He runs through the forest, arms outstretched, tripping over roots like a blind man. It is night and it is raining hard. The wind whips the trees into a frenzy. Low hanging branches whistle past his eyes. He doesn’t know where he’s going except onward into darkness. And the darkness is absolute. The machine gun rat-a-tat of rain on leaves fills his ears, alongside the crunch of foliage underfoot and the laboured heaving of his lungs. He can taste blood.
He ploughs forwards, ignoring the pain that grips his body. He risks a glance over his shoulder but it is like staring into a void. His mind fills the emptiness with terrible images. He is back on the ground, fists pummelling his flesh, boots stamping on his bones. The image is ripped away as his shoulder slams against a tree trunk.
He hits the forest floor hard, punching the air from his lungs. Sprawled on his back, he sees white lightning strobe through the canopy. A rumbling peal of thunder rolls across the sky. Catching his breath, he hears footsteps. They are moving towards him.
Adrenaline fires through his limbs. He scrambles to his feet and races on. A second flash of lightning rips across the sky. For a moment, the forest is lit up like day. A clearing lies up ahead. A wooden shed sits at its centre, rain drumming against its corrugated roof.
He shouldn’t go in there. He should keep running. But the door is unlocked. And now that he’s stopped moving, pain is taking control of his body. Wrenching open the door, he stumbles inside. The sound of the rain hitting the roof is like a blacksmith’s hammer on molten metal. He slams the door closed, then staggers against the wall. Lightning flashes through the window. He’s inside a tool shed. Sharp instruments hang from hooks on the wall.
A wave of dizzy nausea threatens to topple him. He gets down on all fours and crawls away from the door. White pain shoots from his hand. His broken fingers splay at unnatural angles. Yelping, he drags his body into the darkest corner he can find. Then pressing his back against the wall, he sits and waits. Seconds pass by. Then a minute. His heart is hammering in time with the rain. He wonders if he is safe here. If he can stay hidden.
But he has already been found.
A shadow passes the window. He hears the rain rush in as the door opens and closes. The world falls away. His heart stops. There is nowhere else to go. Trapped in the corner like a hunted animal, he tries to make himself small. He should fight. Pick up a tool and lash out. But he has no fight left.
The darkness closes in on him like a mother’s arms. He feels someone standing over him, their presence disturbing the air molecules. Lightning flashes. He sees a blade, curved and cruel-looking, held up high.
“Please,” he says. He doesn’t know if he’s begging for mercy or for release.
He holds up his hands, his broken fingers like twisted vines.
The blade cuts through the air and deep into his flesh. It comes down, again and again; tearing, slicing, spilling blood as black as night. His screams are swept away with the rain.
He becomes one with the darkness. He becomes nothing.