The Light

John raced to the top of the hill and screamed. Long, loud, piercing screams that came from deep within, burning his lungs and throat as the sound escaped him. He knew the shadow was close to him, yet he feared turning. He ran as fast as his burning, tired legs would carry him. The darkness of the night meant he could only see a few metres in front of him. He knew the woods well, so was no lost.

Feeling the trees on either side of him, he raced along. He stopped screaming. It was pointless. No one could hear him out here. The putrid, musty smell of the shadow was getting stronger. Overpowering the otherwise fresh smell of the trees. He tried to make his legs work faster. His breath was coming in gasps. Too late, he saw a low branch. It hit his cheek sending a bolt of searing pain through his face. Tasting his own blood in his mouth he ran faster again. He could not allow the shadow to catch him. John could hear his own footsteps. He pushed through the low scrub. The mouldy smell which emanated from the shadow was getting stronger by the second, making the hairs in his nose bristle and twinge, trying to get some fresh air.

His legs were tiring. Just as he thought he could go no further he saw the clearing he’d been aiming for. He focused desperately on the light from the clearing, blocking out all else. With a final burst of energy he dove toward the light. Rolling to a stop he finally dared to look back. If this didn’t stop the shadow, nothing would. He could still smell its pungent scent, although it was no longer getting closer. A vague outline of the shadow could be made out between the trees. It knew it had lost for now. John would stay in the clearing until first light, and by then it would have to be home.

John lay on the ground, still trying to catch his breath. Ever so slowly, the distinctive, acrid aroma, which had emanated so strongly from the shadow, disappeared into the night. He tried to sleep, knowing that he would be safe here. Knowing that tomorrow, all of his energy would be required for the final destruction of the shadow. Focusing on this, he slept.

John awoke at first light. He was still exhausted from the previous evenings ordeal, yet he could not allow that to stop him. He had to get the townsfolk ready. Dreams in the night had given him the plan. He only had until dusk to set it up, or more lives may be lost.

Getting enough volunteers was no problem. Enough grief and anguish had been caused by the shadow over the past two weeks for everyone to be ready for action.

By the first signs of dusk, all was set. The plan required one person to act as a lure. Since it was Johns plan, he was elected. His role was to find the shadow and have it chase him to the designated area. Following the events of the previous evening the clearing could not be used. Although no one knew exactly what the shadow was, they did know it wasn’t stupid. It was unlikely it would allow the chase to go near the clearing again.

Using John as the lure had another advantage. He was the only person to get away from the shadow with no injuries. Being the cold-blooded killer that it was, it would be out for revenge tonight. John knew this, but could not allow that to deter him. If he did, the town would not be safe again.

At exactly 9pm John set out, ready to set the plan in motion. Taking exactly the same route through the woods as he had the night before, he set off. Trying to mimic the previous evening in the hope the shadow would come out, John began whistling as he walked.

Smelling the air for the pungent aroma which would assault his senses before the shadow got near, he tried to keep the fear out of the sound of his whistling. Conscious of every thing around him, all of his senses seemed heightened. The air had never seemed so still. Cool breezes barely rustling the grass. His own crunching footsteps reverberating through the still night.

Freezing suddenly, he strained his ears. Listening desperately for the sound that should be following the foul stench which had just filled his nose and throat.

There it was!

He screamed as he had the night before, confident the shadow would follow him, wishing he were anywhere in the world but here right now. His scream was to let the others know they were on their way. If all went according to plan, he would scream just once more before this night was through. John prayed to the Lord above that his final scream would be the signal of victory, and not of his own end.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he began to run once more. A strong sense of de-ja-vue filled him, but he shook it off. He could not allow anything to penetrate his concentration. He would need every ounce of it he could muster just to stay alive tonight.

Pumping his legs, still weary from the events of the past 24 hours, he urged himself on. Straining for a sense of the shadow he raced down the narrow path. Leaves and branches whipped his face as he ran. Sweat poured from his body, but it was the cold sweat of terror. He ran, trying not to take in the fumes surrounding him. The shadow seemed closer than ever. He could hear twigs breaking behind him as the shadow pushed through the undergrowth.

Hairs on the back of Johns neck began to stand on end. He could almost feel the breath of the shadow. Sick with terror he burst forth yet again. Nearing his destination he once again focused all of his energy forward.

Suddenly, John screamed. Howls from a man consumed with terror and anguish. His scream was quickly drowned out by a more ferocious, sinister sound. Lights filled the woods. Every light beam, spotlight and torch from the town, simultaneously switched on in the woods. The shadow fell to the ground, writhing around in agony. Its howls filled the forest. The people who remained in the town perked up their ears, praying it was the sound of justified death they were hearing.

It was.

Intense light shone down on the shadow. Following it as it tried to move. Slowly the howls ceased. The flinching form stopped moving.

None of the townsfolk moved for a few moments. John lay in a heap on the ground. Exhausted, he slowly lifted his head. Looking over to the motionless form he began to rise.

Taking their cue from John, the townsfolk slowly came out into the circle of light. All the lights remained on. They weren’t taking any chances.

John reached out and took the rifle out of the hands of the sheriff. Cautiously, he prodded the form on the ground with the end of the rifle.

Nothing.

It was dead. They would make sure, of course. But that was not up to him. His part was over. Looking into the eyes of his wife, her face scarred, her arm in a caste, he smiled through his tears.

“It’s over,” he said softly. Falling to his knees in a state of pure mental and physical exhaustion. “It’s over.”