Chapters 1, 2 & 3

One foot in front of the other. As fast as possible. One bare and blistered foot in front of the other. Even if he lost a toe; nine was enough to run on. He’d ignore the slicing rocks. He’d breathe through his mouth if the dust clogged his nostrils. It wouldn’t stop him. The pain would have to wait. His toes would have to be counted later.

 

The outline of a small hill, a shade darker than the night, poked its head up from the flats. The boy doubled down.

 

Don’t stop. Whatever happens, keep running.

 

He would. He’d run straight through the night and clear into the day; until his legs snapped and his lungs burst. He’d crawl across a field of broken glass; he’d swim a sea of fire. Anything.

 

They must be close. Those things… They must be getting closer.

 

He wasn’t going to check. Even if he did, the feeble light of the waning crescent moon would help little. It would be like hunting shadows in the dark.

 

He’d just keep moving. Get to the hill and then climb it. Simple. He wouldn’t think about those things or what they might do to him. He’d think of something else. Something to fight the thoughts, something to distract from his burning shin or the crushing stitch in his chest.

 

But things were missing.

 

He knew what the sky was. If he wasn’t in such a hurry, he could point to the moon. He remembered how blood pumped through his veins and night followed day. But the important stuff? Gone. Completely.

 

The hillock came into focus, which meant little. It was the same consistency as the flat, parched earth around him, just mounded sand really. The plan would remain. There was nothing else for him to aim for, no other possibility of escape.

 

If that’s what this was. Perhaps he was just delaying the inevitable?

 

A whipping, chilling wind spat dust into his face. His eyes slammed shut.

 

Legs buckling, feet tangling, his face planted into the dirt.

 

Blood. The coppery taste warmed his mouth.

 

Open your eyes.

 

They refused.

 

You’ve got to get up. Open your eyes.

 

He wanted to. More than anything. When his eyes were shut, he could see them.

 

The boy forced his shaking, bloody hands to his face, prising the lids apart with his fingers. The skin cracked.

 

‘Why?’ he gasped, the sound barely audible. ‘Why are you chasing me?’ The pulse in his head was hypnotic.

 

‘Get up,’ he ordered himself. Nothing happened. Gulping down a lungful of the chilly, night air, the boy rallied. ‘Get up!’ It should have been a yell. Instead, the words tore at his throat.

 

But it worked. The pain spurred his exhausted muscles into action.

 

He could get to the hill. Even if it was a waste of time. He would get there.

 

Back to his feet, he took flight.

 

The slope wasn’t as steep as first thought, but still enough of an incline to require the use of hands for extra grip and balance. Tearing clumps out of the ground, the boy dragged himself to the summit and collapsed.

 

His ears filled with the hiss of blood as he rolled onto his front, coughing more dust into his mouth. He didn’t care. He’d made it.

 

The hiss dimmed. A whine took its place. Then, something else.

 

That sound… That horrible sound.

 

The boy hauled himself to his knees, gasping for breath. His body swayed as a trillion speckles of lights dizzied him.

 

One thing was obvious. He could no longer run.

 

Just give up, lay down and give up.

For the briefest moment the boy considered listening to the demonic monologue: coiled into a ball, no scream to leave his lips, his eyes glued shut.

​

He peered over the uneven edge.

 

Why’ve they stopped? Can’t they climb? Thoughts buzzed around his skull like flies on a carcass.

 

Below him, at the bottom of the hillock, the creatures gathered. The mass pulsed and throbbed like some giant, black heart. As each joined the melee, perhaps twenty strong, the form of each individual bled into the all.

 

At least they’ve stopped, at least I’ve got a chance.

 

He glared in the opposite direction, to the land beyond his castle.

 

‘Please, no. Please.’

 

There was another swarm. Impossible to miss. Not close yet, a short distance away, approaching with speed. It was too dark, his vision too compromised to count their number, but there were definitely more in this pack.

 

They’re surrounding me.

 

Then it was there: the ‘click-click-click’. Disjointed, monotone, constant. The sound circled him, scurrying around his body.

 

Twisting his neck, the boy took one final glance.

 

Black, misshapen hands crawled over the edge of the hill. Fingers with no nails and too many knuckles.

 

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the creatures that hunted him. It could be something else coming over the ledge, something else making the sound. Perhaps a clicking, relentless throng of mutated spiders? That would be better. He could at least take a few with him.

 

But the arms made it impossible to dream. Because on the end of the arms, all four of them, was a body. A broken, twisted, tar-pit of a body and on top of that; a featureless, hairless head, the skin too small for the skull.

 

‘Kik…Kik… Kik...’ 

 

They were here, no more pretence about the protection of the slope. They were here.

 

Aiming his gaze to the exiting moon, the shy threads of cloud hanging around it like cobwebs, he rested his head on the ground and waited.

 

Hopefully it would be quick.

 

A shriek ripped through the air, a high-pitched, gurgling scream, a wail of agony; then another. The clicking increased in tempo, frantic and erratic, then, even more of the ear-splitting screams. 

 

Every tendon tort, his muscles solid, the boy spied through his least swollen eye.

 

One of the black bodies flew over him and vanished over the edge of the hill. Then another, blotting out the stars, before crashing to the ground a distance away.

 

What’s happening?

 

‘Kik... Kik… Kik…’

​

It was beside his face. 

 

The creature reared up, poised on two feet, like some malformed ant prepared for attack. The sinuous arms writhed around it, almost dancing. His eyes mapped the place its face should be, the blank, empty face. Repulsion churned his guts as a thin, black spike, strained out of the creature's forehead. 

 

Flexing its knees, preparing to pounce, the entity emitted a blast of deeper clicks and faced him. Arms shielding his head, one last surge in defence, the boy steadied. This was it.

 

The strike didn’t fall. Instead, as the creature arched its back, a pitiful cry bleached the night air, as a sword, thrust from behind, skewered its torso.

 

That’s not a sword.

 

Antlers, enormous white antlers, stained with thick, black blood.

 

A gigantic white stag loomed over him. Rearing up on its hind legs, the beast hammered down with its front quarters, crushing one of the monstrosities beneath its enormous hooves. Slashing another with a swipe of its antlers, the stag kicked-out and launched another creature out of sight. 

 

The stag turned to the boy. It lowered its massive head and scooped him up, cradling him in its antlers. The boy twisted between the milky white branches, yanking at handfuls of soft, downy hair, desperate for grip.

 

There was a jolt. The stag launched at a smaller group of the creatures. Clinging to the antlers, desperate not to slip, the boy sagged between them, the last of his strength sent to his hands.

 

His head whipped and his back cracked as the stag leapt clear over the mass and landed halfway down the hill.

 

They were away.

 

No more monsters and their ‘click-click-click’, no more rocks and stones to dice his toes and no more voices in his head; his own or otherwise. They were away.

 

The beast galloped. Faster and faster. With each increase in speed the cold blast of the wind intensified. He would have to duck down, if not it might strip the skin from his face and peel the hair from his scalp.

 

He was certain at one point – as his stomach rummaged about for something to lose - they were being followed by horses with the upper bodies of men, and at other times great birds circled above his head.

 

Visions or dreams? He didn’t know. How could he? He didn’t even know who he was.

 

The stag galloped on.

 

Tracing the horizon, the dark-blue silhouette of a mountain, washed by the morning sun, promised the coming of dawn. He would give up now. He couldn’t fight any longer. He had to sleep. He was so tired he might not wake up.

 

The welcome warmth of the fresh day kissed his cheek and he slumped deeper into the antlers. Maybe he would lose his grip. Maybe not. Maybe falling asleep would mean waking up, and he would find this was all a dream. It was time to find out.

 

He didn’t know whether he closed his eyes, or whether they closed themselves. Either way - sleep devoured him whole.