Page 4 of Little Puppet

Good. One with a sense of direction.

I fucking love it when they’re smart.

Chapter 2

My breaths are white puffs of mist before me as I try to ignore the deep ache in my bones and the burn in my lungs. It’s as if he’s breathing down the back of my neck, like he’s right behind me, even though I hadn’t heard him running after me.

It’s some sick game, I realize.

I’ve fallen into some fucking trap. I hadn’t just gotten a flat; all of my tires blew, which is highly unlikely. Unless something was placed in my path to do exactly that.

The road has to be near, but I don’t know what to do once I get there. The store I stopped at for gas was at least fifteen miles from here, and the roads leading to this house were empty.

I’d searched for food the entire way, only findingbusinesses and streets empty. It was like Dunhaven was a ghost town.

My mom told me to stick to the main highways, but when there was a seven-car pile-up on I-75, the highway patrol led us off an exit near Belleview, which led me here.

All I wanted to do was go home for Christmas. Well, home as I know it, anyhow.

My mom is my home, and she moved here three years ago, leaving me behind in New York to make my own way. Which I have, but not well enough to come down every year. Funds are tight.

I finally saved enough to come this year. Now, look.

“I can still smell you, puppet. I’m getting close!” the man’s deep voice shouts through the woods.

He’s definitely behind me. Judging by the heavy footfalls echoing off the trees, he’s close.

My body burns, my lungs ache, and my brain is telling me to give up. But my heart is beating rapidly, reminding me I’m still alive.

I can survive this.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?

“Puppet!” he calls tauntingly, and I whimper as tears dry on my cheeks as fast as I cry them.

Finally, I push out of the overgrowth and into the house’s backyard.

It’s decayed, and one look tells me it’s unoccupied. There’s no one inside me to help.

I brush past the house, running full-out for the road. Ican’t look back. I don’t know where he is, but I can’t look back.

I’m too afraid.

When I’m shoved from the side, I topple over, rolling into the latticed wood of the rotting porch of the house as I cry out. Stabbing pain shoots through my ribs as I try to sit up against the agony.

“Please,” I beg, but he only steps closer and closer.

He crosses his arms over his chest, looking down at me. It’s like he’s disappointed.

“Maybe it’s your short legs that make you slow,” he says as if studying me. He crouches, lifting my chin with two fingers. “Did you even try?”

My breathing hurts, and my lungs sting from the cold air as I keep silent, tears ambling down my cheeks to the cold, causing a bitter chill to spread.

Damning fingers still hold my chin.

“Answer me,” he grumbles, and my brain can’t fathom why I should.

Survival is the only thing that makes me open my mouth again.

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