Death Dances in the Shadows

10896205_874693955915484_482719001719578030_o    Excerpt from “Powderfinger” : Winter, Chapter 26
“He turned his head quickly and peered into the darkening twilight. This time, there was distinctly something there, approaching swiftly in the growing gloom. On first sight, it appeared to be made up of tattered and torn cloth, flailing in the breeze but whatever it was, he did not wish to encounter it in the fading light. He began to move, a little faster now, almost at a trot. Then, after a few more paces, he stopped again, turned and squinting into the mirk, thought he could make out what he could only describe as ‘a bundle of rags writhing and spinning wildly,’ as it closed on his position. He had seen more than enough and he started to run. He didn’t know what this ‘thing’ was and he didn’t want to find out either. Something in his head screamed danger. It was fight or flight. His instinct was to run but as he took the first steps on his flight from ‘god knows what,’ another insistent voice appeared inside his mind, thin and imploring him to “stop and wait.” He hesitated, ‘What the hell was this thing and where could he run to escape it?’ Then he looked at the stones of the Jenkins’ Hollow Crossing and just ran, as fast as his tired legs would carry him towards it, as if it was somehow reaching it would save him from his swirling dark nemesis, fast overwhelming him from behind.”
“The muscles in his legs were burning, he struggled to breathe, spitting saliva from his throat. His heart pounded and sweat trickled down his face, as he strained every sinew but he could go no faster and ‘the monster,’ that was ‘coming to get him’, was gaining with every second that passed. It was just a matter of time before it caught him. ‘Stop, stop now,’ the thin sharp voice in his head commanded him. ‘Stop now,’ it screeched, ripping through his mind ‘like an icicle’. Gripped with terror, he could feel it’s whirling dark presence just yards behind, he could smell it and it ‘smelt like death.’ Running blind now, with the ‘thing’ shrieking in his mind for him to ‘Stop!’ he reached the old Walkway. He could run no more. His lungs, were bursting, he couldn’t take another step, so, as he reached the far wall of the crossing he faltered and then, simply stopped and with his last force of will, he drew his knife and turned to face his pursuer.”

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