Page 17 of Boys Who Hunt

I have to get out.

Frozen, I stay put near the wall, shuddering from the breaths my lungs refuse to take.

It’s happening again. And again. And again.

“Ivy!” I can hear my name but don’t hear anything else even though I can clearly see a mouth moving in the distance.

My head spins violently, but I don’t know what to do.

All I can hear is the deafening sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

THWACK.

THWACK.

THWACK.

Tears form in my eyes and roll down my cheeks, flooding the house with my tears until I can no longer stand. I’m drowning. Drowning in the misery of my own wails. I grasp my neck as I suffocate, reaching out to breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

But no matter how hard I try, my lungs refuse to open.

Refuse to give me the life I need to force my legs to move.

RUN.

A crackling noise makes me stir, and I turn around, but a warm fog close to my face wakes me up from my slumber. I sit upstraight, sweat dripping from every pore of my body as I swiftly turn on the light.

There’s nothing.

No one.

Yet …

The window is open.

I didn’t open it.

I shiver and get out of bed, brushing off the recurring nightmare I just had. I grab my knife from my bag and clutch it tightly as I look around. I check all the closets, all the doors, all the nooks and crannies, under each cabinet, and under the bed.

Nothing.

I take a deep breath and sigh out the remaining adrenaline.

Maybe it was just the nightmare that woke me up, as usual.

I approach the window and peer outside.

A man standsin the shadows down below.

I don’t know what he looks like. I can’t see his face or make out any features except for his lanky figure.

A gust of wind makes goose bumps scatter on my skin, and I promptly shut the window, sealing it tightly, still staring at the man who refuses to budge.