With a groan Edward's eyelids fluttered open. In an instant he shut them again, the dim light pressing in on him, his head pounding. He had no idea how he had got here, wherever here was. The last thing he remembered he had been running blindly across the pitch black moor. What had happened to the others? Were they still waiting by the car for him to come back or had they gone looking for him? He hoped they hadn't gone looking for him, he thought, remembering the huge creature that had pinned him to the ground in the puddle.

It was only as the memories of what had happened came back that he realised he was shivering uncontrollably. His clothes were icy cold, sticking to his skin. He had to find something warmer before he froze to death but that meant opening his eyes again.

Opening his eyes slowly his vision swam as his head throbbed painfully. Had he tripped and hit his head on something? When his vision had settled Edward looked around. He was in a dimly lit room that looked like it belonged to an old abandoned house. But it couldn't be abandoned, not if he was here. Someone else must be here if the lights had been left on. Sitting up he realised that whoever had brought him here had left him lying on a battered old wooden table. It looked as if it was as old as the house as he compared the wood to that of the walls that surrounded him.

Opposite where he sat he spotted a door that had been left ajar, a narrow strip of light from the room beyond falling on the dirty floor. For a second he considered calling out to whoever else was here but he stopped himself just as he opened his mouth. Something didn't feel right about this place, about anything that had happened tonight.

As quietly as he could, Edward shuffled to the edge of the table, swinging his legs over the side. Perhaps he could sneak out of here if he was quiet enough. Gently he lowered himself to the floor, the boards creaking slightly under the weight of his boots. Pausing, he listened, making sure that no one had heard him moving.

When he was satisfied he crossed the room carefully. He was just about to open the door when something glinting in the dim light caught his eye. Turning, Edward found himself faced with an entire wall of hand tools, a large collection of different saws taking pride of place hung on the wall. Perhaps he should take a weapon of some sort, he wondered. After all there was a good chance that the creature was still lurking outside on the moors, waiting for its unsuspecting victim. No, he would be ready for it this time.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Turning his back on the door, Edward crossed the room in a handful of quiet strides, examining the wall of tools. For a moment he considered them all, trying to think of everything he knew about the creature. He would need something he could use at close range if it jumped on him again but he wanted something else with more range in case he saw it coming.

In the end Edward settled on what looked like a large butcher’s knife. Taking it off the hook on the wall he set it down on the side, turning his attention to the muddy shovel that sat, leaning against the side. Picking it up, he weighed it in his hands. It seemed to be fairly sturdy without being too heavy in case he had to run. With the shovel in one hand he turned back to the knife. He hadn't been looking when he had put it down but now he realised that the side he had placed it on was covered in pieces of paper, photographs he realised as he looked closer.

It took everything he had not to shout out or throw up as he looked at them. There must be hundreds of them, each of them showing bodies at various stages of dismemberment. With the knife in his hand he raised it to his mouth, willing himself to look away but he found himself transfixed by the scattered pictures. How many people were in these pictures, he wondered as he saw a mixture of men and women, all of them stripped off?

Maybe he hadn't tripped and hit his head on the moor like he had thought. Had someone been lurking in the darkness, praying on unsuspecting people to fulfil their sick habits? But if there had been someone else out there then why hadn't the creature attacked them as well? He had to get out of here, now, before he ended up as nothing more than another collection of photographs. Tucking the knife into the waistband of his jeans, Edward turned towards the door, the shovel in his hands, ready to strike at the sign of the slightest movement.

Edward had just reached the door when he heard a voice in the distance.

'You won't wake her,' the man said quietly. Her? Who was he talking about?

A moment later Edward heard a voice he recognised. 'What the hell?' David shouted.

No longer caring about keeping quiet, Edward threw open the door, charging out into the brightly lit corridor, shovel at the ready. He had to find David before he ended up like one of the people in those pictures as well.