He's been pursuing you since he sabotaged your tires as you were driving hours ago. On a night he knew you'd forgotten your charger and had been bored at a party, draining your phone's battery surfing on WiFi for hours. Your car tires spluttered sadly as they were punctured and air began leaking out, your car slowing to an uneven, jagged pace. You got out of your car to investigate and saw the string of nails across the road, glinting in the brief ray of moonlight that existed before the clouds covered it.
You moved to get back in to your car, but you sensed you were being watched. Something was... there. On the other side of the road. And in your car, you'd be a sitting duck. The kind of person who lays down booby traps in the dark for unaware drivers is the kind of person who brings something to break windshields. And now you're wishing you hadn't gone to so many liberal rallies at college and spoken out against the Second Amendment so many times, because if you'd believed in what it stood for, you'd have some way to fight back hiding in your glove compartment. But that just made you the ideal target. The young Democrat. So naive.
You're with her, huh? Well, where is she now? Nowhere near your undersized city of mediocrity. You're not important to politicians to tour. Nor are you intelligent enough to pay for night patrols of cop cars to lurk the lonely, sprawling back roads. But are they really back roads when they're the main ways from one rural house to the other, each falling into its own state of disrepair?
You briskly strode down the road, away from your car, away from whatever was lurking. You could sense it, somehow, exactly where it was right behind the first bushes. So away you went.
You walked for a mile, you must have! The crisp night air nipping at your exposed skin. You didn't take a jacket to the party because why would you, so many bodies in one room made for the small town America version of a sauna. But now you regret it.
And you heard the bushes rustling behind you. It was following you. Could you make a run for it? Maybe, depending on how old he was and how tall and how in shape. But again, the kind of person to set such a trap, is the kind of person who can finish it. You wouldn't be able to outrun him, you guess.
You branched off the paved roadway, into the forest on the other side of the road. You figured, well, it's dark. You hadn't seen a flashlight from him yet, so with any luck, you could lose him in the woods. Hide behind a tree or duck into dense shrubbery. And he'll walk right past you or go the other way. Then, when it's daylight, you can go stand on the road and hope someone... sane... drives along.
Into the woods you went, being mindful to step behind the widest trees you could find to break any possible line of sight. To avoid stepping on branches or rustling leaves as much as you could.
You heard him enter the forest behind you, caring little if he made sound. Yet it didn't sound like he took two steps, it was almost a singular, continuous snapping sound as he moved over the forest debris.
You've been walking for an hour and he hasn't let up, or lost you. How? You've cut around so many trees yet you've continually heard him tracking you. Always at the same distance. Until you started getting tired, because you believe getting fit starts with kale chips and avocados, not a gym membership.
Now, he's closer. You lurk around trees and pause and still hear him coming, never sounding farther off. Always sounding nearer and nearer, the longer you wait. How can he know?!
He gets close enough you can hear a strange squeak, as if a somewhat-rusted wheel keeps turning. But what could he possibly be pulling behind him on one wheel?
You start running through the woods, because if he's closing in, you need to fix that. The squeaking grows louder as the wheel rotates faster. He's not falling behind you. Rather, he's still gaining.
You full out sprint, hoping to get away. Perhaps there's another road up ahead, or a house you can find shelter in. Something! Anything!
There's a downed tree you don't see. Your leading knee smacks into it, forcing the kneecap inward. You fall over it, smashing your face into the ground. You try to push back up on your arms but your leg gives out once you put weight on it. A tendon must be torn.
The squeaking grows to its loudest and then stops. You can feel his presence behind you. Hear as he steps onto the log and hops down. Landing on... all fours? You turn back to see a unicycle propped up against the log. You look into soulless, empty eyes, those of someone who is truly dead inside, engulfing you into a void of despair.
And then you see nothing more.
You come to face to face with a fire. A camp fire, almost comforting, if something wasn't just off about it. You realize you're tied up and naked, covered in some sort of liquid. It's sticky but fragrant, like your mother's kitchen. A glaze?
You're lifted off the ground and hoisted over the fire, suspended above it on a spit. You scream and someone sticks an apple in your mouth.
You look over as the flames begin to engulf you and you see the leader of it all, to whom you will serve as a main course to tonight. A sad, mournful looking thing, such a peculiar face. Green, flat skin, nothing to write home about. White eyes with black pupils that have given up on happiness. But this wasn't who chased you through the woods... Are you a sacrifice?
Then the fire is stoked and you lose consciousness, the tears streaming down your face evaporating in the air before they get close to the flames.
The next night in your hometown, the police set a trap for this fiend who has abducted so many for tribute to his leader. They nab him in the act. A report runs on the 11 o'clock news that night: