I had been running so long that every breath burned in my chest; when I came to the top of the hill it felt like the last of my energy. In the distance I saw a road; by the road was a telephone booth.

The sight of its red doors and roof sped me on. I crashed through brambles and swampy puddles but made it within moments, my chest heaving, and enclosed myself within the booth.

I snatched the phone and found the comforting dial tone. Without any coins or money in my pockets I stabbed the emergency number into the keypad and prayed for a quick answer.

The line began to ring as I heard the baying of a hound in the distance. “Hello, operator, what’s your emergency?”

I stammered out words between jagged breaths. “You have to help me, they’re chasing me, they’re trying to kill me.”

“Calm down sir, who’s trying to kill you?”

Lights in the distance began to flash as I stared through the window panes of the door. “The hunters, they’re coming for me, quick, I’ve got to run, can you trace this call? Send somebody to this highway?”

“We have the location here, sir; we’ll send a squad car, there’s one nearby. Tell me your name.”

“Paul Johnson,” I croaked, as I saw a horseman in the distance. I opened the door to dash out again down the road.

“Oh, Johnson, you say? Well, sir, I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re fucked.”