Chapter 1

Chapter One


         I was flying.  The wind whipped my long hair off my back, throwing it into the air.  I angled my face down to the right, trying to clear my watering eyes. As soon as I looked down, my heart skipped a beat.  At the bottom of the unnaturally deep crevice lay a dark, rapid strewn river.  The roaring channel of water was wide and stunningly beautiful in all its ferocity.  I quickly looked back up, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat. 

         The sides of the ravine were perfectly smooth.  Even from a distance and through the darkness of night I was certain that there was not a single imperfection in the walls of rock.  The trees on the opposite edge looked erose compared to the sleek surface.  It had a haunting effect.

         There should have been a full moon, but it was overcast.  The stars were blinking in and out of sight between the swiftly moving clouds and then, as if trying to reassure me of its presence, the veil suddenly parted and the gorge was filled with moonlight.  The moon was a massive glowing sphere of white.  The ravine walls reflecting its light looked luminescent in the darkness.

         I turned my head from the sky, back to the fast approaching edge of the crevice.  It hadn’t really occurred to me how wide the ravine was until my feet touched the other side and I turned back to survey the opposite bank.  It was an impossible leap; at least fifty yards across.  But I didn’t stop to think about how I had gotten here.  The snarl of fury that erupted from the opposite edge spun me away and I began fighting my way through the dense forest in a desperate attempt to escape.

         My heart was pounding in my ears.  I was scrambling now, unable to move fast enough.  A second deafening roar of anger from the ravine stopped my heart and paralyzed my body.  I knew whoever, or whatever, was coming for me.  The fear was overwhelming.  My breath was coming fast.  My hands were shuddering as they began moving again, ripping against the thick branches and tearing through the underbrush.  My vision blurred with tears and I reached up to wipe my eyes dry.  I was crying in pure terror. 

I was going to die here.  My life was going to end in this godforsaken forest.

         And then everything was silent.  I stopped moving, even though I should have been sprinting for my life.  I knew in my mind the pursuit wasn’t over, but I couldn’t stop hope from filling my body.  Then I heard it.  A twig snapped behind me.  I spun on my heel and came face to face with the angel of death. 

         The tall, muscular frame belonged to a man; that much was obvious.  He was dressed in all black, wearing only pants, a cloak, and a shirt.  The cloak brushed the ground as he began to glide towards me.  The hood was pulled over his eyes, obscuring the top half of his face.  His ivory skin seemed to glow like the walls of the ravine.  His perfectly straight hair was the color of obsidian and fell to his waist.  He smiled then, producing flawless, white, teeth.  They were bared, like a hunter having cornered his prey.  He was beautiful yet terrifying.

“Hello Sarah” he said softly, a smile touching his lips.  It was a quiet reminder of my impending death, as if I needed it.
         
         My heart seemed to stop for the second time tonight as had the tears, but my hands still shook uncontrollably.  I could hear my ragged breath.  I was mentally weighing the odds of escape, but knew it was hopeless.  He would overtake me the instant I turned around.

I shuffled backwards, trying to distance myself from him.  He laughed, throwing his head back in amusement.  He found my futile attempts at escape entertaining.  He was a predator; the joy of killing was equal to that of toying with his victim.  That’s exactly what he was doing now, toying.  As he turned back to me, the hood of his cloak fell and his face was visible.

         I whimpered.  It sounded pitiful to my ears.  He must have thought the same because he smirked then, his dark eyes glittering with menace as he took a soundless step towards me. 

He didn’t walk, he floated.  He was completely silent as he approached.  He was closing the distance between us, his pace slow.  He was savoring the moment, though his patience was dwindling.  His eyes were like black fire; his stare burning into my skull.  I was frozen in place.

“You cannot run.” It was a statement of fact and I knew it.  My heart was bursting through my chest, my breath coming out in short gasps.  I couldn’t control myself.  I thought about pleading, but I knew it would only give him more pleasure in the kill.  I was going to die and there was nothing I could do.

I took another step back and tripped over what felt like a large log and everything went black.


***

         I woke from my horrific nightmare in a cold sweat. 

The “angel of death” had been visiting me for as long as I could remember, haunting my sleep once every couple of months.  His eyes, burning with anticipation, still lingered in my mind. I shuddered and sat up in my makeshift bed.

         The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon.  It was nearly dark.  I cursed myself for falling asleep so early.  I was exhausted from the day’s work and had unintentionally slipped into a fitful nap.  Though I had done all my chores, it wouldn’t do any good if Frank came home to find me sleeping.

         Frank was cruel and ill-tempered.  He was like a bomb, ticking and ready to blow at any second.  Constantly drunk, Frank was easily agitated and very thorough when inflicting pain.  He had very little patience for me and even less for Josie.  His favorite hobbies were drinking, sleeping, and reminding me that I would be dead if not for him.

         Frank and his wife Martha lived on a ranch that was roughly two hundred acres of farmland, where Frank was raised and inherited upon his parents’ death.  The land was like a quilt with various shades of yellow creating a patchwork pattern. However, the fields were dead, having seen less than two centimeters of rain over the past four years. 

The house was small and brown.  It had one floor containing two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room that also served as a dining area.  Their house faced west, as did the colossal barn that towered over the little home, throwing it into shadow.

The barn was massive and aged, originally a deep red color with white trim, though the paint had chipped over time.  The only source of light was through enormous open doors showing a thin path that led to the house.  Hay squares and old horse stalls lined the walls everywhere you looked.  The floor was littered with hay as well, but it was more a mixture of dirt and old fodder from the animals that used to reside there.  Josie and I now slept in their place.

Our pitiful little cots were held on a raised platform that could only be reached by a tall ladder.  The wooden ladder was firm and strong for all its years of use.  It went straight up to a loft that was fairly empty of furnishings.  Our cots occupied the left corner while the right held an old desk and a chair that had been Martha’s.  A broom was propped next to a bedside table, leaning against our tiny lamp.

The west, south, and north sides of the estate were all very mundane.  Other than the thin dirt road that wound aimlessly over the land, the rest of the acreage was barren.  I had tried to see where the road ended once, but even with squinting it was a lost cause.  You would need a telescope to spot it.

The nearest town was miles away.  I had only been there once.  It consisted of a market that carried only the basic needs, a gas station, and a few miscellaneous stores owned by farmers.  To even call it a town was exaggerating, as it more closely resembled a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. 

Although the town took hours to reach, the ranch was not entirely alone with the expansive fields.  The east side of the property was bordered by an immense forest that, despite the drought, remained fertile and green.  It ran farther than the eye could see and the boundary line was perfectly straight.  The forest was also the cause behind our lack of neighbors.

Everyone in “town” was suspicious of the forest.  They claimed its foliage was the supernatural work of a heart-broken witch.  The legend was well known and had been passed down from father to son and mother to daughter, for decades.

It was said that the beautiful witch fell in love with a handsome young logger.  A tragic accident in the forest killed her lover and she fled to the forest to find his lingering soul.  She has spent the rest of her life haunting the woods, searching for her lover in the dense woodland.  The tale claims that anyone who crosses the forests’ threshold never comes out. 

Some of the townsfolk believe she kills the intruders for disrupting her search.  Others say she enslaves them and forces them to help her search.  The one thing that all the townsfolk seem to believe is that when you enter the woodland your soul is forfeit to the witch and you are doomed to wander with her, never able to escape.

         Frank’s father refused to believe the “ridiculous legend”.  He claimed that if the trees were green, the land must be fertile, and based on that theory he built his cabin next to the forest.  Of course, he was mistaken.  The forest was an abnormal occurrence.  The earth within two feet of the forest was just as dry as it was in the parched fields.

Though Frank’s father was not superstitious, he did not allow Frank to enter the forest as a boy.  He did not believe in the so-called witch, but he knew the evergreens growing in his backyard were unnatural.

Likewise, Frank had forbidden me to go within fifty yards of the trees.  I was not scared of the forest, unlike Martha and Josie.  I found it mesmerizing with its tall, exotic, greenery.  The shade always looked so cool, especially on a scorching day out in the fields.  But I always kept my distance for fear of Frank.

When I first came to Frank and Martha I was ten years old and without any recollection of where I had come from or who I was.  Martha had found me wandering by the edge of the forest near dawn.  She had been caring for her withering flowerbed on the windowsill of the back door when she heard me whimpering.  I had a large gash on the side of my head that was sticky with drying blood.  She hustled me inside and took me under her wing.

“Mumbling like a lunatic, you were.  I thought you were one of them crazy children they always be talking ‘bout in town,” she would tell me, “you didn’t even know your own name!  You knocked your head pretty good, I wreckon.”

Martha was a kind, middle-aged woman.  She was large and homely with short, slightly curled, silver hair and vivid blue eyes, reminding me of a grandmother.  She was always bustling around the kitchen, fussing over me.  Martha repeatedly claimed I looked half starved and would then proceed to force feed me.  She always wore an apron and never stopped cooking. 

I sat on the edge of my cot, unwilling to get up and resume cleaning. I had begun fingering the little locket that hung permanently around my neck.  It was the only evidence of my unknown past.  I didn’t know what was inside or where I had even gotten it, but I didn’t care.  It was all I had that connected to me to wherever I had come from and I wasn’t about to risk losing it by taking it off. 

It was a small golden thing.  A tiny oval with intricate designs and patterns that came alive with the sun’s dying light.  The shadows casting a slight darkness on its beautiful shining surface, making it look a million different shades at once.

Martha was unable to have children, but she considered me one of her own.  Frank thought otherwise.  Martha had died of a heart attack about five years ago when I was twelve and within two days Frank had made me his personal slave.  After her death he became a heavy drinker and because of his habit we could barely survive.

         Josie had come to us stumbling down the dirt road, wearing rags for clothing.  She had run away from her “family” and had been wandering for at least a week before I took her in.  She was so dehydrated she collapsed in my arms when I approached.

         Even though that was almost a year ago, I could remember like it was yesterday.  She was so thin it looked as if she had been starved most of her life.  Her blonde hair was matted with dry sweat and choked with dust.  Her large eyes were like sapphires, though glossed over from heat exhaustion.  Her unusually pale skin was caked in dirt.  Her tiny form wobbled.  I caught and held her in my arms.

“Help me.  Please…” She managed to croak through her cracked lips.  She was so parched she could barely speak.  But her eyes said everything.  They pleaded with me.  She had looked so helpless, so innocent.  It was because of these characteristics that I defied Frank.

         She fell limp in my arms, her lids fluttering closed over her magnificently blue eyes.  I carried her the last thirty yards to the porch and climbed the few wooden steps to enter the shade of the house.  I knew the moment I crossed the threshold that I had doomed Josie to reside with me here for the rest of her life, in our own personal hell.

         For the first couple of weeks I hovered by Josie’s bedside.  She was so weak from exhaustion and starvation that she had slipped into a temporary coma.  It took all my strength to keep Frank from killing us both.  I finally convinced him that she would be able to help with the work load and we would get much more done, but it was a hard fight.

         When she finally woke, she could barely remember who she was.  The only thing she recalled of her past was running away from a foster home that closely resembled a concentration camp.  She had no clue how she had ended up at our house.  The last thing she could remember was me lifting her into my arms and then blackness.

         Maybe it was the fact that she was alone in the world as well, or maybe I just have a weakness for children.  Either way, I have grown to love Josie.  She is like the younger sister I never had.  Although I offered, on more than one occasion, to sneak her out of this desolate place, she firmly refused to leave me.  I don’t even know if it was possible to get her out, but she wouldn’t have it.  She may be the most stubborn eleven year old I have ever met.

         As I was reminiscing, Josie came tearing around the corner into the barn.  Hay flew as she ran, full speed, through the open doors.

“SARAH!  SARAH HELP!” she was screaming at the top of her lungs, “SARAH, COME QUICK!”

         Startled, I ran to the edge of the loft, peering down into Josie’s frantic face.

         “Josie, what on earth is the matter with you?  What are you screaming about?” I demanded.

         “Sarah, the food—I was just making dinner—I didn’t mean to and—and—you have to help me, Sarah!” she was waving her arms around wildly as she spluttered.

         “Josie, calm down!  Now, what are you trying to tell me?” I asked firmly.

         “THERE IS A FIRE!” she yelled.

I put my hands on my hips.  This was probably another of her practical jokes she sometimes used to scare me and I really wasn’t in the mood to play along.

         “Ha ha,” I said sarcastically, “nice try Jo, but I’m not falling for it this time.”

         “This isn’t a joke, Sarah!  The kitchen is on fire!!” she screamed at me exasperatedly.

         My stomach lurched in fear.  I scrambled down the ladder, almost falling in my haste.  I skipped the last few rungs and hopped to the hay covered floor.  I turned and began sprinting for the door, Josie by my side.

         “This better be for real, Jo.  If this is another one of your jokes—“

         “This is not a joke!” she shouted, glaring at me.  Her eyes were like blue ice.

         I hesitated as, sure enough, we rounded the corner and I could see the black smoke billowing out the kitchen window; small orange flames licked the wooden siding of the house.  The smoke burned my nose as we drew closer to the fire. 

         I sprinted toward the back door and grabbed the long green hose.  “Josie, turn on the water,” I ordered her, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

         She crouched down and began twisting the old rusty spigot to the right.  After a few seconds, the water began flowing out the other side.  I threw open the door with my free hand and gasped in shock.  This was a big mistake; I breathed a mouthful of smoke and was now coughing uncontrollably.  However, I couldn’t help but stare; the entire kitchen was being engulfed in the rapidly growing blaze.  The intense heat hit me like a boulder and I was captivated by the fire’s glowing brilliance.  Sweat began running down my face.  It was so hot!

         I quickly came to my senses and placed my thumb over the hole at the end of the hose, partially covering it to create a fierce spray of water.  My nerves were racing as I aimed my makeshift fire hose at the hungry flames and watched as they started to shrink.

         Just as the last of the flames were squelched and the smoke cleared, I could finally see the extent of the damage.  The kitchen was completely charred.  The cabinet doors were burnt to a crisp as were the many cupboards and drawers lining the walls.  The walls had not been burned to the ground, but they had irreparable smoke and water damage.  I was in a state of shock.

Then, I could here the rumbling of Frank’s truck approaching.  It was faint at first but it soon grew to a deafening roar as he neared the house.  My stomach lurched again, worse this time.  Frank was home.  Dinner was now a pile of ash.  The kitchen was scorched and blackened.  I could feel a new fear creeping into my mind, quickly replacing that of the fire.

He would be furious.  We would be beaten to a pulp.  We would die.