Run For Your Life

• Horror

								
	How much longer would I be able to keep going? My leg muscles were burning. I focused on the pain in my lower extremities. My shins felt the splintering impact each time my feet  pounded the unforgiving surface. I tried to ignore the cadence in my mind that was repeating,”Give up. Just give up. It’s not worth the pain.” I tried to focus on my breathing. My breaths were uneven and painful. I felt a cramp beginning to tighten my side. I couldn’t surrender. I just needed to exhale, to push the carbon dioxide out of my lungs and make room for the oxygen that would allow me to go on. I had learned this when I moved from the Midwest to the Rocky Mountains several years ago. It is more important to exhale all of the bad air out instead of sucking in deep breaths of oxygen that could not be absorbed.
	I just had to focus. I had to pay attention to what was going on. There was a man. He had introduced himself as Bradley.  He had pretended to be a regular guy on a month-long hiking trip in the mountains, and he was looking for a quiet place to set up camp. His demeanor was meek. He set off no immediate warning bells. In reality, he was a hunter, a cold blooded killer, calmly waiting for his next thrill. A single woman without any real connections in the area was almost too easy. He was on the hunt now, relentlessly tracking his prey. 
Sweat was streaming in rivulets past my eyes and dripping down my neck. My usually springy curls were plastered to my forehead and neck. I couldn’t keep going. I could stop right now and end all of the suffering. From somewhere deep in my subconscious, however, came the resolve to push on. I cleared my mind and listened. Bradley was closing in. He would not let this latest kill get away. He began calling out taunting little phrases meant to terrify. I continued to run. I had sworn that I would not give up without a fight. I could do this. I was worth it, I reminded myself, as I drew on every ounce of strength that I could muster.
	Adrenaline flooded my system. It was a welcome relief that stole my thoughts and re-directed them to something more pleasurable. I pictured myself in a steaming hot bubble bath with scents of lavender and eucalyptus soothing my aching body. I would sip a cool, crisp glass of Sauvignon Blanc in my clawfoot tub if I made it through this. I would be a better person. I would take better care of myself. I was beginning to slow down
 It was an uphill battle now. The incline brought on an entirely new challenge. I leaned into the steep slope and tried to push. Bradley, the hunter, was once again consuming my consciousness. He was done playing games, and was gaining ground. It was inevitable that this chase would end in murder. He unsheathed a knife. It was a long, thin blade meant to slice and destroy with no mercy. The blade glinted in the last rays of the sun before the mountainside was plunged into shadows. I gave one last surge of speed, even knowing that it was about to be over.
The ringing of my cell phone through my ear buds cut off the podcast of “Murder in the Mountains,” and Brad’s ominous pursuit of his prey. I had a weird obsession of listening to true crime while I struggled through my daily Peloton workout and simultaneously freaked myself out in my cozy cabin loft. I let the torturous treadmill slow to a crawl, as I answered the call from my husband. He had to stay an hour late at work, and wanted to let me know. 
I grabbed my towel and water bottle and made my way down to the kitchen to check on the chili simmering on the stove. Despite the grueling pace of today’s workout, I was proud of myself for finishing. Thoughts of a scented bubble bath and glass of wine beckoned. I had earned it, and now I had a little extra “me time” before my husband got home. I pre-heated the oven in preparation for the garlic bread to go in and poured myself a glass of wine. My heartrate was finally back to normal and the adrenaline high I had achieved was soothing out into a calm post-workout glow. 
	The water was perfect as I slid into the tub and let the warmth and scents consume me. I decided that I could get one more episode of “Murder in the Mountains” in, before Tim got home. He did not understand how I found listening to re-enactments of true crime relaxing, so I always made sure to turn it off before he got home. “To each his own,” I thought to myself, sinking lower into the steaming water and letting my mind wander. Brad, meanwhile, dragged the body of his latest victim into an aqueduct and gingerly placed his calling card of a rose petal on each of her eyelids. A chill ran up my spine as I envisioned the scene. It was time to say good evening to Brad and his evil endeavors. 
	My skin was still warm and scented from the bath when I covered up my usual evening attire of boxers, tank top and fuzzy slippers with a well worn cashmere robe. I put my hair up in a messy bun and slathered on some vanilla lotion that Tim especially liked. I stood in my cozy kitchen, stirring the chili while glancing periodically out the kitchen window for approaching headlights signaling Tim’s arrival. The oven timer went off, giving me a little start and I bent to retrieve the garlic bread. Maybe Tim had a point, scaring myself half to death with those podcasts, as a form of entertainment, might be counterproductive.
	I took the bubbling, cheesy bread out of the oven and placed it on the butcher block counter to cool. In the reflection of the kitchen window, I saw the masked figure behind me, raise a thin sharp knife and I knew that there was no running away from this true crime.

	
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