Dark, desolate woods. A place to get lost.
Not tonight. The sounds of cracking, splintering trees getting louder. Their primal screams – too many, too close – shredding the frigid midnight air.
She had escaped the house, her young son at her side. Running. Gasping. Their bare feet scraped and bloody. It still wasn’t enough.
She bent down and gripped her son by the shoulders. Tight. Her hands left imprints on his pale skin.
“You need to go get help. I’ll wait here. I’ll be safe. I promise.”
She had never lied to her little boy before.
She’d never get another chance.
The Weekday One Hundred 