Feel the Shadow, Hear its Cry

Run, girl, run.

A harsh, raspy voice echoed in a young girl’s ears, unfamiliar and unseen. She looked up from her doll, startled.

The girl was a pretty thing, with long black hair the color of raven’s wings and eyes red as twin rubies. Her face was the color of milk, first with heritage and then from unease. “Who’s there?”

The voice wavered, trembled, as if haunted – or haunting.

Run. It is coming.

The girl looked about her, but there was nothing more than a crude table, two chairs, and a fireplace in the small, square room. “W-who’s there? Hello?”

She stood, the ragdoll slipping from her trembling hand. It landed on her bare foot, and for an instant she gazed down at the eerily smiling face, panic so apparent within her that her blood felt like ice. She let out a tiny shriek as she kicked the doll into the flames.

Her racing heart slowed, but only for a moment. Until a sudden crash of thunder, and –

Why do you ignore me?

A startled sound sprang from her lips as she straightened, stiff as a board, fevered eyes darting around the room like a cornered animal. “Who are you?”

I am a messenger of –

“DEATH!” the girl screamed; she took two frightened steps towards the window.

No, girl. Not of death. And not that way.

She would have liked nothing better than to fling herself out the window and into the raging storm outside, but something in the words – no, in the voice – stopped her. It was…fear.

“W-what do y-you mean?” she stammered, but her own terror ebbed slightly at the anxiety in the unseen voice. “And please, what are you?”

I am something that you see every day, when you look out your window at the meadow beyond. I am something which parts the grasses; which stills the wind; which outdoes the golden flame.

As curious as she was fearful, but still with the note of panic about her, the girl shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

And yet you hear my voice.

Confused, she asked, “Why do you tell me to run?”

Because It is coming.

When the voice uttered these words, a dark cold settled over the room. The firelight dimmed and the wind howled louder – more desperate now. Then, quite suddenly, there was a mortal yelp and a cry of pain from outside the door.

Then nothing but the relentless sound of raindrops pattering against the roof.

But the cold presence did not recede.

“Hello? Voice?” the girl whispered tentatively. But she knew it would not answer.

And the cold grew deeper.

The girl was halfway out the window when her ruby eyes caught the slightest movement in the woods just beyond the meadow; a dark shadow, which flickered into the wind. The voice’s words echoed in her mind. And not that way.

She was unable to pull her eyes from It; her bones turned to fire and her flesh felt pricked by a thousand swords…yet somehow, slowly, carefully, she slid from the sill and ducked beneath the opening, where she lay panting for several minutes.

A long, lonely howl of some beast out in the storm sounded; and with the speed borne only of sheer desperation she ran across the small floor and flung the door wide open.

And screamed.

Not two feet in front of her lay a crumpled form half-buried in the grass; she saw golden-red fur, black paws, and a bushy tail. It was a fox – but not just a fox. It was the same fox which she had watched caper in the meadow since as far back as she could remember. The same fox who had always been so happy and bright and filled with life.

Now it was not so.

The terror within sank into something darker as she took off into the storm-swept forest. Her bare feet pounded on the wet ground, twigs snapping underfoot, her ruby eyes shining like torches through the foliage. With every second, the cold feeling within her soul increased.

And somewhere behind her, hidden in the trees at the back of the cabin, a single shadow moved.

Not with the swaying of the tree beyond which it stood.

But after the girl.

No matter how far she ran, the darkness gripped her. It clutched her heart like an icy hand; twisting and crushing until her body felt weak and cold as stone. Branches whipped her face; pebbles cut her feet; and still her ruby eyes looked forward as she ran like a mindless thing.

On the first night, she saw the lithe, sable form of a panther as it circled in the shadows, before it vanished like smoke thrown upon the wind. She ran harder.

On the second night, her foot fell through the earth and loosed a nest of vipers; black and yellow, with milk-white eyes and dripping fangs, they erupted from the earth like a storm. She screamed and plunged forward.

The restless rustle which followed the shadow had ceased a while ago; she couldn’t remember when, only that it was no longer there. And yet whenever she looked over her shoulder, she felt the thousand wounds all over her body; and with a cry she would force herself to turn and face onwards again.

It still followed her.

She couldn’t shake it, couldn’t get rid of it. Everywhere she looked, she saw the horrible shape lurking. When she closed her eyes in desperate hope, she saw the fox’s deadened eyes. When she turned her mind to happy memories, they faded – the loving face of her mother, her own voice singing the doll to sleep – until even the most joyful moments of her life were lost. What is happening to me? she thought. What have I become?

She tried to forget it, tried to push the hunted feeling into the deepest corner of her mind. But every sound and sight rekindled it like oil on a dying flame.

So she pushed on, forwards, through the darkened forest. It never ended; she knew it never would. And yet she could not stop. She could not yield. Could not let It take her.

Until the third night, when she burst into a clearing framed by towering stones and ancient oaks. Gasping, aching, pleading – she collapsed in the center of the glade.

On the far side of the clearing, the fox from her meadow – a golden, shimmering, half-visible ghost – stood like a sentinel. Silent. Still.

And as the cold grew sharper, her eyes grew dimmer, and the shadow behind her slowly neared, she saw the fox nod once – unblinking.

Then, in the same harsh, raspy voice which he had spoken to her in the cabin, he said –

Very well, girl. Run no more.

And he watched her. Waited for her.

To join him.