Death Stays

Cold

The boy awoke. But didn't move, just stared at the sky. It was dark and snowing. The winds pushing the individual flakes in circles and strange circuits. Cold. It was the coldest he had ever been. He grabbed himself as an attempt to warm up, not moving from the floor covered in white. Shaking as he did so. A thin layer of snow now forming on his skin. He looked up. He was wearing no clothes at all. Where was he? He got to his feet, using his grubby hands for balance against the strong wind. He see's hundreds of pine trees. The boy is in a forest.

"Help!" the boy shouted. However no reply came. He wasn't surprised.

Where was this? He died, how can he possibly be here? Was it all a dream? If it was, why would he be here? He has never seen this place before. The boy starts walking. He doesn't know where he is going, but he knows he needs to move. This place had a strange aura. There was something not quite right about it. As if the whole area was a set for some sick joke. No. He can't think of the feeling, but he knows it's familiar. He shuts his eyes to think.

"No" he says to himself. "No". He breathes in. "No". He opens his eyes. Seeing the markings everywhere. The boy now knew why it felt familiar.

"Why here" he muttered. Tears streaming down his face. "Celia" he cried out. Falling to his knees. Replaying the same horrific moment over and over again. It was uncontrollable. This was hell. He was sure of it. Every time he opened his eyes he saw her. More importantly he saw it. The monster.

His eyes fell upon a shack. Wiping the tears of, the boy managed to hope. Maybe he wasn't dead, maybe there were people. He ran, his legs stiffened from the sub-zero gusts of wind. It was a small thing. Not much room for one person even. It had thin wooden walls he could probably break with his own hands if he tried, what looked like an unstable roof and a wide birch wood door. It had carvings of lions, dragons, sharks and.... The boy.