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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #2099065
A curse is on a town where a boy is sacrificed to evil souls every other Halloween night.
The warm air coming from my mouth is an unconscious act at this point. I place my hand over my lips to quiet my presence, but my grated panting continues.

"Where are you, little Lefu? Where are you, Lefu boy?" A malicious voice echoes throughout the room.

I close my eyes, praying to God that I am not discovered. I've been pursued by this bloodcurdling man out of my village, and discovered an abandoned cabin to conceal in, but he still managed to find me. My mother, along with the community officials are likely distressing at my sudden disappearance at this very moment. At least…I hope so.

Darkness surrounds me on every side as my eyes fail to focus into the oblivious murkiness. Harsh whispers and the crackling of footsteps occasionally interrupt the wary stillness.

"You know the traditions of the land. Our land is cursed and sour. The evil souls inhabiting it demand the death of a young boy every other Halloween. You were chosen to die. It is your fate, and I have all night to play this hide-and-seek game with you. The longer you wait, the more ravenous they become for your soul and vengeful towards us."

The clunking of his feet resonates throughout the room. He draws out his illuminating vermilion sword; it casts a swift but sharp gleam so intense its rays penetrate my closed eyelids.

My body shudders as I realize how near he is to me; it’s practically three steps away. I want to move, but my thoughts race past me, and I don’t know what to do.

My heart pulsates harder every second he makes a step in my direction. Sweat trickles down my face as I fret he senses my angst of fear.

A sharp inhale echoes throughout my eardrums. "I smell your aroma, you can't depart from the forest without taking its seeds with you."

A sudden pang soars through me, and an irrepressible scream replaces the dubious silence as a waterfall of tears flows down my face. I plunge to the wooden floor, blood erupting from my chest into my trembling hands.

"The souls cry for more of your blood," he whispers cold-bloodedly in my ears.

My instincts prickle at the tone of his voice, and I find myself back on my feet, staggering blindly into the blackness despite my searing agony.

His Bilbo impales my shirt, ripping away half of it. I nearly stumble into my pool of blood, but his heavy breathing keeps me motivated to move.

Lightning cuts through the black sky, refracting off the front window. It is just enough of light to locate the door. My blood-drenched fingers grasp onto the doorknob without hesitation, and pull the door open to reveal an incoming storm.

My feet move clumsily on the wet grass. I tell myself to not look back. The winds of the storm shriek louder by each step, as if enraged. The tree branches bend and flex in inorganic ways under the force of the increasing gale. The lightning’s contrast against the ebony sky intensifies, and thunder crackles raucously.

Then comes rain; light at first, but soon torrentially blinding. A few times tree stumps and vines catch my feet, scraping against my skin. I ignore the numbing pain of my chest, the searing of my ankles and continue to run.

The winds are indescribable at this point, as if it is sentient . It’s a distant whisper, but my mind registers a repeating phrase, though I ignore the notion of the winds communicating. I have to keep moving, cannot die here.

My eyes vaguely pick up the end of the forest; the pathway back to my village, and the wind seems to retort to my movement. It’s indisputable at this point.

The words were as clear as day, "You must die here." Goosebumps ripple throughout my body at the pernicious reality. My feet however, fail to stop moving. The wind's high-pitched screech evolves into a dark bass. A demented smirk covers my face as the pathway comes closer into view.

The storm diminishes; stars and a full moon shimmer through the diminishing clouds, as I reach the pathway. The ferocious winds subside, and the tranquil sound of crickets replace the atmospheric horror. I sigh in relief, and the smirk on my face widens into a full smile.

I make another step towards the pavement and the ambience of the woods converts back within an eye blink, leaving the impression that it was a perfect illusion. The serene, clear midnight skies are no longer present, nor is the occasional cricket or the placid twinkle of the stars. Charcoal skies loom over, the blackest I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.

The uneasiness of ragged breathing on my neck sends shivers down my spine. I dare not turn around, but I do. The realization of distant shadows descending in my direction; their eyes an illuminating crimson, freezes the air in my throat.

A gust of wind rushes my feet from the grass, and hurls my body towards a tree, its branches swinging anthropomorphically; like a skeleton brought to life by dark magic.

My head pounds against the trunk, blurring my vision. The clammy grip of branches twist around my body, tightening me into immobility.

I begin to blackout, and the wind's dark voices is all that I can sense.

"Your name is death itself."

"We want your blood to feast."

"You are a damned child."

"You cannot escape the dark zone."

Within my dazed state, a shadow seizes my attention. The clamor of metal echoes throughout the air as a long, angular entity glides in my direction.

A malicious smirk comes into view, and eyes as dark as the night send me into catatonic shock.

"I told you the forest would not allow you to leave, foolish boy."

Blood spews down my head, and on my face, blinding my eyes. My vision blackens, and my consciousness lapses into oblivion, as the ravenous bawls of the woods suffuse throughout the air.
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