3

Claw

DEEP iN THE dark well Kat sees something shiny. Glowing. Faintly blue, like hard-packed ice.

It moves, creeping, and she backs away until her spine is up against the cold stone wall of the well, backs away as it creeps closer, and then she sees. It’s a hand, but not a normal hand. It’s a claw hand, sharp, curving, wicked, crawling on knife-edge fingers straight toward her, one scraping shiver at a time, and she wants to scream but she can’t, oh, she can’t . . .