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The Wild Hunt — Jill Tattersall
THE NIGHTMARE BEGAN AGAIN FOR ME.
But this time, when I forced myself awake, the nightmare was still with me.
In the watery moonlight a shadowy figure stood at my bedside, the figure of a man with antlers on his head. He leaned towards me, a heap of some dark stuff between his hands, and I saw the gleam of his eyes behind his mask before I closed my own in terror and screamed. ...When I dared to open my eyes, I was alone.
But not for long.
Whoever had wanted to be rid of me would return. I was certain.
And since I wouldn't be frightened off, I would be murdered.
But this time, when I forced myself awake, the nightmare was still with me.
In the watery moonlight a shadowy figure stood at my bedside, the figure of a man with antlers on his head. He leaned towards me, a heap of some dark stuff between his hands, and I saw the gleam of his eyes behind his mask before I closed my own in terror and screamed. ...When I dared to open my eyes, I was alone.
But not for long.
Whoever had wanted to be rid of me would return. I was certain.
And since I wouldn't be frightened off, I would be murdered.
