Arthur walks down a road in the middle of winter. Snowflakes fall silently against the ground. It's been snowing for a while now, and the only reason he knows this is because the snow is otherwise untouched. The only sound is his footsteps crunching against the pure white snow. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his dark coat and his breath creates a fog against the still air. It's dark, the only light coming from the widely spaced street lamps. He has no idea where he is, meaning he's not in London. Nor anywhere else in Britain, for that matter...
A sense of dread fills the once peaceful silence. The feeling grows as he continues walking, but he can't find the will to turn around. There's something that he has to do. He's not sure exactly what, but he knows it's something. Something ahead distracts him. A splash of colour against the flawless white of snow. He hesitantly strays from his path to investigate. He freezes in his tracks as he sees what the colour really is. Red against white. Blood on the snow. He feels bile rise in his throat as he looks away.
The stench of death and decay reaches his nostrils and he pulls his handkerchief from his pocket. He covers his nose with the white scrap of cloth and follows the trail that the crimson flow creates. It looks like someone had been dragging himself. Him being a certified surgeon, he thinks that perhaps he can help whoever it is that is wounded. He continues to follow the trail, and the stench of decaying flesh grows with each daunting step.
His better instincts tell him to turn back, to run back to the road, and maybe even home where his tea awaits him, but he can't. He can't muster the will to turn back and flee. He has to help the injured person. No one should lose their life because he was too afraid to face whatever it is that he's so damn afraid of. He doesn't even know what it is, therefore, he has no reason to be scared... Right?
He continues to walk, the path getting darker and darker as he walks farther from the comforting light of the street lamps. It's gets so dark that he has to pull out his cell phone and light the way. He continues to follow the crimson trail along the snow and into the forest. He glances around at the trees, bathed in darkness until he hits them with the weak light of the phone. It would be beautiful if it weren't for the reason he's out here. Oh... Right... The trail...
At times, it thickens and widens, as if the person was getting weaker and slower, but directly after, the trail would thin to the width of a normal person's body. Sometimes it would stay straight, and at others, it veered to the left, or to the right, or in any other direction that was possible. The trail wavered, as if the person had problems staying on a straight path.
He continues walking, the stench of rotting flesh becoming unbearable. His eyes begin to water, temporarily blurring his vision. He hastily wipes them and presses on. At last, the trail stops in the middle of a clearing. Something urges him to look up. He gives in to the urge, slowly looking up to face the horror.
Hanging by the ankles from the tree closest to him hangs a mass of flesh that, judging by shape, was a person at some point. What's worse is that it's still writhing. Still alive, and still feeling pain.
It's lips move, but say nothing. The young British man can't hold it in anymore. He goes to his knees and loses the willpower not to vomit. After wiping his mouth of the leftover bile, he stands. He turns his back to the mass of flesh, only to find that every tree surrounding the clearing is housing one or more of the people. He feels the bile rising in his throat again but forces it down.
The snow crunches slowly behind him. Something large is heading his way. Panic clutches at his chest as he freezes. He fumbles to close his phone and shove it in his pocket. If it hasn't seen him already, he doesn't want to take the chance of that happening. The steps grow progressively closer, the snow crunching under the large beast's weight. It continues until it's deafening. He feels the hot breath against his neck and he remains frozen. He finally finds the will to turn around. If he's going to die, he wants to at least face the thing that kills him. He's in no way prepared for what he makes eye contact with.
The... /thing/ has greying skin, which sags and droops off of its figure. It peels in large strips in some places, like around the extremely visible ribs. He's unnerved by the twisted limbs protruding from its ribs and hips. But what's worse is the face, or more like the lack thereof. Where there should be such distinguishing features as a nose and mouth is only smooth flesh. The only thing he's able to make out is the eyes, those bottomless pits that stare directly into you. It's breath reeks of decaying flesh and death. The blood smeared down the front of its body is assumed to be from the people hanging in the trees.
Arthur backs up a step. The creature stands there, wheezing. He takes another step back from the creature, and another. With a creak of its joints, the thing matches the distance, ending up a bit closer than it was before.
He turns his back and runs, faster than he ever has before. He hears its heavy footsteps thundering after him. He doesn't know where he's going, he just knows he's running from that beast. He feels a weight on his back and he tumbles forward.
The creature jumps on his back and begins to tear at his flesh with sharp class that he hadn't noticed before. He lets out a scream of pain as the creature begins disembowelling him. His struggles get slower and weaker as he loses more and more blood.
His vision goes darker
And darker
And
Darker
Until it goes completely black.