In the dark, they walked down the worn path, footfalls loud in the silence, beams of light cutting through the shadows. Owls hooted into the night. Katydids and crickets chanted their mantra. The wind whistled its nocturne tune. And the trees were just as haunting—branches like skeleton hands reaching down to them, a still image before the same hands grab their throats and tear them limb from limb.

    Sander could feel someone following them, lurking in the shadows, eyes peering through the dark. Just a figment of the imagination, he thought to himself. Or the aftermath of all the horror movies he watched with his brother as a child, just to prove to him that he was brave, only to end up failing halfway through the film and run crying to his mother. It was the dead of night, after all. The dark had its way of giving anyone the creeps.

    He shook the thought out of mind, and glanced down at his watch, and announced, "We've only got about ten minutes left."

    "We're already going as fast we can," said Jack. "Can't go any faster when it's this dark."

    "I'm only stating facts," countered Sander, a tinge of growing panic evident in his voice.

    Lyn walked beside Damien, holding up her phone as a flashlight, a cold kind of silence surrounding her. But Damien said nothing, ignoring the aura she gave off. Now wasn't a good time to deal with some English presentation. If only she saw the look on Cheryl's face when they exited the clearing, angry and hurt. They were in for a fight soon, he knew. Wasn't that enough of a sacrifice, a consequence for what he did?

    Lyn gave him a sidewise glance and walked past him, realizing an apology from Damien will always be as hopeless as it ever was. And that's one thing that didn't change about him—his ego, and how he rarely admitted any of his faults. She strode down the trail, her eyes on the path ahead. But something solid struck her foot, and Lyn jerked forward, a hand grabbing her arm just in time, before she could fall any further.

    "Are you really this clumsy?" asked a voice on her immediate left. "That's the second time now."

    "Thanks," she muttered, stepping over a root that had grown into the path.

    "Where's your knight in shining armor?" teased Max, resuming his steps. "I'm tired of seeing all your klutziness and having to break your fall all the time. Someone will probably have to give you a piggyback ride back to the dorms if you keep this up. And that's not going to be me. See," he added, flexing an undefined bicep, "not bulked up for the job."

    Lyn chuckled, walking next to him. "Don't worry, I can take care of myself. I'm not Bella Swan."

    "Bella who?"

    Lyn shook her head. "Never mind."

    Max shrugged. "I would've gone for the Yoda and Luke reference."

    Jack walked on ahead of them, ignoring Sander's countless time checks. They were halfway through, anyway. It would only take less than ten minutes now till they get out of the forest; and after that, they'll have to make a run for it to the dorms, and that was the easy part. There was nothing to worry about, he thought. No reason for Sander to put his energy into checking his watch than actually making his way out of here.

    Jack tilted his phone up a bit, illuminating the trail, light falling upon a tall pale figure dressed in black clothes. The man smiled at them with his crooked white teeth, his sunglasses and light blond hair glistening in the light. In his hand was a cane, the end of which he tapped rhythmically against the ground, but Damien and Jack knew better.

    They all took a few steps back as the man walked forward. Without saying a word, they turned, with the intention of running in the opposite direction. But a silhouette stood in the path, his long black coat flapping in the evening wind. He sauntered toward them, a pale dark-haired man coming into the light, then he said, "Well, well, what a fine night it is, brother."

    "A fine night indeed," said the other, pulling a sword out of his cane.

    "A glorious night, to be precise," added the man with dark hair.

    "Victorious," the other said, swinging his blade.

    "Who are you?" asked Sander, recognizing them as the men he saw in the smoke-filled auditorium. "What do you want from us? Look, if you just want our money, we can give it to you. No one needs to get hurt."

    The blond man laughed, showing his crooked teeth, whilst his dark-haired companion smiled, chuckling quietly to himself.

    "Sander," Max uttered, remembering, "they don't want our money."

    "You tell me," said Jack, one hand clenching into a fist.

    The men were closing in on them, their preys inching nearer to each other, forming a tightly knit unit.

    Damien glanced from one man to the other, the light that fell upon them as they took their steps. Light, light. Then he whispered, loud enough for Jack, Sander, Max, and Lyn to hear, "Lights off, then run."

    Without question, they readied their phones and flashlights in their hands, thumbs hovering over buttons and switches.

    "One," uttered Damien.

    The men moved a step closer.

    "Two."

    Another step, the footfalls of their black leather shoes resounding in the silence.

    "Three. Now."

    Darkness washed over the path, the moon concealed by clouds passing overhead. Yet there was the sound of movement, of people running off-trail, of twigs snapping beneath sprinting feet.

    Damien glanced behind him, catching sight of a silhouette of a man, his long coat flapping under his arms like wings. Someone ran beside him, but in the dark and at a time like this, Damien couldn't bother to know who it was. He and the boy beside him kept going, sprinting aimlessly past trees, further into the unknown.

    Lyn's head began to throb, the choir singing their song again, chanting words of an incomprehensible language. Yet she kept running, blindly, unable to see anything the moonlight didn't touch, bumping into trunks, stumbling over roots. But she pushed herself off the trees and pulled herself up again and again, and ran on without a backward glance.

    Her feet took one quick step after another, one foot stepping onto nothing, the ground suddenly falling beneath her. She slipped, and rolled down to the base of the slope, landing on her side. Lyn lay on the forest floor for a moment, catching her breath, feeling as if the air had been ripped out of her lungs. Her body ached all around, scratches on her hands and arms and face making her wince at the collective sting.

    But she couldn't stay here for long. The men were still out there, hunting them down.

    She pulled herself off the ground to stand, one hand reaching out to the closest tree for support.

    Lyn breathed in and shifted her sights off the ground, looking up at the rough bark her scathed hand pressed against. But an eyeless face on the bark screamed at her, making Lyn pull her hand away and fall back onto the forest floor.

    The choir in the shadows began to sing their anthem, words in a language familiar yet unknown, and the trees sang with them, sadistic voices that whispered into her ears.

    Lyn crawled back, away from the tree that had now grown many faces, mouths wide open screaming into the shadows.

    Out of nowhere, something grabbed her right wrist. Lyn flitted her eyes down, catching sight of a rotting hand that jutted out of the earth, its grip tight against her skin and bone, pulling her down to the forest floor. The girl fought back, using all her strength to pull her hand away. But another hand of the undead grabbed her ankle, and a cadaverous arm wrapped round her thigh, aiding the first hand in dragging their victim to the underworld.

    Lyn screamed for help, feeling hot tears stream down her face. She screamed again, another hand grasping her left wrist.

    The faces on the tree sang and watched her fight against the demon limbs—a song that cheered on the adversary, a song that mocked the night's prey. And now a new voice joined the choir, distinct and feminine. Lyn looked up, at the branches of the tree, and there sat a girl, moonlight shining down on her smiling face, her long hair swaying in the wind, her feet kicking the air to and fro, like a little child.

    Lyn screamed again, pleading for help, praying for anyone to save her. And just then someone grabbed her shoulders, and she screamed again out of fear.

    "Lyn! Lyn!" a voice said, waking her up.

    Lyn shut her eyes, and opened them again, gazing up at Max's moonlit face. The forest was quiet again, and the faces on the tree were gone, and the rotting hands that grabbed her arms and legs had disappeared. Lyn glanced up at the branches, where no girl sat singing the wretched song. She shifted her sights back to Max, and, for once, she found it a relief to see him, to know she wasn't alone.

    "Come on," he said, helping her up, a sense of urgency in his voice. "Those serial killers are still out there. We need to move, now."

    Sander pushed past a branch that hung low, keeping his pace quick as he ran through the forest. He had lost everyone else somewhere along the way, and now he went alone, searching for his friends, avoiding the strange men.

    He then heard a scream in the distance, a girl's cry for help. He halted in his steps, and looked around, listening. Another scream resounded in the quiet air. "No! No!" she yelled.

    "Lyn," muttered Sander, recognizing the voice.

    He searched the forest floor, and grabbed a long fallen branch, and ran off to the direction of her screams.

    No one gets left behind, he thought to himself, and none of his friends are going to die that night.

    Damien kept running, without a backward glance, but he knew the man in the coat was closing in on him, his footsteps growing louder by the second. Then the footfalls came close, closer, louder.

    Damien felt strong hands grip his shoulders, and push him to the ground, the taste of earth on his lips. The man pinned him down, quickly holding the boy's arms behind his back. Then he dug a hand into his coat pocket, produced a small vial.

    Whoever ran beside him must have gone far now, Damien thought, as the man removed the cork off the vial, lifting Damien's face off the forest floor.

    A rock struck the man's head, breaking his sunglasses off his face, the vial slipping from his hand. In the dark, Jack quickly struck the man again and again, the rock in his hand bloodier with each blow.

    Clouds drifted past in the night sky, and the moon shone, illuminating the place. Jack held the rock up again, ready for another strike. But the man turned his face up, pure black eyes on a bloodied pale face staring straight at the boy. Jack took a breath in, fear rendering him motionless. And with that, the dark-haired man smiled, and lunged at Jack, holding him down to the ground.

    The man quickly dug a hand into his coat pocket. Jack stretched his fingers out, in an attempt to reach for the rock that had slipped from his grasp. The man held up a vial in the moonlight, removing its cork with one hand, holding Jack's mouth open with the other.

    Out of the blue, Damien came behind and wrapped his arms around the man's neck, pulling him back, away from Jack. For a moment, the man didn't move, struggling to breathe in the chokehold.

    Jack stretched his arm forward, his fingers finally enclosing around the rock. He quickly swung his hand up, the jagged surface of the rock colliding into the man's temple, knocking him out.

    The man lay on his side, eyes closed, the content of the vial spilt on the grass-strewn ground.

    Jack slid out from beneath the man's unconscious form. Damien stood, heaving in breaths.

    Jack got to his feet, giving the man one last look. Then he turned his sights to Damien, and said, "Thanks."

    Damien nodded, still heaving. "Yeah. Thanks."

    Sander heard another scream, and hastened his run to a sprint. The clouds have passed, and moonlight slipped through the gaps between leaves, aiding his sight as he moved downhill.

    Something sharp jutted out of nowhere, then, slashing the back of his leg. Sander fell onto the forest floor, one hand losing its grip on the branch, the flashlight slipping out of the other. He grasped his left calf, feeling a gash in his flesh, blood flowing out from the tear in his jeans, smearing his hand with warm thick fluid.

    A man moved round a tree, and approached the boy, the blade in his hand glinting in the moonlight. He clicked his tongue as he came closer, and said, "When a predator lurks in the shadows, should not a prey take more caution?"

    Sander tried to pull himself up to stand, as quick as his injured leg could. But the man raised his sword again, and ran the blade into the boy's calf. Sander dropped back onto the ground, and screamed in pain, the man's sword pinning him down to the forest floor.

    "Find no reason to worry, boy. My brother has taken good care of the girl." The man slid a hand into his pocket, pulled out a vial. "Now," he said, smiling wide, displaying his crooked white teeth.

    Then the man sensed something, someone. He quickly pulled out the sword from the boy's leg, earning another scream from Sander, and spun around to face whoever stood behind him, raising his sword into the air, swinging it down to strike.

    But the stranger simply held a hand up, his palm an inch away from the point of the blade that hovered still in midair, frozen in place. The man forced his sword down, forward—to no avail. He pushed again, and again, putting more force into it with each attempt. Yet the blade came no closer to the stranger, barely touching the flesh of his hand. And it was then the man realized, he was completely motionless from the neck down, bound by a force unseen yet powerful.

    The man chuckled, set his sights on the stranger. "Force against force, then," he said, with a sinister smile. He summoned the Essence with his mind, and waited. And waited. Yet there came nothing, no surge of power, no instruction, no force to aid him. The smile on the man's face faded, and he began to panic, twisting his neck wildly, yelling incomprehensible sounds at the stranger.

    The stranger closed his hand, then, and the sword shattered to dust in the man's grasp, crystal-like particles falling onto the forest floor, tiny diamonds shimmering in the moonlight.

    The man glared at the stranger, at those bright eyes that stared back, and said, through gritted teeth, "Who are you?"

    "I am the one he warned you about," said the stranger. "If you have no wish to meet the same fate as his brother did, it would be best that you leave this instant."

    "You," hissed the man. "It was you."

    "And I would advise you not to waste any more time," the stranger continued. "Your brother lies injured somewhere in the forest this very moment."

    "No, he—"

    "He never touched the girl, never lay a hand on her, never put her to sleep."

    "The screams," the man reasoned. "I heard the screams. This boy heard her screams. You do not fool me."

    The stranger stepped closer, whispered something to the man. Then the man understood.

    "Release me," demanded the man. "Release me!"

    The stranger took a couple paces back, lowered his hand. The man fell to the ground, heaving in breaths.

    "Leave," said the stranger, watching the man pull himself up to stand. "Leave, and never do the children any harm. Let this serve as a warning to you and your brothers."

    The man took a deep breath in, giving the stranger one last deadly look. "This is not over. I swear to you, the Master—"

    "Leave," said the man, with finality.

    And with that, the man walked away, into the trees, into the shadows, out of sight.

    Sander was crawling away, his left leg useless, leaving a trail of blood on the forest floor. He heard footsteps, then, of someone walking over to him, rather nonchalantly.

    "There's no need to fear now, Sander. No need to run . . . or crawl," said the stranger, keeping pace with the boy. "The hunter has gone to tend to his injured brother. They won't be disturbing us any more tonight."

    "How can I be sure to trust you?" asked Sander, still crawling, although faster now.

    The man walked a couple more steps, before Sander's arms gave way beneath him, his mind buzzing, the trees and the night swirling around him.

    "Need help?" asked the stranger.

    "Mmhmm."

    "All right, face me. Right side up."

    Sander turned to his side, the stranger gently helping him as he did so, and the boy lay in a supine position, his eyes staring up at the dark canopies, at the stars that twinkled in the crown shyness. His green eyes met the stranger's blue eyes, bright like the warmest flame, yet deep like the most serene ocean.

    The stranger slid a hand into his pocket, and produced a long piece of cloth, and began to wrap it around Sander's wound. "You don't have to trust me completely now," he said, twisting the cloth around the boy's lower leg. "But just have a little faith in me, please."

    Sander nodded, exhausted.

    The stranger slid his hands beneath the boy, and lifted him in his arms, carrying him as he walked downhill. The boy stared up at the stars and the moon and the branches that reached up to the now almost cloudless sky, moving past his view like a lullaby on film.

    The stranger glanced down at Sander, a reassuring smile on his face, and he said, "In just a little while, we'll meet the others."

The phone rang. The boy waited, glancing at his friends. The phone rang again. Someone picked up the call. A yawn, then, "Police," said a bored voice.

    "Evening, officer. This is Damien Bautista. I'd like to report a trespass."

    "A trespass?"

    "Yes, officer. A trespass into closed public property. A bunch of kids around my age—high school—stupid teenagers—are having some party in the old Waltervere Town Cemetery. Loud music, underage drinking, sex on tombstones, drugs, you name it."

    "Didn't we already warn those kids a couple years ago, and a few years before that?" The policeman clicked his tongue. "Kids nowadays." A pause, then, "The squad and I will be there in a few minutes."

    "Be sure to come in real quiet and sneaky," the boy warned. "They have their ways of getting out of trouble. Once they see one sign of you guys coming, they know how to make a run for it. Better use the West Gate. They've got lookouts at the Front Gate. And better block out the Back Gate, too—that's their exit outta there."

    "We'll keep that in mind. Really appreciate that you informed us."

    "No problem, officer. I'm just a concerned citizen."

    "Good for you. A young man not wasting away his youth. Kids nowadays should be more like you, um—"

    "Damien. Damien Bautista."

    "Yeah, Damien. I'll keep your name in mind. Thank you, Damien."

    "No, officer. Thank you."

    And with that, the boy ended the call.