The field stretched out in front of me for miles ahead. My boots hit the ground with a loud thud, my breath filed my lungs but the pain was enough to make me slow down to a near jog.

The man was behind me, getting closer and closer with each step. Panic rose in my chest and the path continued to grow longer in my eyes. There was no where to hide, I could only run and hope that white cottage at the end will be my saviour.

“Keep running Rose, keep running” his voiced crawled all over me like an unpleasant bug. I looked back to see him smiling with his yellow teeth and swinging his machete like a toy.

My face was wet, from the mist and from the tears now streaming down my cheeks. My legs hurt, my lungs are on fire and the cottage is so close yet so far.

I should’ve listened to my grandmother when she said not to go in the woods. I was a damn ignorant fool. I am going to be sick.

But the fear of being caught gave me a rush, my feet kept on moving and my lungs kept on inhaling and exhaling oxygen. But it wasn’t enough.

His hand wrapped around my arm in a painful grip. His yellow smile now even wider. His stench infiltrated my nostrils, making me gag. A horrible mix of rotting flesh and spoiled eggs. I wasn’t going to give up, I am not going to die like this.

“Oh you’ll die alright” he read my thoughts and crushed any hope I could have, before moving closer to my cheeck and licking away my tears. I was shaking so much. My breaths came in short and panicked. I looked at him then, his dark eyes looking me over and his tongue running along his lips. What a sick man.

Before he could lean in to harras me further, I stomped on his toes and my elbow connected with his nose. He let go and I ran. I ran, I ran, I ran.

The white cottage right in front of me, relief flooded me. I slammed on the oak door. But nothing. No one came out to help me. I hand gripped my shoulder and I knew it was the end.