Eighth Grade Bites

Wheres The Boy?

A tree branch slapped John Craig across the face, scraping his skin, but he kept on running and ignored the stabbing of pine needles on his bare feet. He could hear the mans footsteps behind him, echoing his own.

The man was getting closer.

A fallen branch grabbed Johns ankle and he fell forward.

Time slowed to a crawl as his face neared the leaf-covered ground. Cold air whipped across his skin. His heart drummed in his ears. The mans pace quickened, and just as johns cheek smacked against the earth,the stranger grabbed a fistful of Johns hair and pulled his head back. John screeched, 'what do you want from me?' But his attacker didn't answer.

John swung his arms behind him to knock the man down, but his arms were caught effortlessly in the air and bound behind him. A hand, gloved in shiny black leather, entered his field of vision, clutching a torn page from the Bathory Gazette.

Johns head jerked back as the man gave his hair a violent tug and growled, 'where is he?'

At the centre of the paper was the grainy image of a thirteen-year-old boy John knew well. The boy was surrounded by several of his peers and a teacher, but looked nervous, awkward. At the bottom of the photo, a caption read: left to right: Kelly Anbrock, Carrie Anderson, Henry McMillan, teacher John Craig, Vladimir Tod, Edgar Pie, Mike Brennan. At the top was a bold title: Debate Team Sure To Win Regionals!

Tears coated Johns cheeks and he shook his head, refusing to answer.

Something warm and slick ran down Johns forehead.
Through red-tinted glass, he looked at the Forrest around them. He screamed for help until his lungs burned, but help wouldn't come.

'Where's the boy? Where's Vlad?'
John wriggled. The mans face was gear his. Cold breath beat down on the back of his neck, and something sharp grazed against his skin.

'Tell me or die.'

John opened his mouth to speak, but it was too late for lies. The man bit down. Fangs popped through Johns skin, cutting deep into his neck