Sarah Hall-Chapter 1

Crunch. There it was again. Like the sound of someone stepping on a brittle twig and crushing it. She knew that they didn't want to heard, either, as the second the sound escaped, the air went silent as they recoiled further into the trees. If you're trying to conceal your footsteps, why come into the forest, she thought. The question remained unanswered as she was focused on getting home now. She should have accepted the lift home, it was past midnight now, and as much as she tried to deny it, she'd drunk a little too much and was feeling woozy. Undeterred, she forced one high-heeled foot infront of the other and advanced through the forest. Just through the forest and past the lake and she would be home, in bed, snug under her duvet covers with her cream labrador, Maisy at her side, drifting off into a warm, welcoming sleep. Her eyelids began to droop and a yawn escaped her mouth. At that very moment, a crunching sound came from the left of her. It sounded vaguely familiar. Oh yes, I heard that earlier, she recalled. Her thoughts and feeling began to merge into one undefined mush of titedness. Despite her lack of focus, she began to notice the cold, biting wind. How long had she been walking? Home should have been a 20 minute walk, maybe she was slower than she thought. So she forced her head up and increased the pace. After a few minutes, she felt the unmistakeable drop of rain dribble down her arm. Oh great, she thought. Just what she needed to slow her down. If she hadn't been so consumed in her annoyance at the incovenient timing of the rain, she would have noiced the reoccurring crunching sound, no longer to her side but behind her, and advancing towards her. When the source of the sound could be pinned to a tree about 10ft behind her, she bent down and tugged off her heels. As she straightened up, she only had time to adjust her skirt before she was forcefully shoved forward. She rolled over onto her back to see the looming figure infront of her lift an object at his side. A knife? Rope? Crowbar? Whatever it was, she didn't want to find out. She turned and used her shaking arms to support her into a sitting position before scrambling to get up. The figure behind her wasn't going to let her escape, though. As his boot connected sharply with the back of her skull, she opened her mouth to cry out. Not before her attacker had moved infront of her and shoved a rag in her mouth, tasting of petrol. Her eyes bulged as she swallowed and inhaled the putrid fumes. One of the last things she saw was the figure revealing a long, gleaming blade and plunging it through her chest. She looked down in disbelief at the crimson liquid pooling on her turquoise dress, and then at the trailing, petrol drenched cloth and through her agony, her ees widened in fear as she realised what was next. She feebly grabbed the end of the rag with her blood-soaked hands but before her weak fingers could get a firm grip and pull it away from her, a match was struck and she became a writhing figure under the vicious flames as the illuminating orange and yellow display engulfed her. Crunch. There it was again. As he walked away, wiping his blade...