Writers Island - Haunted

He was scared - very scared. Never before had he felt such fear. He was running, faster and faster. It was dark - too dark to see, yet he had to run. It felt as if his life depended on it. Run, run. Don’t look back.

He hurtled between the trees. Tripping. Stumbling. He bounced from one trunk to another. His shoulder throbbed with pain and one arm hung limp and useless.

A quick glance behind, then suddenly the ground below disappeared. With a thump and a splash he landed in water. For a moment he froze as the icy stream washed over his aching limbs, and at once the pains abated.

Suddenly he was aware of a branch falling towards him. He scrambled to his feet as a massive bow crashed to the very spot where he had rested. Climbing through foliage, and brushing wet leaves from his face, he climbed the bank. Foul water ran from his hair into his eyes. They were stinging. Streaming. Suddenly, almost blind.

Cold. A sudden chill. A bitter breeze swirled around him. He shivered and shook with cold. Then that hollow echoing laugh. A bloodcurdling laugh. Firstly in front of him, but then, when he turned, it faced him once again. Panic. Where to go, where to run. Don’t think about it. Just run. Run.

As he ran through long grass and dragged himself through thorny bushes, he felt the warm trickle of blood running down his scratched and torn face. Then a freezing hand grabbed him. An invisible unseen hand which clasped his neck and strangled his cry for help. Suddenly he found himself free again and he clambered on all fours up a grassy bank. An avalanche of stones and rocks tumbled downward, pummelling his aching body. And then again that laugh. That mocking terrifying chuckle. First in front and then behind.

His mind was suddenly a muddle of images, sounds and mist. A grey mist which filled every part of his trembling body.

Suddenly he was swept from his feet and hurled into the air. Then something caught him. Something in the air enveloped him, and he found himself staring down at the dark forest below.

A feeling of euphoria came over him. A warm glow. A feeling of contentment. A womb- like feeling. Safety.

He heard a soft lilting voice. It was as smooth as silk. "You are safe now" it said. "No need to run any more".

Then he gently descended to the ground where he found himself in a nest of soft bracken. He slept the sleep of an angel.

It was over at last.

Here’s a tale of haunting I wrote some time ago ‘Things that go Bump in the Night’
http://keithsramblings.blogspot.com/2007/06/things-that-go-bump-in-night.html

Last weeks’ Writers Island theme was The Stranger. Almost all my comments asked for more, so Part 2 is at
http://keithsramblings.blogspot.com/2007/10/stranger-part-two.html

Part 1 is at

http://keithsramblings.blogspot.com/2007/10/writers-island-stranger.html