Chapter III: Thanatophobia

The monster stood there. Staring. And then it vanished in the blink of an eye. Perhaps he was simply going crazy. He went to the bathroom, to clear his thoughts. He stared in the mirror. A shell of who he once was stared back through the reflection. In the reflection, the monster stood behind him. The Damned Wanderer. He turned around, and it was gone. 

He wasn't alone.

He rushed to the kitchen door, his footsteps thudding against the floor. It was locked. He began to hear a low humming. The sound got closer and closer with every passing second. Stanford quickly hid behind the fridge, his heart pounding in his chest. The humming got closer. And closer. Stanford covered his mouth, fearing that the mere sound of his panicked breaths would alert the monster of his location. It got closer. Then, the monster turned, and lumbered away, still searching for Stanford. He saw a chance, and took it. He rushed to the living room, as quickly but as quietly as he could. He picked up the book about The Damned Wanderer and flipped through the pages, hoping to find a weakness. His heart pounded as he flipped through the pages. With each page the hope to find a weakness grew dimmer and dimmer. Then he reached the end of the book. This thing had no discovered weakness. Stanford's eyes drifted to the glass door leading outside. Perhaps if he could break the glass, he could get out? He quietly crept towards the office, knowing his grandfather's tools were in there. He looked through the drawers until he found a hammer. As he was about to head back to the living room, he watched as The Damned Wanderer lumbered into the kitchen. It was now or never. He crept past, careful to make as little noise as possible. Then he heard something. A horrifying screech drawn from the worst nightmares. 

He had been spotted.

It lunged at him, but Stanford quickly dove out of the way into the living room. He quickly ran to the door and held it shut. The monster kept banging on the door. It's screeches making Stanford want to cover his ears to block out the noise. But he had to keep the door shut. Thinking quickly, Stanford pulled the sofa infront of the door, hoping it would buy him time. The monster carried on banging on the door, getting closer with each step. Stanford started to smash the glass door with his hammer, each swing breaking off more of the glass. The monster carried on trying to break in, breaking more of the door with each passing second. Stanford took the last swing, just as the monster broke through the door, knocking the sofa over. Stanford quickly jumped through the now broken door and made a run for it, not looking back. The trees flew past him as the monster carried on relentlessly chasing him. Stanford slowly grew more and more tired, but couldn't stop. Eventually, he reached a river. The same river he and his Grandma sat by many years ago. He had always been told not to cross it, to never enter the forest on the other side, but he didn't have much of a choice. His life was at stake. He took one last look back at the monster, and jumped across.

Stanford just barely made it, almost falling in. He quickly climbed up, trying to get away from The Damned Wanderer. He looked back, and it just stood there. Staring at him from across the river. Stanford turned around and walked into the forest. He knew that the monster would find a way across, so he had to move quickly. As he walked, he noticed something. Hundreds of mangled bodies hanging from trees. Mangled women, bloody and broken. Mangled men, hanging lifelessly. Mangled children, gone and forgotten. At the bottom of each tree with a child, there was a drawing. A drawing made by a 6 year old of what looked to be The Damned Wanderer. Then he noticed something. Two of the bodies seemed familiar. It was hard to tell due to how broken the bodies were, but he recognised them.

His grandparents.