Cold Fury

• Brenda Cole-jerrard, Grade 10, Yeoval Central School
• Short Story
• 2011

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

His voice makes me tremble; his words chill me to the bone. But the look in his eye scares me. He starts forward, stumbling on the stairs; arms extended aiming for my throat. I stand frozen with fear, a scream lodged in my throat trying to get out. I start to shiver with dread; he grasps me tightly cutting my air supply. I panic grabbing at his arms trying anything to loosen his grip. An idea strikes me. i raise my knee and jerk it forward. He releases a squeal of pain before letting me go and bending over in pain. I gulp in air, never before have I ever been so grateful for something that just is. I glance down and take in the realisation of what just happened (and what was to come.)
I start to run, as fast as I can.
I pause a moment, dragging in air and trying to ease the stitch sitting uneasily in my stomach. I look behind me and then instantly regret ever doing so. I start to run again, my footsteps echoing all over town, my heartbeat ponding in my ears. I hear the unsteady pace picking up behind me and I run faster. I turn random corners, running down streets I don’t know. I see someone in a hoodie two houses down from me and pause; he lifts his head and stares a moment before moving closer in my direction. I turn towards a darkened ally to my left and run; until finally; I collapse, out of breath, at a dead end.
I see a silhouette and start to panic as he gets closer. He reaches up and pulls back his hoodie revealing his face. I gasp. "Michael?" I ask. "What are you doing here?" "I could ask you the same thing?" he answers. "I was heading home when I saw you running and this is definitely not your side of town, no offence, so I was just wondering what you were doing… you look freaked?" I can hear curiosity and even a hint of concern in his voice. As an answer, I scream and point to the figure just behind him.
It’s the same one that had been chasing me all the way over here Daemon. Michael turns around at my scream Daemon steps closer. Well half steps, half staggers. I can smell the alcohol as if it is oozing out of his every pore. He mutters to himself before raising an empty bottle of vodka and smashes the end off against a wall. Michael jumps forward and snatches the bottle, in one quick movement, throwing it into a half open skip. He steps back Michael dodging a punch from Daemon. In a blaze of anger Daemon lunges forward. Michael knocks him down gently (if that’s even possible) before any harm could be done.
Michael helps me up from the ground and asks if I’m ok. He deserves the whole story, so I tell him. As he walks me home.
The rest is another story.