Writer
Until the fog arrived, the school trip had gone well. The milky veil transformed the woods, the trees jutting out in warning. The kid, Jessie, was taken moments later.
She found us eventually, her skin as cold as a gutted catfish, her lips pulled back in hunger.
As eventide passes, the aurora deepening, you brush my neck. It’s innocent enough, done without thinking; that’s how I know. “Look,” I say, taking your arm and pointing. A she-fox enters the glade, the vixen’s eyes luminous in the dark. So are yours.
