A man named Fletcher raced through the moonlit forest, feeling his heart pounding in his ears and hearing leaves crunch beneath his footfalls. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his pursuer, a woman with tears streaming down her face.

“Come back!” she said.

He knew her, he was sure. But how? The look in her eyes was a mixture of desperation and a vague feeling he once knew as love.

Love?

Another voice: Not love. Thirst…for blood.

He pushed himself harder. Suddenly the ground disappeared beneath him.

Falling…unconsciousness.

Fletcher awakened and adjusted his eyes to the darkness. He found himself in an old church.

Why underground? he thought.

A cross hung on the wall to his right.

I hate crosses, he thought.

“Fletcher! Are you okay?” the woman called out.

He saw her outline in the hole twenty feet above him. How had he survived the fall? Nevermind. He had to get away from her.

He jumped to his feet. A sharp pain shot through his leg, but he had to push through it.

“Don’t listen to it!” she said.

Listen to what?

He raced deeper into the darkness. His lungs burned. She would be the violent death of him.

“I love you!” she said.

He froze. A soft hand was on his shoulder, and his skin burned beneath it.

He turned. A smile crossed her face. She was beautiful and terrifying.

How did she…

Her hand gently held his. A mixture of anger and confusion coursed through him. He knew he should be running, but he couldn’t. He both wanted her and wanted to run away from her. How long before she drained him of life?

Though his skinned burned at her touch, he felt trapped by her voice. Soft… soothing.

“You know me. I’m not the one to run from. I’m here to rescue you.” Her voice was like a warm blanket.

Rescue? I don’t need to be rescued.

Feeling a renewed sense of strength, he pushed her away from him. Her head slammed into the wall, and she crumpled to the ground. A pool of red liquid surrounded her head.

She’s dead?

Relief washed over him. He walked away from her.

He was free.

“I know you’re in there, Fletcher,” he heard her say. “I’m here to bring you out.”

His heart was pounding, his head burning. He felt like he was dying.

How? She was dead.

He turned. There she stood, unharmed. Stunning. She held out her hand.

Run. I should run.

She’s beautiful and she’s alive.

She’s hideous and wants me dead.

“I need you,” he heard himself say. “I’m so sorry.”

Why did he just say that?

He reached out for her hand. With one touch, it felt like something that had been blinding him fell from his eyes.

She was beautiful. Of course. How could he forget? He threw his arms around her and held her tight.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said.

“Me too.”

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Tom Farr is a blogger, storyteller, and screenwriter who teaches English Language Arts to high school students. He loves creating and spending time with his wife and three children. He blogs regularly about writing and storytelling at The Whisper Project.