Cold, wet hands grasped around my legs. My blood stopped flowing. I opened my dry mouth to scream, but only a small wheeze came out. A dark chuckle emitted from behind me. The small rocks on the rough road scraped my flailing arms. He started dragging me back. "I heard you needed to be chased," he said lowly in my hair, grazing the knife on my neck. Its sharp, metal edge made me swallow. "It was a good run, don't you think?" I didn't answer. My lips were glued together, the tremors spreading in fear. I didn't dare squirm. The knife slowly made its way . . . "But, the chase is over." A bloodcurdling scream filled the lonely night of Coldgrove.