The skull and its shadow

Demon's lurk in the shadows... A messenger is flung into a battle of life and death. Will he survive, or be eaten alive?

The last rays of sun struck out across the landscape, casting dusk's shadows across the meadows. The luscious grass fluttered in the afternoon breeze. At the top of the hill lay a dirt path that led through the dark woods. 

It was here a man emerged, running out into the clearing. He was well-built, with light hair that reflected the fading rays, and a gleaming sword which hung from his belt. A large pack was slung over his shoulder which bounced as he ran, taunting the shadows they left behind.                  

It was much later than he had expected. He was supposed to leave the woods at mid-day and arrive in town before the next sundown, but this was no longer a possibility. Bandits had assaulted him in the woods, leaving an arrow wound in his shoulder and slaying his horse. He had killed two of them before the rest scattered into the trees. He had wanted to serve justice first hand, but there was nothing he could do about that now. 

He was a messenger, sent from Arnic, his birthplace, to deliver a parcel to the Duke of Lorchester. He had brought along some of his own trinkets for trade, and a few bars of steel, which held great value in these forested regions. His pack also held tools and food, as well as what he needed to keep the various dangers at bay.

As he scurried out of the forests looming shadows down the dirt path, he heard a noise behind him that sent shivers down his spine. A screech from the dark that made him pick up his pace. He came to a swift decision as he left the trail to cut down through the meadow, heading for the stream at the bottom. It might not be enough on its own, but it would certainly help. Demons had trouble with water, as most did with fire, but a fire would take too long so the stream was his only solace.

The spectre gave off another screech, it sounded much closer now. From the horizon he could see he merely had moments before the sun would set completely. He paused, panting for air, and looked back at the woods. It took a while for him to see it, because it blended in well with the shadows, but its eyes could be seen moving between the trees. The eyes were looking right at him. It was coming closer, but it still didn't dare to step out into the fading light in the clearing. He turned and ran at a full sprint, it had caught his scent much faster than he had anticipated, he might not even make it to the stream in time. 

A mighty scream could be heard behind him. This one was completely different, he assumed this was a hunting cry, which meant it could now move past the treeline to catch up with its prey. He was the prey, which was quite a horrible thought, but not even close to describing what would happen if it caught him. He sprinted for his life, his boots speeding down the hillside trampling over grass and flowers. His left hand grasped a trinket that hung around his neck, which he held firmly as he gave a brief prayer. It was likely that he wouldn't survive this encounter, and with all the dark magic involved he could not even be certain his soul would arrive at its intended destination. Demons were said to devour the souls of their victims, and there had even been reports of slain humans rising from the grave to feast upon other people's flesh.

He was very close to the bottom now. He caught a glimpse of a shadow hurtling down the hillside after him at a tremendous pace. His heart skipped a beat, but the fear propelled him forwards. He would need the stuff in his bag if he was to survive the next few days, but it wouldn't matter if he didn't survive the next few minutes. He flung the pack onto the ground behind him. 

He was so close now that he knew he would make it. Relief flooded through his body as he ran the remaining space up to the water. 

About to hurtle into the waist-deep water he felt a blow strike his back. It sliced right through his light-weight armour and left him screaming in pain. He collapsed onto his knees. The pain was overwhelming, but his fear was even worse. He lunged for his sword, but before his hand came close the spectre grasped his neck and ripped his head clean off, spine and all. His torso fell forwards and slipped over the edge into the water, where it was slowly carried downstream in a pool of blood. 

The creature let out a deep bellow of joy at its catch. It feasted on the head until the skull had been stripped clean, then it searched for the rest of its meal. Disappointed to find it floating out in the water, it screeched again, then left to search for other unfortunate prey. 

It was hours later when the sun rose over the horizon, casting dawn's shadows across the meadow. The was no sign of the encounter to be see. All that remained was a rug-sack hidden in the tall grass, blood that would be washed away when it next rained, and a skull that lay half-buried in the mud.