He stared down at the body at his feet. He felt the panic start to rise in his chest, causing his heart to race and his stomach to twist sickeningly. He tried to speak, to yell, to cry, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. The world was silent; all he could hear was his pulse in his ears, pulsing loudly. He shook his head, stepping away from the body. He didn't need confirmation from anyone, for he knew that he had killed that man. He was bad, just like they had said. He had proved that, to them, to himself. He didn't mean to do it. He didn't even know how he did it. But now, that man was dead, and he would be next. They would hunt him. They would find him. And they would kill him.

He stumbled over his own feet in panic, falling backwards against the wall. He tore his gaze away from the body, then scrambled to his feet, hurrying out the door and into the cold, dark night. He ran as far from the house as he could, across the grass and into the nearby woods. But as soon as he stepped into the treeline, the darkness became to great, suffocating him. He could hear voices; their voices. Her voice. Voices he couldn't possibly begin to explain, or even understand, for her voice was in a different language completely.

Despite it all, her voice was soothing. He wanted to find her voice. He thought he would be safe with her. But just as every other time he found himself in the woods, he only got lost searching for her, and eventually, the darkness swallowed him completely until he heard nothing at all.