The fire was warmer than Henry thought it ever could be. This close, it was something beyond heat; it was a dry pain, a wrapping skin melt. And he couldn’t move away from it, that option was even more dangerous. The shiny metal this close to his neck promised a much warmer and wetter pain should he make the attempt.
“You didn’t like my story, huh?” Finn asked, pressing the knife closer. With the light casting on his face, he was the second brightest thing in the forest of barren trees. A fox ran by and cracked twigs, and both boys–even if not consciously–noticed it.
“It wasn’t scary,” Henry replied, his eyes wide. “But I didn’t not like it.”
“What’s wrong with my ghost story? You want to see scary? I can show you scary!” Continue reading