Page 184 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

The police report stated that they suspected there was only one unsub responsible for what happened to my mother. They found only one pair of footprints, only one set of prints. Someone who wasn’t in the system. Yet. I was informed invasions were a fact of life, even though I’d never heard of one happening in Lakeview before. The police told me it was probably a robbery, but that Mom surprised the thief when she came home early from her art exhibit.

If she hadn’t come home early…

If dad had still been alive…

If she’d had something to defend herself…

So many ifs, and no one mentioned the one that mattered most.

If only I hadn’t slipped out that night. Yes, it would most likely have been me surprising the thief while coming downstairs for a snack.

But then Mom would still be alive. And that’s all that matters.

Dry leaves and dirt crunch under soles as my pursuer heads deeper into the church.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

I was hoping I’d made it here fast enough that the guy would think I was long gone, but he must know these woods much better than I do—and the church is an obvious sanctuary.

Crunch.

He’s heading away.

I draw a calming breath and slowly lift my head. It’s so dark inside the church, all I can see are silhouettes. My heart just starts slowing down when my pursuer turns, and I catch sight of his profile.

A spike of fear washes me with panic, and my heart starts racing again.

Holy shit. He’s fuckinghuge.

Something brushes the back of my hand, but I’m too transfixed on the monster who’s standing less than a yard away, scanning the church interior as if he’s trying to pick up my scent. Despite his size, he moves with the grace and casual ease of a hunter searching for his prey.

Which, in this case, is me.

My skin crawls, and it takes me a second to realize it’s because there’s something on the back of my hand, not just because I’m close to wetting myself.

It takes everything I have to look down.

A spider. And this isn’t just a Daddy Long Legs. Nope. What’s crawling on my hand is one nasty looking sonofabitch; all spidery fuzz and lethal-looking fangs. A scream bubbles in the back of my throat.

Without bothering to consider the repercussions, I flick it off me. The sleeve of my hoody snags on a bramble thorn. My urgent movements shake the whole bush.

The guy spins to face me and lunges forward.

I yell out, but the sound barely leaves my lips before he grabs my ankles and drags me out of my hiding place.

The knife. The fucking knife!

But he’s too far away, and a moving target. If I have any chance of getting in a shot, I’ll have to wait.

My chest closes, heart thumping like a wild stallion as I flip onto my stomach and furiously try to claw myself away from him.

One of my ankles is suddenly free. I glance back, and immediately try kicking the guy in the face.

He dodges effortlessly, and starts laughing.

The sound of that cold, heartless chuckle turns my marrow to ice. I scream, voice hoarse from fear, as I struggle and kick. He grabs the bottom of my hoody and drags me over cracked, dusty flagstones, until there’s nothing left for me to try and grab for.

He straddles my lower back. I hurriedly close my fingers around the knife, trying to hide it until I’m ready to use it.

---