It started the night my car spun off the road. The rain had come down like a hammer, blurring my vision as I drove too fast through the backroads. The last thing I remember before blacking out was the flash of headlights, the screech of tires, and a hollow thud as my car slammed into a tree.
I woke up in the middle of a battlefield.
The smell of gunpowder filled the air. Soldiers, dressed in tattered uniforms from a time long gone, shouted orders as they fired their muskets. I wasn’t in my car anymore. I wasn’t even in the same century.
I stumbled back, panic rising in my throat. This couldn’t be real. How could I have gone from a car crash to… wherever this was?
Then I saw him. A soldier, his chest bleeding, his hand reaching out to me. “Run,” he rasped, his eyes wide with terror. “It’s coming.”
“What’s coming?” I asked, but the words stuck in my throat.
The air grew cold, unnaturally cold. And then I saw it—a shadow creeping over the horizon. It moved like smoke, twisting and curling, but I knew—deep down—that it was alive. And it was coming for me.
I turned and ran. My heart pounded in my chest, fear driving me forward. I could hear the screams of the soldiers behind me, their voices swallowed by the darkness.
Then, just as suddenly as I had arrived, I was back in my car. The rain was still pounding, but the road was empty. My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white with fear.
I had traveled through time—just for a moment—but it had only happened when death was near. I realized then that I could only escape impending death by slipping through time, but it wasn’t a gift. It was a curse. Because every time I traveled, something followed me. The shadow. The thing that hunted me.
And now, every time I feel its icy presence creeping closer, I know I’m out of time.
The shadow is always waiting. And one day, it will catch up.