William's feet felt raw with pain, but it never defeated his will to move. Ahead of him were only the trees and below him was the soft yellow grass and fallen leaves. They were the same leaves as the one which had called him to escape the room, not so long ago. The branches swayed as they reached outward like veins against the overcast sky. Most of the leaves were red; the same color as the blood which stained parts of his clothes and skin. The same color as the bird which had visited him years ago. He imagined himself as the flying red, and for just a moment he glided above the forest and into the clouded skies. He wished for wings like he wished for safety. He held the spot where the bar had scratched him, folding his arm over it like a broken wing.

He could feel each breath become more painful to endure. He had been running for so long that the trail he left behind seemed as long as the one ahead. He noticed some thinning bushes ahead, barely clinging on to their leafy clothes. He used them for cover as he sat in-between four of them. His legs were in agony but the numbness from running, combined with the cold, was like a temporary relief.

"What now?"

His answer came when he heard the snapping of a twig ahead of him. He buckled to the ground as far as he could muster. He moved his head slightly upwards, trying to spot whatever it was. A long, thick tail sprouted outward from the crunchy leaves. It was light-brown and grey with soft looking fur. The thing jutted out and turned toward William. It had the smallest eyes; almost directionless. In its hand was a nut that it was carefully chewing, turning its little head in opposite directions of its even smaller pointed ears.

"Beautiful." Said William, quiet as he could.

The thing stopped its chewing and hopped to the side, studying William. He moved his head up a bit more and the thing began to scurry away until it reached a sizeable tree. William sat up and watched it climb. It climbed further and further up until, eventually, he lost it.

"A bushy grey."

His stomach turned in hunger as he daydreamed about the animal eating its meal. His hands grazed over the maple leaves beneath him. He started to dig deeper underneath and got on all fours. He ran his hands through it, picking out small sticks and pebbles. He made a circle around with his hands until he pulled out something oval and smooth. It was greenish-brown and had a cap on the top. It was the same thing the bushy grey was eating. He popped it into his mouth, feeling the odd texture of it against his unkempt teeth. William began to feel around for more, making it a few yards to another set of bushes. He sat down, admiring his collection, and finished most of them off. He looked up at the tree ahead and saw another bushy grey, possibly the same one, staring at him curiously from one of the branches. William took one of the nuts and tossed it below the tree. The bushy grey climbed down, stopping every few seconds.

"Smart little guy."

It grabbed the nut and climbed its way out of sight and William smiled, almost forgetting about his own troubles. He stood up and began his walk across the forest floor once again. Every once in a while, William would look up at the wiry trees in hopes that the little climbers were watching out for him. He'd stop at a bush and find a few more nuts while keeping his eyes out for water. He did find it, collected as dew on some of the wild plants, and it helped to wash down what his dry throat couldn't quite deal with. After a walk that seemed to never end, he discovered a pale light in the distance.

He made his way towards it, staying close to the trees. His attention was pulled in so many directions that his head began to ache. The bushy greys skipped across the ground and into the maple leaves as he rubbed his shaky hands across his body, trying to create some warmth. The sky was darkening, fast. It wasn't long before he saw the outline of a house. Its walls were wooden and glass and the roof came to sharp point. He knew deep down that it his options were to survive a night in the freezing darkness or chance being saved by whoever lived there.

The forest ended at a long and vacant road leading East to West of him, only to continue around the other side of the house. The light had only reflected the early moon against the glass windows, but William took it as an invitation. He crossed the street, running to the closest pair of trees for cover. He felt ill, but he couldn't tell if it was impending danger or the reality of being saved that brought it on. Along the side of the house were bushes that gave him plenty to hide against, all the way to the front porch. He glided his hand along a railing and stuck his head out, looking into a window. The blinds were closed. The next window overlooked clear and when he looked inside, there wasn't a single light except for a microwave clock. Time had been almost meaningless, and the numbers came and went in his mind like a morning dream. William made his way up the porch stairs with a careful stride. Once he reached the top, he checked the door handle.

"Open."

With a quiet click, the door began to move inward. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, never taking his eyes off the dark room ahead.

"So warm."

He made his way through the living room, in disbelief at its size. There were things he had never seen. A glass table with a light that jutted out from the middle. A television bigger than he was. He grazed his hands along the felt chair and couldn't remember ever feeling something so soft. The kitchen sink seemed to call out to him. William, no longer able to fight off his thirst, turned on the faucet and drank. He wiped the liquid from his lips as he continued into the main hallway. There were photographs hanging up, but none of them were of people. There were buildings that reached into the skies and landscapes filled with nothing but sand and odd, thorny plants.

The house was quiet, but he was quieter still. The dungeon had given him enough practice at being stealthy when it called for such a thing. He went by the first bedroom, which had a door already open. Not a soul was in there. William went in, making his way passed the bed and to the closet. Some clothes were hanging up, neatly organized by color and size. He could tell by looking that they were for a little girl. He walked across the room to a dresser by a second bed. More clothes were folded up inside.

"They're for a boy."

He realized that the people who lived there were a family. A real, normal family - and he was in their house.

"But, where are they?" he thought. "Is no one home?"

Back in the hallway was another open room. There was a single bed, bigger than last two. It was darker in there than the other was. Almost pitch black, except where the window was, shining its moonlight on yet another closet. Once again, he looked through the clothes. They were for someone older, possibly in their teens or their twenties. He took down one of the shirts and took a pair of jeans off a shelf. If no one was there to help him, he thought he'd at least try to look less like an insane person who was out to rob or murder. Scaring off any potential help was the last thing he wanted.

"Breaking into someone's home doesn't exactly help."

He reached into a few more of the shelves. He saw something hidden in the very back and reached for it. He looked at the thing he held in his hand with both delight and terrible fear. It was a gun, like in the old westerns he watched with Father. It was protection against what might come later, if only he knew how to use it. He reached back further and found a small case of shells. He decided to keep them. Even if he wasn't sure how to use it, he remembered the cops in the shows. All they'd need to do is point it to get their way. Lift up a gun and their hands went up with it.

"Simple enough."

He reached a staircase at the end of the hall and began to climb. It wrapped around to the right and led up to two doors on either side of a hallway. He opened the door to his left as slow as possible. There was a bed directly in front of him behind a glass wall. He could smell the cured wood from the furniture as he crept inside. Then, he saw the blanket was raised at the end of the bed and saw the two bodies that filled the rest of it. He stopped cold in his tracks as he stared at them. His hands were shaking with adrenaline, his left one with a tight grip on the pistol. He began to step backward toward the door. He thought if he could just make his way back to the entrance, he could leave quietly. They wouldn't know anything at all until he was long gone.

"Daddy?" Said a small, high pitched voice behind him. He stopped, eyes opening wide. "Daddy, what are you doing?" The small voice asked.

He turned around, covering the mouth of the little girl behind him with his hand.

"Ssshh!" William sputtered out of his tightly clenched teeth. She began to struggle, her voice letting out a scream beneath his hand. "Shut up!" He went, trying to shuffle her back to the doorway.

"What the hell are doing with my daughter?" Yelled a man from behind him. The sound of the man's footsteps began to pound into the hardwood floor as an older woman's screams rang into the air. William turned around, the girl in one arm and the pistol in his hand. The girl began thrashing her body around. He could barely lift her up as it was and he was almost bent completely over, gun in the air. It pointed at the man, who stopped in his tracks. Hands up, as predicted.

"Listen. I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm just... lost, is all." William said.

"Hey, hey, hey. Listen, let her go and take what you want. Just let her go." Said the man, the older woman sobbing behind him.

After a pause, William let the girl go and she ran to her mother in the bed. It was never his intention to harm someone, least of all a child.

"I- there's more of us. We need help," said William, "please."

"Okay, just calm down. What happened?"

"There's a place, in the forest down that way. They're keeping us locked up in there."

A light in the bedroom came on and William jolted up, pointing the gun at the woman in the corner.

"Wait... You came from somewhere in forest?" Asked the man.

"Look... I didn't think anyone was here. I never meant for this to happen. I just needed someone to help me. To get the others out."

The man began to take a small step towards William. "Look, just put the gun down. We can help. It's just, you're really scaring the girls, you know?" He said, pointing their way.

"Don't come any closer," William began, "I can't trust anyone. How do I know you aren't with them? My friend, Michael, he-"

"Michael?" He interrupted.

The man put his hands down and looked back at the girls. He took another step forward.

"I don't want to hurt you. Stop!" William yelled.

It was like time had become still as William looked down at the gun. The light in the room had illuminated something odd. He could see an engraving on the side.

"I said stop!" William screamed as he jerked the gun towards the man. He stopped and the man's hands jolted upward once again. He looked back the engraving, trying to steady his shaking hand. He anchored his arm with the other. He could hear the man begin to speak as he tried to spell out the engraved letters.

"How'd you get here?" The man asked.

"M."

"You look sick." The man continued.

"R."

The man inched his way toward a distracted William.

"Mr." Thought William, forming the first word.

"Let us help you."

William kept reading. "S."

"Your friend, Michael. We can help him too."

"C."

"Put the gun down."

"Stop moving!" Yelled William, before returning to the marks. "R. A. T."

"How'd you even get out of that place? Put the fucking gun down, boy!"

"Mr. Scratch."

He looked up at the man who was now beginning a full stride towards him. The word "boy" had torn through William's mind like the wire that had lashed upon his limbs so many times.

The little girl yelled out to the man from the corner of the room, "Father!"

The man was running. His name, Father, hit William in the gut like the hammer smacking against the metal bars in the window. Mr. Scratch, engraved on the gun, conjured up images of the three boys and the older men in that portrait on the wall. The mother screamed behind the man as he sprinted across the room.

"I'm not your boy." Said William.

His finger squeezed the trigger and the booming sound of a gunshot seared through the bedroom. William's body jerked back as he saw nothing but the bloodied hole where the man's eye once was. He could see the girls screaming but their sounds were muted by his ringing ears. Blood rained into the air and onto the carpet below. For a second, he saw not blood but instead, crimson red maple leaves flying into the air. The man fell back onto the floor as William stood over him, looking at the glass window, now with a splatter of red that sliced across it like a wave. The flying red had flown, and he was the small, bushy grey that made it so. He dropped the gun onto the floor, like the cap of an acorn found beneath a pile of leaves.