In your anger (or maybe disgust), you kick it away. The cub’s limp body flies into the air and hits a tree.
The corpse of the fox lands on the floor with a soft thud.
You screw your face into a shrewd expression. It was the cub’s fault for being so ignorant.
A bush rustles behind you. Something grabs your ankle.
Screaming, you stamp at the hand that holds your ankle, it lets go.
RUN AWAY
You bolt into the distance, not taking a chance to look behind.
Whatever hand that held your ankle was no fairy. It was gnarled and old. Shoddy and decrepit.
Tears run down your face as your fear sets in. You don’t know how long you run, but eventually you start to tire.
Your legs buckle under your weight, your feet sting as you feel the calluses form on your gnarled toes. You pant, and pant and pant. The air from your mouth is hot, as hot as your head.
You can feel a headache coming, slowly in waves as your brain pounds in your skull. The light burns your eyes, luckily, the sun starts to disappear. The red light of the sunset tries to push through the thick oak canopy, but no success.
How long have you been out here? Where are you even? You walk in one direction, then another. Maybe east, maybe west, maybe north, but without the sun, your sense of direction is dampened.
Idiot!
You are going to die alone.
Dumbarse!
Not even your neighbours will get their problem fixed!
Chicken!
Was the witch even real?
You shake your head, trying to clear your mind, but no luck. You buckle under the pressure, cradling your head in your feeble hands.
Something touches your shoulder, cold hands rub your arms.
“Dearest, don’t fret…?”
You don’t dare to turn around. A moment of loneliness had turned into a moment of danger. You buckled under the pressure that may have been a spell, your ears ring, the noise blinding your senses.
Despite everything, her voice still drilled into your brain.
“It’s loud, isn’t it?”
Despite all your strength and might, some force of morbid curiosity makes you turn your head.
And turn.
And turn.
And crack.
The spell of the witch had murdered Charlie in cold blood. Dying of a broken neck is no way to go, especially if no hands were laid.
But at least it was quick, right? Not that you deserved it.
End of chapter 1. You have died. You really shouldn’t kick animals, thats just so mean. 🙁
