Whoever that is, Meredith certainly won’t be able to take it alone. You sprint off after her, screaming for her to stop.
As she approaches the campfire, she screams, the person — the creature — lunging for her.
But you’re almost there, too. You reach her at the same time, bodies crashing into one another and tumbling back towards the campfire. Without looking back, you and Meredith scramble to your feet around the fire, looking for a way out that isn’t the way you came.
But you’re stuck there, frozen in horror by the trees. Because they aren’t heavy with pine needles and snow — they’re heavy with people. Arms, legs, and torsos speared on sharpened branches, a primordial meat locker of drying human flesh.
And The Butcher, now back on its feet, has none of your hesitations. It is long and loping, fingers hooked and sharp. In the glittering fire it’s skin shimmers with blood and sweet, mangy hair covering everything except for a mouthful of bone-white teeth.
There is nowhere left to run.