Draw the Veil

III. The Attack

When I emerged from the cave, it was almost 8:30. Bugger! I briefly wondered if my parents were out searching for me. For a moment, I almost thought I heard my name called out on the wind.

The sun had mostly set on the horizon, and the full moon and stars had come into view. I quickly canceled my wand-lighting spell; the moon was bright enough for me to find my way back with ease.

I began to run back towards the hired bungalow, across the fields, through the brambles and shrubberies, planning numerous plausible excuses for my tardiness in my head. A gang of drunken veelas captured me...no...um...I was out...

The sounds of my feet tripping through the undergrowth suddenly doubled. My heart froze. Something_or someone? No, definitely something_was chasing me. I could hear gruff breathing and snarls and growls, and they were getting louder.

I couldn't bring myself to turn around. Instead, I ran faster. All my attention was focused on the bungalow some distance away. I could see lights on in the lounge and could almost make out someone moving around, perhaps my mother.

A feeling of profound loneliness mixed with the terror in my heart. My mum and dad were oblivious_their son, their only son, was going to be mauled and killed only yards from them, out in the darkness. They would not even hear my screams as they sat sipping their tea in peace and comfort before the fire.

Larger and thicker branches and stickers were whipping against my skin (my now ripped-apart trousers afforded me little protection), but I did not even wince from the pain. I was only vaguely aware that I had chosen a treacherous route back, one that would get me home sooner but with far more wounds.

The creature was so close, I could almost feel its breath on the back of my neck. I could not scream or yell. My lungs felt like they were going to rip to pieces; I had never before run so fast or so hard.

My very short life passed before my eyes: The day I had accidentally wet myself in school when I was 5. My sixth birthday, when my parents gave me that child-size broomstick. The day my father got a promotion at work and took us all out for ice creams bigger than my head. A few months after that, when he was made redundant from that same job. The amusing look on my mum and dad's faces the day I asked them where babies came from and finally broke the awkward silence with, 'Well, don't people have sex or something?'

I pictured my parents' faces when they found my lifeless, mangled corpse, my broken wand, the blood running in rivers through the French countryside. I wondered if death would hurt. I wondered if I would see my pet gerbil in heaven.

And then I found myself on the ground, knocked flat, and heard a hungry growl above me. I cringed and curled up in a fetal position amidst the rocks and weeds. This is it. I'm going to die out here, all alone. I began to sob quietly.

I felt sharp pains in my sides and realised that I was being lifted in the air; long, blood-red claws were digging into my soft skin. My legs dangled helplessly below me. I gulped and looked up through my tears to see what had been chasing me to my death.

The creature was on its hind legs, covered in coarse fur and tattered clothes. Its ears were pointed, its eyes were glowing red, and its large fangs were dripping with saliva. It looked hungry, even starved. I froze in terror, unable to scream or fight. I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking that maybe this was all just some horrible nightmare and I would wake up in my comfortable bed back in the bungalow, safe and sound, but I soon realised that this was nothing but wishful thinking: A set of sharp teeth dug into the flesh of my neck, and it did not wake me up. The monster was going for a quick kill.

What happened next was all confusion. At some point, I think I fainted_either from fear or blood loss, I do not know. I remember a brief flash of green light. I remember seeing my father's terrified face leaning over mine. I remember hearing my mother screaming and screaming.