Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Lauren Wallace teased me relentlessly for it, and when I was fifteen, she and her cronies crossed paths with me out here in the woods. Farisha and I were both wearing medieval costumes and were cooking soup in the coven over a tiny fire we built and lit all on our own. It took us nearly two hours to get the fire started and were quite proud of it. It had rained that morning, and I ventured away from the safety of the coven in search of dry sticks for the fire.
And that was where I ran into Lauren and company. It was back before every teen had a camera phone, thankfully, but Lauren made sure to tell everyone just how much of a freak I was. Farisha was out of sight, thankfully, and I never uttered one word about her being a “freak” too. There was no need to drag her into it.
Reaching into my backpack again, I get out my notebook, hoping for inspiration to strike as strongly as it did all those years ago. It takes a while, but it does, and I outline the next three chapters, seamlessly putting in a sword fighting scene for Charles’s sake—that totally fits with the story. Usually, I don’t like to write longhand what I then have to go back and type, but the fight scene is so clear in my head I start writing it out—and then can’t stop.
Rain starts to drip down on me, but I ignore it, not stopping until the drizzle becomes a steady fall. I close my notebook, blinking as I look up, and seal it safely away in my backpack. I stand, realizing just how long I’ve been sitting there on the rock. My left foot is asleep and my butt hurts from sitting in one position for so long. My head hurts from having my hair up in a tight bun, so I pull my hair tie out, giving my scalp a break. It’s the only downfall to having such thick hair.
I hold out my hand, loving the feel of the rain on my skin. I slowly start walking back toward the trail. Thunder rumbles overhead, and I pause, mentally debating if I should just walk in the rain or if I should go to the picnic shelter and wait out the storm. When lightning flashes, I decide to take the safe route and go to the shelter. It’s not a far hike, and I’ll be there in just a few minutes if I pick up the pace.
Stepping over a fallen log, something crashes behind me. I freeze, straining to hear past the loud sound of rain falling in the leaves. A branch snaps. It’s probably a deer. Or a bunny, even. They can be rather loud for how small they are. There’s also a chance a bear has wandered down, tempted by the food left out at the campground and picnic areas. The fearlessness I felt facing bears from my youth has left me, and lying on the ground, slowly bleeding to death seems likely.
Swallowing hard, I slowly turn around, looking behind me. The rain starts to come down harder, and the wind picks up, rustling the forest and making it hard for me to hear if certain death is lurking closer and closer. A few seconds pass and nothing attacks me. Along with bears, my adult mind goes to serial killers or psychopaths living in the woods, kidnapping hikers and slowly peeling off their flesh in strips which they dry and eat like beef jerky.
Sometimes having an active imagination is problematic.
Forcing myself to stay calm, I increase my speed, not stopping until I make it back to the path. It’s pouring now, and thunder crashes above me, reverberating through the forest. The dirt path under my feet is slippery now, and I almost fall a few times as I hurry to the picnic shelter.
I look like a drowned rat and don’t feel like dealing with people right now, so I’m pleasantly surprised to see the covered area empty. Well, this side of it at least. There’s a large stone fireplace in the center, open on both sides for people to warm themselves by in the colder months. Something moves on the other side of the fireplace, and all I see is a flash of black.
Now there is a real chance it’s a bear. It might not be taking shelter from the storm like I am, but it’s definitely eating any scraps of food left behind by picnickers. I slow right as lightning sizzles in the sky and another clap of thunder shakes the very ground beneath my feet.
Whatever is behind the fireplace moves forward. It’s not a bear, but something much, much worse. Eyes, dark blue like the stormy sky, lock with mine, and the cold rainwater suddenly drenches my heart, making a shiver run down my spine.