CHAPTER FOURTEEN † DREAMINGTHE THING PUSHES my body to run into the dense woods. My hair flaps behind me like a flag in the wind. I slap aside low-hanging branches. Breathing
hard, I ram through the forest without thinking twice about the possibility of slamming into a tree. Or should I say, the thing in possession of me does. It runs to survive. Its anger and fear
fills me with roiling nausea. Images of death and destruction choke me.
My consciousness pushes against the possession, but it has embedded itself in too deep. It has taken over and without the help of the old woman with the blade, I’m powerless. So we
run.
A man’s voice reaches my ears. He calls out to me, but I can’t respond, not without control. I speak to it. Beg it to release me. It only laughs in my face—vile, slither
