Page 58 of The Unknown

I tried to stay completely quiet as I followed them away from the cottages to the surrounding forest. The figure moved quickly into the trees, unfazed by all the daisy wheels carved into their trunks. Azra moved so fast, in fact, that I could scarcely keep up. Occasionally I lost sight of them, and frantically scanned the forest, fearful that they were sneaking up behind me, intending to attack. But then I’d catch sight of their figure again far ahead of me and scramble to get closer.

Eventually Azra pushed through a clearing in the trees, and I knew that I had been led to the circle of crimson moss and the massive rock that sat in its center. The place that had caused such unease the first time I saw it now felt doubly evil with Azra present. I remained hidden among the trees, refusing to take a single step into that unholy space.

Watching from the woods, I saw Azra approach the rock. And that was when I realized I was trapped in a nightmare. Because the rock wasn’t bare—

A person lay sleeping atop it—

Katrina!

I almost cried out when I saw her, stopping only when I realized the sound would alert Azra to my presence. I stayed quiet, knowing that the only thing worse than seeing Katrina on that rock would be feeling myself atop it. A wicked, selfish thought. I knew that even then, and I whispered a silent prayer that God would eventually forgive me for it.

I think he might, because in my defense, Katrina already looked dead lying atop that rock. Like a corpse in repose. In my mind, there was nothing in my power to help her. As Azra crept closer to Katrina, I stopped praying, too overcome with horror to continue.

Stretched out on the rock, Katrina began to stir, and I realized I had been mistaken. She was still alive! All joy about that fact immediately passed when I saw Azra draw a sharp knife from the depths of their cloak. Holding the hilt with both hands, Azra raised the knife, its blade glinting in the moonlight.

On the rock, Katrina opened her eyes.

And when she saw the knife, she began to scream.

I woke after that, grateful not to have seen anymore. Now I sit here, shaken and soaked with perspiration, writing in the light of my bedside lamp, relieved that it was only a nightmare and nothing more.

But wait.

There’s something on the floor.

It looks like—

Dirt.

That’s what it is. I just slipped from bed to examine it. Several large ovals of dirt that look— Why, they look like footprints. Leading from the door to— Oh, God, they lead right to my bed!

I don’t know how they got here. Someone must have snuck into the cottage while I slept. It’s the only explanation, which leaves me so shaken with fear that I might pass out.

Who was here during the night? Why did they—

Oh, no.

No, it can’t be.

I can’t believe it!

I just checked my shoes, which again aren’t where I had left them before going to bed. They, too, are dirty. Caked with mud and pine needles and bits of dead leaves.

I don’t understand how that could be—unless the footprints belong to me.

Could I have been in the forest during the night? I don’t remember being there. I remember nothing but my nightmare. Dear God, could such a thing be possible? I hope not. I hope this is yet another dream. One that I will soon wake from and forget all about.

Because if it’s not, it could mean I really was in the woods.

And that the nightmare I just woke from wasn’t a nightmare at all.

Thirteen

Somehow I go back to sleep—a fitful, uncomfortable slumber that’s never long and never, ever peaceful. Still, it’s enough that when I wake just before dawn, my memories of the previous night are hazy. Like a dream that fades the moment you open your eyes.

Part of me thinks what happened was exactly that.

I didn’t see my dead sister outside the window, dripping wet.