whispers to himself. He tries to make sense of the dream he just had but can’t seem to fill in the blanks. He looks at his phone and notices he has WhatsApp notifications. He can only hope that at least one of them is from Emily, a girl he really likes. Mark, loving to chat and all, reaches for it. He instantly feels pain shoot through his arm. He looks at his arm and can’t believe what he’s seeing. It’s the very same scratch marks he got in his dream. In disbelief he continues to look at his forearm, as though staring at the scratch marks will make them disappear. He notices there are muddy footprints on the floor. He gets out of bed, looks at his feet and they are covered mud. “Did I…? But how…?” Mark asks himself.
To be continued…
