I run forward, one hand clutching a lantern, the other hand full of my dress, the autumn grass crunching beneath my bare feet, my hair whipping across my face, my eyes wider than ever. I had been cooking dinner, my husband was coming home today, I’d heard a noise outside and thought maybe it was him. Instead of the image of my husband returned from war, I was met with a beast. The beast is a nightmarish creature, a grotesque fusion of both fear and curiosity. Its jet-black fur is coarse and bristly, standing on end as if charged with electricity. The beast's eyes are an unsettling feature, large and round, as black as the midnight sky, and they seem to gleam with an eerie intelligence. Something about the dark red that covered the beasts claws and teeth told me Charlie wasn’t going to be joining me for dinner. A sob escaped my throat and I started running, stumbling forward, almost tripping in my dress. Knowing that the second I stop. The second I take a moment to catch my breath or take in my surroundings, find out how far I’d come from home, it’d catch me. And like Charlie, I’d be gone. So I keep running and running and running, and I’ll never stop. I’ll run until I can’t, and further.