nightmare.
"INGRID RUN!"
Pitch black. Winter fall. Only the sounds of three sets of heartbeats drum erratically in the wood; the other a hum, calm. Everything was in a frenzy-- the instruction rather redundant with their escape already in the midst of deployment.
The forest was unfamiliar. . . yet she knew every twist and turn in her plight. Faces she's never seen guiding her to safety as if they depended on her survival-- all of their survival. The tallest, assumingly the eldest, leads the trio. Her breath ghosts in the unforgiving chill, every godforsaken inhale scratching her esophagus raw.
'Please. . . for the love of God. . .'
It wasn't supposed to be like this. She couldn't trace back to when they had gotten so far. Who were they? Inna? Irina? Why weren't they home? Wherever that was.
Why did it feel so warm with them? Why did it hurt seeing them? And what were they running from?
"INGRID, NO!!"
She losses her step, the fall cushioned under the thick blankets of snow. Rubies stain the disrupted winter-scape; every step, kilometer, that had been covered since their escape all comes surging through her tiny being, ricocheting like a bullet-- the scream she produces from the shock is nothing less than blood curdling. The eldest would have to lift her from her episode; there was no time for pain when death is hunting you down.
"Ingrid, my love, please! We need to move, NOW!"
What was the saying? Mind over matter? Everything ached. She had already vomited once in the midst of escape,the suddenness of her struggle to regain her footing dared to empty whatever were left in her tiny stomach. But she's back on her feet, unsteady.
"Eonnie. . . I can't. . . I can't. ."
"INGRID PLEASE!” she pleas in hysterics, her gaze, wide-eyed, locked with the weary one. The tears in panic overcomes her tiny frame, the warmth that hummed in the elder’s plight. Round eyes of the youth captures her in the night, a light that had always been present, yet intangible, illuminates.
Green. . . it’s a brilliant green. . . and the scarlet that fuels it only makes it burn brighter.
“I. . . Eonni--”
It was too fast. Everything plays in slow motion.
He had been there all along. Following. Hunting. Their stomachs wracked from the density of the air of the wood; it all came from him. Their instincts, sensitive, tasted the hunger-- the pleasure of the hunt. He were a ghost, haunting the living. Producing not a sound. His presence undetectable; his energy all over them.
It was too fast.
In the blink of an eye, the elder was gone. Swept off of her feet; the only remains of her existence laid in the snow. Her prints, perfectly in tact, left reminisce of green, softly rising like a gas, and then-- gone.
Everything plays in slow motion..
“INGRID--”
It was the second oldest. She had been running back to the youngest’s side-- when did she get ahead of everyone? She’s running, a shadow moving just as swift grows in size as she reaches her kin. She’s screaming, yelling for the girl as if speaking her name would summon her, closing the frightening distance between them, the wood, and the beast. Everything cried desperation. The muscles in her face tensing. That green illuminating the entire windbreak brilliantly; the crimson that fuels it reveals the beast in the shadows. His features human-- beautiful even.
For a moment she reasons; ‘He can’t hurt us. . . he can’t’. It was an impossible concept, yet denial couldn’t last. It’s as if he were flying, lunging for the girl in a sprint. The crimson in her fight reflects in his manic stare, tapetum lucidum flickering, indicating he was something less than human. Or more.
The lights around the elder shines so bright the youngest swears she were to burst. And just in that moment’s thought, she does. Like a drill penetrating through concrete, her chest splits-- the last words she’d ever utter choked back in blood as crimson stains over snowfall -- the youngest -- and the monster.
It was like a scene in a movie. His forearm protruding through her breast, something dripping sits in his clenched hand. The elder’s eyes, vacant of spirit, locked with those of her kin as her body falls limp around his strength. The leaking object in his hands fall and he retracts, carelessly allowing the deceased slump into winter. He inhales deeply, his head lulling to a side as every vertebrae cracks in his satisfaction. The exhale is grotesque-- rouge droplets ooze over iron stained whites, spilling over cracked lips through a lethargic chuckle. He mouths something, inaudible, into the night-- his breath ghosting into pitch black, sunset-like prana spills like a fog; gaze falling on the cowering of the youngest, he whispers again.
"I'm starving. . . "
He begins to advance; she paralyzes.
"Please. . . take care of me--"
Her breath leaves her; he lunges, and then. . .
She falls-- the hardwood of home ever so graciously cushions the fall.
It’s daylight, summer. Despite the way she’s awoken, her eyes are still glued together with sleep; reminisce of the dream already fleeting from her memory. It’s been days, and she’s been having what feels like the same dream. She could never remember who all were there, but it was cold-- the coldest she’s ever felt. She could never remember the names that were said-- it hurt too much to focus on, anyway. All she could remember-- all she could feel was him.
It’s been so long since his physical presence, but she knew his energy was still engulfing her. She convinces herself that tonight would be different, that the omen over her dreams was just stress. but she knew better.
It was him.
He never really left.