The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

5:30pm. Although I knew I could shave a good ten minutes off my walk by cutting
through the woods, I never felt the need to.
Until that day.
At around 4pm, when I still had an hour’s worth of data to record before clocking
out, every computer in the office suffered a spectacular crash. By the time the IT guy
had fixed the problem, it had gone 5pm, but as it was pretty clear that my manager
expected me to stay late and finish my day’s work, that’s what I did.
By the time I got out, it was getting dark. Any sensible person would have avoided
the woods the moment daylight faded, but I was tired and starving and generally fed up.
I tightened my scarf around my neck, held my bag close to my body and walked into
the woods with as much as confidence as I could muster.
The problem with me is that I have a very overactive imagination. At school, I was
famous for inventing elaborate playground games and, once home, I filled notebook
after notebook with outlandish stories. So, of course, a thousand terrifying thoughts
crowded into my brain as I wandered further and further into the woods.
‘It’s ok, you’re fine’ I muttered on repeat as I power-walked through the trees, trying
to keep my breathing even.
I thought I’d imagined him at first. The man. But there he was, dressed in dark
clothes and with a hood pulled over his head.
He was lurking. Definitely lurking.
I thought of Ash and my heart lurched.
I slipped behind a tree as quietly as I could and peered around the trunk.
The man was standing to one side of the path, hidden from view if you were coming
from the opposite direction.
My heart hammered as I watched him.
He was motionless. Staring.
Suddenly there was movement.
A female figure emerged from the trees a few metres away from him and stepped
onto the path, her movements slow with hesitation.
She had long, blonde hair.
I held my breath.
The woman took a few steps forward and stopped. A few more. Stopped. She seemed
to be looking for something. For someone.
I watched in horror as the man pulled a gleaming object from his back pocket.
This couldn’t be happening. A man wielding a knife in the woods? This was the stuff
of ghost stories.
I swallowed a scream and willed myself not to cry.
What could I do? I was no match for him. I had no weapon.
Maybe I could distract him and give her a chance to run? But then what if he got me?
I realised I’d lost my chance to save her when he sprang out and slit her throat with
129