The good news was that it looked like I was finally about to find out what Ramona's monster really was.
The bad news was that the monster had found us first.
I dragged Ramona behind a rock. Moss clung to my clammy fingers as I clutched the ground, and the scraggly surface scratched my back through the knit of my cardigan. My teeth clenched, as though aching enamel could save me from this nightmare. From this beast – whatever it was.
Five more minutes until sunrise.
Was it a foolish hope? Was there no point in chanting the mental mantra, no way to even prove that was the case? I wouldn't be able to tell you. But I kept repeating the phrase, over and over and over again.
Five more minutes. That's how long it'll take to crawl out of Hell.
Five more minutes.
Breathe. That's what I was forgetting. Cold air flooded my lungs, alongside sniffs of pine and ash trees and coconut. I turned to Ramona, whose frayed hoodie sleeves were covering her mouth. Come to think of it, she always smelt of coconut; probably something in her hair. Coconut shavings and banana bread...
When did I memorise her shampoo?
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I snapped back into focus – turns out impending doom is a great motivator. The thing was going at a steady pace, with regular intervals between each step. And it was big if the footprints alone weren't enough of an indicator. Tree trunks weren't the only things breaking in its wake; the pitiful screeches of whatever creatures that had been trampled could tell me that much.
Three more minutes.
Slow, heavy, possibly carnivorous, and most importantly, unaware of our presence. The deck was stacked, but we had an ace up our sleeve. Namely, the element of surprise. But what about an escape route? I couldn't tell how close it was from footprints alone.
This wasn't blind speculation anymore. Lives were at stake.
Three more minutes.
I needed to see it.
I remember the unexpected warmth of my hair brushing my cheek as I leant to the side; the weight pressing onto my hand as I twisted and the slight strain on my keg when I brought it underneath me and balanced on the balls of my feet. I remember the metallic taste on my tongue as I gnawed at my lightly chapped lip. I remember the harsh break between the stone-cold grey and foliage green as I raised my head.
I remember staring Death in the face.
Cracked stone where skin should be.
Moss dripping down the side of a granite glare that scraped the top of the treetops.
Chipped teeth haunted by the stain of dried blood.
A stony grip on a smashed bone, with what used to be flesh clinging desperately to the shards.
Mammoth mud crusted feet crushing the ground with every thundering step.
Hands grabbed my cardigan and sent me crashing silently down behind the rock. The image dropped into place in my mind, like the final pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
Great. I was about to die without the luxury of a pleasant mental image.
"Evelyn." If Ramona's voice was breathless before, it sounded winded now. "You need to get out of here."
"Go figure."
"It can't catch both of us."
"Ramona, what are you – "
YOU ARE READING
Margin Doodles
Teen FictionI had a vague idea of what was going to happen this summer. Sloppy, half baked and half finished breakfasts, showing up five minutes late to the wrong activity, unreasonably threatening wild horses roaming about and showers that were either too hot...
