The knife handle was warm in my hand, as if someone had just been holding it. I ran my fingers along the blade; it felt rusted and worn. Who did this belong to? I looked up with an expecting gaze, but I was utterly alone. Turning slowly on the spot, I took in everything around me. I had ran here so fast I hadn't paid any attention to where 'here' was. Tall, thick trees encircled me, giving off the impression of old age. shadows were cast from them by a cloudy moon. A dark night was a bad night to be lost in the woods, with I shivering knowing that someone had just been here, holding this very rusted knife. Chill shook my entire body like someone was holding ice cubes to my skin, leaving steam-like sweat. My eyes went back down to the knife. I should just leave it here and go back. Go back now. But which way was back? I had become so disoriented by the recent events I was surprised I had enough sense to make out the words spoken in the silent night.
"That's not yours," the voice was uneven, rough. My breath came in gasps now, I stumbled backwords a few steps, jumping when my back hit a tree. There was wind then; it brought the next words to my ear as if someone was standing beside me, whispering in a dead voice,
"I'll have to take it back."
My hands automatically tightened in fear, unfortunately, one was still on the knife's crooked blade; I felt wet blood before the screaming pain. It made me shriek, and the voice like crackling leaves laughed- this time right behind me.