Fear Weaver

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“Are you Philberta?” Nate asked. She answered the description he had been given.

“This little pig went to market, this little pig stayed at home.”

“Talk sense, will you?”

“This little pig had roast beef, this little pig had none.”

“Cut that out. And tell me, are you Philberta or aren’t you?”

“To be honest, sir, I’m not sure anymore.” She laughed again, a sad sort of laugh. Then she swept a knitting needle over her head and cried, “Let’s see which one of us is real!”

And with that she attacked.

Dedicated to Judy, Shane, Joshua and Kyndra.

Before

The man had tears in his eyes and spittle on his chin. He ran through the woods in a wild panic, every now and then letting out a piercing shriek. He collided with a tree, but it barely slowed him. He kept glancing over his shoulder. Twice he slashed at the air with a Green River knife.

“Stay away!” he screeched. “Stay away!’

Bursting from the undergrowth into a clearing, he fell to his hands and knees, exhausted. More spittle dribbled from his lower lip into his matted beard. He mewed in fright and looked back again, and his pale face became paler.

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