He chased Alessa through the woods. She could feel the man heaving behind her, pushing through the bushes. Both of them were getting tired, but the man’s bloody shovel reminded her she can’t stop. Lightning shot in the sky startling Alessa even more. The man stopped behind her panting and huffing.
She stopped and stood from a distance and scanned the fellow before her. The lunatic of Laketown. He had escaped from the asylum a few days ago, but no one expected him to attack the campers. He was staring at the ground muttering, then he looked up. His eyes were hollow and his smile too wide. Alessa reminisced her missing father, got up, and ran for her life.
The edge of the forest was nearing, she could feel the wind thrashing against her face, the storm was nearing. She had reached the pasture, full of grass and nothing more. She couldn’t hide here and had no choice but to run. He was nearing her, his shallow cackles becoming louder and louder. With a thud she tripped over onto the floor, clutching her heaving heart. She gave up.
The lunatic came and stood above her, looking down with a harrowing smile. Then he dropped the shovel and laughed, his laughter was like a mix of kookaburras and hyenas - crazy. “Y’know I’m a lunatic, NOT a murderer,” he said without expression, in a monotone voice, he was too calm, too broken. He got out a key, attached to a keychain of a mini flashlight and tossed it to her. Alessa was still on the floor, speechless.
“I didn’t kill your father,” he blurted, “but I know where he is.” Alessa collected her strength and courage, and exclaimed, “w-where is h-he?” in between drags of air. He released a laughter, louder than the noisy lightning obliterating the dark night sky above them. It started to rain, she only heard the pitter-patter of the rain and his echoing cackles.
She understood nothing, her mind was blurry, she had no strength to get up or run. This camping trip ended miserably. She looked at the keys, she had to focus. To her surprise the mini flashlight was functional. She flashed it into his eyes temporarily blinding him, got up and ran. A metal slab hit her head from behind, blood drizzled down. He had thrown the shovel at her.
Miraculously she was conscious, she turned back to him, from the ground with pleading eyes, but he showed no mercy. “I buried him,” he smiled, “I buried your father alive, somewhere in this field.” His smile grew wider at her shock. “Start digging,” he ordered fiercely, “the old guy probably doesn’t have much air in there.” He winked at her mockingly, turned around and left, unstably laughing. The rain and tension thickened the air, his laughter faded, but her sobbing roared as she clutched onto the shovel - her last hope.
She got up, and started digging, shaken and sobbing. Each dirt pile revealed nothing but more dirt. The field was long and stretched. The odds were stacked against her. The only motivation that drove her was the possibility of finding her father. Blood drizzled and soaked her clothes, from the wound by the shovel, the same shovel she was using now.
She used the mini flashlight to brighten the area, helping her to dig. The ground was soft and mushy from the rain, which has now stopped. The clouds cleared and the moon appeared for the first time that night. Somewhere in the forest, the lunatic was laughing, preparing to strike the next set of campers.
The end.