I sprinted through the forest, branches and twigs scraping my face and the hard earth pounding beneath my feet. Could she smell me? I ran harder. Gradually the rain came, light at first and then a pour of big drops of soaking right through your light jacket rain, then you wish for a raincoat rain. I had heard stories about this forest as a child, but was never scared of then. When you live somewhere, you are close it, so you learn not to be afraid of it.
Now though, coming back, I feel this was not a good idea. As my sprint lags to a jog I think about my chances of survival. I could keep walking, and try to make it to the old orphanage, or turn back and face her. As if it were trying to tell me something, a dark bat flies an inch past my head, flapping the water off of its wings onto me as it passes. My clothes drenched, toes numb and hair dripping in the rain, I come to a walk. For a moment I completely stop, listening and waiting for the sound of her growl and panting, yet none comes.
Something tells me I should go back, and there are not a lot of chances she will find me in this mass of moss and trees, but I don’t listen and walk on. A voice in my head tells me more danger will follow ahead, but I think of her ravenous jaws, spotlighted by a flashlight and move deeper into the forest.