My chest burns as I fight for every breath. My legs hit solid against the autumn floor and each jolt threatens to collapse my legs. The music from the party fades as I thrash deeper into the woods, hoping to escape my pursuers - our towns local legend - but it won't give up. I was lucky enough to get a head start; the final parting gift of my friends' sacrifice yet as the melancholic thuds of death approaches, I fear their efforts were in vain.

Suddenly, my foot hooks underneath an upturned root and my body slams against rotting foliage. The stench of decay invades my sense of smell yet I have no time to worry about a bit of dirt. I scramble to my feet but as a shadow leaps over me, I know I'm already doomed.

It pounces and I scream. I can feel it's hot breath condensing on my cheeks, the slimy solution dripping down my face, mixing in with the flood of tears which protect my sight from any further horrors. It's not like it will do much. I'm already emotionally scarred and as I feel the claws of the beast dig deeper and deeper into my flesh, I realise when they find my body, if they find it, emotional scars won't be the most obvious ones. Who am I kidding? I'm not even going to survive long enough for scars to form but I have to keep my mind preoccupied lest I die of insanity before having my throat torn out. But then again, maybe that would be better...

The hounds growing snarls rumbles at the back of its throat as it brings its decayed nose closer to my face - the sound of death echoing within my eardrums. I whimper in fear which is met by a whine. Is it toying with me?

I bite my lower lip hard to taste metal as I struggle to escape but I know it's too late when I feel a rough moist object graze my face, exfoliating the prior slime. My heart jumps into my throat as I prepare for the pain which comes from piercing flesh but instead, there's another lick and then another. I stay frozen in fear but I swear I hear the familiar sound of panting and a tail whacking against the ground. The weight on my chest alleviates slightly and I have the guts to crack open an eyelid. What I see next almost kills me.

The Chewbacabra is sitting upright on my chest, his tongue lolling out and his tail rhythmically beating the ground. I almost chuckle at the irony but the fear hasn't yet left my system. In the distance, I hear my friends' familiar voices and it slowly dawns on me. The Chewbacabra didn't kill them - it just accidentally knocked them out due to its sheer size. An urban myth taken too far. I should have known better. After all, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.