The farther I walk into the woods, the tighter the darkness closes in on me. I tell myself that this isn’t really suicide. The woods are full of living creatures—squirrels, birds, deer, rabbits—and the monster can’t kill them all. So my chance of being among the majority of living things in the forest that will survive tonight are pretty good. Right?
I move through the dark woods by instinct, hoping I’m heading north. Within a short time, I begin to have serious doubts about which direction I’m moving. I read somewhere that when lost and left to their own devices, people tend to walk in large circles. What if I’m walking the wrong way?
Doubts erode my reason and I can feel the panic bubbling in my chest.
I give myself a mental slap. This is not the time to panic. I promise I’ll let myself panic when I’m safe and sound, hidden in a nice house with a stocked kitchen with Paige and Mom.
Yeah, right. The thought brings a twitch to my lips as if I might grin. Maybe I really am losing it.
I see menace behind every rustle and shifting shadow, behind every bird taking flight and squirrel scrambling on a branch.
After what feels like hours of trekking through the woods in the dark, one of the shadows shifts from a tree like so many wind-blown branches. Only this one keeps moving away from the tree. It separates itself from the larger mass of shadows, then merges into another, greater darkness.
I freeze.
It could have been a deer. But the shadow legs didn’t move right. It might have been something on two feet. Or more accurately, several somethings on two feet.
My hunch proves right when the shadows fan out, surrounding me. I hate being right all the time.
So, what stands on two legs, is three or four feet tall, and growls like a pack of dogs? It’s hard to think of much other than those bodies scattered about the forest floor with missing parts.
A shadow rushes toward me so fast it looks like a dark blur. Something bumps into my arm. I step back, but whatever bumped my arm is already long gone.
The other shadows shift. Some dart forward and back, looking like shadows beginning to boil. Something bumps my other arm before I register that another shadow has darted out.
I stagger back.
Our neighbor Justin used to have a set of needle-like piranha teeth displayed on his mantel. He told us once that the carnivorous and sometimes cannibalistic fish are actually quite shy and usually bump their prey before attacking, gaining confidence as their schoolmates do the same. This feels eerily like his description.
The chorus of growling rises. It sounds like a mix of animal growls and disturbingly human grunting.
Another hit. This time, a sharp pain stabs up from my thigh, like I’d been sliced by razors. I shiver as a warm pool spreads around the pain.
Then I get bumped twice more in rapid succession. Is the blood whipping them into a frenzy?
Another hits my wrist. I cry out this time as soon as I feel it.
This one isn’t just a quick slice. It’s a lingering one, if a flashing shadow can be said to linger. The burning hits me a second after I realize I’ve been—bitten? I’m sure I’d be less scared if I could just see what they look like. There’s something particularly terrifying about not being able to see the things attacking you.
My panting is so loud now that I might as well be screaming.
CHAPTER 23
I catch motion out of the corner of my eye. I don’t even have time to brace for another hit before Raffe stands before me, muscles tense around his sword, facing the demons. I hadn’t even heard the rustle of leaves. One moment he’s not there, the next moment, he is.
“Run, Penryn.”
I don’t need another invitation. I run.
But I don’t run far, which is probably not my smartest move. I can’t help it. I hesitate behind a tree to watch Raffe fight the demons.
Now that I know what to look for, I can tell there are about half a dozen of them. Definitely running on two feet. Definitely low to the ground. Not all of uniform size, either. One is at least a foot taller than the shortest one. One seems outright chubby.
Their small forms could be human or angel, although they don’t move like either. When they go into hyperdrive, their motions are fluid, as though that is their natural pace. These things are definitely not human. Maybe these are some form of nasty angel breed. Aren’t cherubs always pictured as children?
Raffe catches one as it tries to whiz by him. Two others had started going for him but stop when they see Raffe slice through the little demon.
It screeches something awful as it flails on the forest ground.
The others aren’t daunted, though, as they run at Raffe to do their bump and run routine and shove him off balance. I figure it won’t take long before they start biting or stinging or whatever it is they do.
“Raffe, behind you!”
I grab the nearest rock and take a heartbeat to aim. I’ve been known to hit the bull’s-eye playing darts, but I’ve also been known to miss the dartboard altogether. Missing the dartboard here means hitting Raffe.
I hold my breath, take aim at the nearest shadow, and throw with as much force as I can muster.