You turn to Meredith, gaze steely. She nods back. “On three?”
The Butcher creeps around the fire, body lower and lower to the ground. Waiting for it’s moment to pounce.
“One.”
You, too, begin to lower.
“Two.”
You can hear it’s breathing, low and labored. Teeth gnashing with anticipation. It’s around the fire now. The only way out is behind it.
“THREE!”
The two of you charge, and for a second you see its eyes, wide blackened disks, open as if surprised.
But The Butcher will not be fooled by the same trick twice.
It’s long, razor-sharp fingers lash into your gut as soon as you hit it, the other hand wrapping around Meredith’s skull and throwing her across the clearing. She doesn’t move, but neither can you. Slowly, as if handling a work of art, the butcher steadies a claw over your arm. And then he gets to work.
Homecoming of Horrors 