Terror. An emotion people throw around without really thinking of the implications. Real terror is like nothing anyone could imagine, nothing that anyone would want to imagine.
She ran. Her shoes loud on the cobblestones, the midday sun beat down on her back. It was Sunday. The streets empty, every man, woman and child was on a pew in church, where any self respecting Christian should be at that hour.
She stumbled, her legs exhausted from running. Willing herself to stay upright she continued through the streets with him always one step behind. Each time he closed in a smile split open his face and he would allow her to escape. The smile that had haunted her dreams every one of her sixteen years, the smile that had held her back, the smile that meant to torment and succeeded. Turning she saw his figure approaching the black shadow always at the edge of her mind, her knees buckled and she sank to the ground. Holding her hands over her ears she shut her eyes and willed the figure away. His heavy footsteps stopped in front of her and she shook her head.
“No, go away. You're not real.” A dark, ominous laugh echoed through the deserted street and her eyes filled with tears. Squeezing them shut she began to rock, backwards and forwards still shaking her head. The laugh faded. She stayed where she was, keeping the fragile hold on her hair as though trying to do the same for her sanity. A single tear attempted an escape but she blinked it back aggressively; she had never let herself before, she would not show weakness now. Pushing herself to her feet she stumbled over the dragging hem of her tattered dress, her shoes left small bloody prints on the hard, dry ground. She lifted her dress and half ran, half dragged herself towards the church one mile away. Somewhere she knew she was always safe.
Falling through the doors she tried to catch her breath. Silence. Every head in the building had turned and was now staring accusingly at...