Can't catch me

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Never trust your senses..

Submitted: February 14, 2013

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Submitted: February 14, 2013



A screech owl breaks the pressing silence of the forest. Its cry terrorises its sole listener, a young man hiding in the thick undergrowth. He starts, but makes not a sound. With his hood up and his jacket pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, only his eyes give away the sheer terror he is feeling. Huddled up as small as he can possibly make himself, his breath cannot mist in the cold air but for the jacket preventing it from doing so, which must surely be his intention, as he looks in every way a man in hiding. There is little, if any moonlight to see by, and he flinches at every tiny sound; not that there are many sounds around.

A whistle floats through the air to his straining ears, in a mocking tune a child might use to taunt their friends if they cannot be caught in a game of chase. It echoes in the silence, and the echoes linger instead of fading away, creating a mocking, ghostly tune. The young man whimpers and shuts his eyes tight with fear, visibly shaking as the whistle grows louder and closer, as the echoes continue to sound, as the sound of rustling and snapping twigs gets louder.

He is sobbing silently, pitifully, like a child would after a particularly frightening nightmare. The whistler gets closer and closer, and a twig snaps nearby. The terrified young man moans quietly and covers his face with his hands as the sounds grow to a deafening crescendo.

As sudden as the guillotine blade, the sounds stop, and the woods are once more unnaturally quiet. The poor young man does not move for several minutes, he is too scared to. Finally though, he dares to peek. There is noone and nothing there. Relieved and cautiously optimistic, he crawls out from his hiding place, looking around for any sign of movement. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he begins to make his way throught the forest, determined to find a way out, resolving not to be killed out there.

The whistle sounds once more, without an echo, from right behind him, and he freezes on the spot, heart beating a mile a minute. Whimpering, he turns around, because he knows he has to, to finish the game. A little girl stands before him, angelic in appearance, with long blonde hair down to her knees and huge brown eyes. She wears a white dress and shoes, and a little daisy in her hair.

"Can't catch me," She whispers, "I win!" She leaps at him without warning, a blade in her tiny hand, and he doesn't even have the time to scream.

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