Halloween

One.

Two.

Her breaths came like tiny clouds, condensing in the miniscule breezes.

Three.

The gentle thudding caught her notice; idly she peered through lashes heavy with evening dew.

Four.

There were only the trees, the lake, and the sweet birdsong that entered her head and richoched around her skull.

Five.

She half-sat, feeling the cool dry grasses crunch and prickle at her bare legs.

Six.

Seven.

Still it continued, almost too quiet to be noticed under normal circumstances.

Eight.

He murmured something quietly from beside her. She slipped softly from his arms. The sensation of bare skin barely tickling her soft flesh made all the hair on her arms stand up with a delicious tingling.

Nine.

The wind caught and buffeted her. Out of the long dry grass, there was no protection. Dust stung her eyes.

Ten.

She thought she could pinpoint the noise as coming from behind the copse. She tripped over abandoned jeans, their knees so close they could be kissing.

Eleven.

She scooped up a lonely picnic rug, wrapping it around herself. Her breasts bounced up and down with each step till she was forced to hold them still.

Twelve.

Crunch, went the dry grass beneath the hardened soles of her feet. Twigs snapped but she still pressed on.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

The metallic tang of blood caught her nose on the breeze.

Fifteen.

She tripped over something in the grass. Something that should have stayed hidden was shown bare to the world.

Sixteen.

The thudding, louder now, covered her strangled scream.

Seventeen.

The rug slipped from her shoulders she ran

too

slow

Eighteen.

too

late

her breasts

jiggled too much

pain.

He

Nineteen.

sat

up

Twenty.

And she fell into his arms

Twenty-one.

and she was sobbing and he murmured

Twenty-two.

soothing words and there was blood

Twenty-three.

on her foot and the thudding was behind her

Twenty-four.

and he

fell

silent

Twenty-five.

and she could feel its breath on her nape and--

Twenty-six.

Over the other side of the copse, a man was walking. His breath was icy clouds on the bloody wind. He sensed something wrong.

He tripped over a discarded pair of red splattered jeans. Their knees were so very close that they could almost be fallen lovers.

Twenty-seven.