FFF #8
He ran through dark woods. Looking over his shoulder he saw the dark shape of his pursuer flitting in and out of the trees. He stumbled. He picked himself back up with arms that oozed blood. He knew he could never run fast enough or far enough, he knew his flight was futile. But the horror behind him could inspire no other response. He stumbled again; this time his arms gave out from under him when he tried to push himself up. It came closer. The last thing he saw was its dark cowl, bending over his prone body.