15...
Headless Horseman - The legend of the white wolf
15
“Nooo!” he shouted jumping up. He panted heavily as he looked around. He quickly crumpled the flowered sheets with his feet to push himself out of them. Suddenly he remembered about last night. With one quick move he brought his palms in front of him – they were crystal clear, no more burnt skin. He tried to cover himself up with the remains of his blouse, but it was too ripped, so he simply crossed his arms over his chest and looked around. The room seamed to not have any closet, so his plan of finding a new shirt had to wait. He looked around more and he started to really feel nervous. Nothing around looked familiar.
“Where the Hell am I?” he said out loud starring at the dime glowing reading lamp. He quickly shut it fearing the answers this noise could bring. But there weren't any. He slowly climbed down of the bed and the first steps he took made the old floor creek loudly. He froze, looking around, waiting for some one to appear out of nowhere like in every horor movie. Of course it didn't happen. He renewed his walk stopping from time to time when the floor creeked a little louder. He reached some wodden stairs. He turned left and right to make sure no one was there with him. The stairs looked dark but short enough to let a weak light be seen at their edge. As espected, they also creeked when he touched every one of them.
The room down stairs was big, nicely decorated but as deserted as the other one. By the looks of it, this was the kitchen, judging by the round, wodden table and the plates cabinet. He would've shout to see if anyone answeres, but he was too affrad to find that out yet. A small, half-covered window from above the sink made him stretch out his hand and push aside the thik drapes. He glanced outside. The first rays of light were just starting to outline the surroundings, but they still looked unfamiliar. He turned around to face the big windowed door. He touched its handle making it to reveal the outside.
The cold wind threw fierce icy drops on his way-too-white face and it took him back to last night. He suddenly remembered the voice of that girl: “You won...”
„I won...” he repeated. „Who was I fighting?...” he would’ve ask if she would’ve been there. His interior monologue got brutaly interupted by a small light coming from between a big willow’s branches. Twisting his body left and right, he checked the surroundings one more time. Gathering his palm above his eyes, he ventured into the freezing rain. He stopped a little after several steps just to regain his heartbeat that froze because of his inadequate clothing. After a deep breath and arms rubbing each other he continued his path.
He reached the small light source – it was a one brick room with just one little flower-covered window. He tried to peek inside but it was quite impossible. Anyway, considering the way it jumped and flickered, the yellow light might’ve been from a candle. A sour smell suddenly turned off all of his body’s abilities. A single tear slit through his cold cheek, as an easy tremble took over. It almost felt like his body gained a will of its own since the mind yelled at his hand to stop its heading, but it wouldn’t listen. It pushed the door’s handle. He fought with his legs to make them not to get inside the room, but he lost again.
The heavy smell hit him so hard that he was about to fall on the ground. He quickly grabbed the door case and just looked around. The room was quite empty, with a single wooden table and half melt candle burning its way down.
Two black, almond eyes turned left at the hearing of that discreet thud. The black gloved hand let the knife slide on its workbench without a noise, then it reached for a strange looking weapon, something like three really sharp claws. Sooner than a split of a second the body on the workbench was left alone to bleed, covering the bright hair of the half-split up head.
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