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So close she could hear their footsteps pounding on the ground.
She ran faster.
Twigs scratched her, thorns prickled her, and every step exhausted her more.
She couldn’t see where she was going.
She tripped over roots and rocks, falling and getting up.
The barking grew louder.
She reached a stream.
The water was cold and fast-flowing.
Ruth had told her that water could mask a smell.
Amelia jumped in.
The current swept her away.
She grabbed onto a rock and held on.
Her dress became soaked and heavy.
She stayed there, up to her chest, shivering, listening.
The barking stopped.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the stream and the deafening pounding of her own heart.
She waited.
She didn’t move.
Then she heard movement nearby and a frantic search around the water.
The dogs were at the edge of the stream, upstream. She paced back and forth, trying to catch the scent again.
Amelia slipped deeper into the water.
She let the current carry her down the stream.
She barely kept her head above the surface.
The cold was numbing her toes.
She couldn’t feel her feet anymore.
But she kept going.
The dogs found the scent again.
They rushed into the water and followed her, the distance closing in moment by moment.
Amelia pulled herself to the opposite bank and ran again.
Her dress clung to her body.
Every step felt like dragging stones.
Her legs were cramping.
Her lungs were burning.
But she didn’t stop.
She ran for another hour, maybe more.
Time had lost its meaning.
There was nothing left but running and the sound of the dogs approaching again.
She didn’t know where she was.
The trees all looked the same.
And darkness was swallowing everything up.
She was lost. Then she saw it.
A cottage.
The cottage stood in a small clearing, half-destroyed, overgrown with vines. The roof was broken on one side, and the door hung by a single hinge. It looked abandoned.
Amelia didn’t care.
She rushed inside and closed the broken door behind her. She leaned her back against the wall and slid down to the ground. Her chest heaved violently. Her whole body trembled.
The barking was close now, maybe fifty yards away, maybe less.
Amelia looked around.
There was nothing in the cottage.
No furniture, no tools, just dirt, rotting wood, and shadows.
She crawled to the corner furthest from the door and curled up.
She closed her eyes.
And she prayed, for the first time in years.
She didn’t know if God listened to girls like her, but she prayed anyway. The barking stopped again.
She heard the dogs outside the cabin.
She heard their claws scratching the wooden walls.
She heard them sniffing at the gaps in the door.
She held her breath.
Then one of them barked.
A nervous, close bark. They were close.
The door burst open.
Brutus entered first, teeth bared, eyes wild. The cabin filled with growls and snarls.
Amelia screamed.
She squeezed herself into the corner.
There was no escape.
Brutus lunged.
And then something happened.
The floor gave way.
Amelia fell through the rotting wood and plummeted into darkness.
She fell with a painful thud, her breath catching for a moment before she caught it, trying to understand where she was.
Above her, she could hear the dogs barking and scratching at the hole she had fallen through, but they didn’t follow. The opening was narrow.
Amelia was in a cellar.
It was pitch black.
She couldn’t see anything.
She felt around with her hands.
The walls were dirt.
The floor was dirt.
It smelled of mold and decay.
But it was deep, about ten feet.
The dogs couldn’t reach her.
She sat there, shivering, listening to the dogs rage above her.
Hours passed.
The dogs didn’t leave.
They stayed at the edge of the opening, barking and growling.
Amelia’s body ached.
Her feet hurt terribly, and she looked exhausted.
Her dress was still wet and cold.
She wrapped her arms around herself and waited.
She didn’t know what else to do.
Then the barking changed.
It became quieter, hesitant.
The dogs were smelling something else.
She heard her move away from the opening.
She heard her claws on the floor of the cottage.
Something was occupying her.
Then there was silence.
Amelia didn’t move.
She didn’t trust that.
She stayed in the cellar, breathing as quietly as she could.
Minutes passed, maybe an hour.
She couldn’t tell anymore.
Then she heard a voice.
“Hey, girl.”
It was a woman’s voice.
“Old.”
“Rough.”
It came from above, from inside the cottage.
“You down there?”
Amelia didn’t answer.
She didn’t know if it was a trick.
“I won’t hurt you. The dogs are gone. You can go out now.”
Her throat was dry.