John emerges from the eerie woods behind him, running for his life, his right arm stained in blood. The fast footsteps echo through the dead grass around him.

Frantically and gasping he searches the surroundings for something to hide. After mere seconds his eyes are glued on a shallowly lit barn which best days are long past.

As John changes his course a dark figure in farmer cloths jumps out from the woods behind him. The metal of the bloody knife is flashing as the silent figure sprints through the grass like lightning.

John watches the speed of his pursuer with horror and tries to increase his speed. He wheezes in pain. The blood stained pursuer is catching up.

With the last bit of strength he reaches the barn and enters.

INT. BARN – Night

John fastly scans the run-down interior full of hay and spots some rusted pitchforks plunked at the wall. He stumples across the barn and grabs the first pitchfork possible. A smile is on his face as he turns around to see his pursuer who is fast enters the broody light of the barn.

Preparing to fight John painfully puts himself into a firm stand, the pitchfork pointing right at the pursuer.

20 feet, 17 feet, 15 feet. An almost inaudlible breathing sound can be heard from the pursuer for the first time. Then again. 10 feet. Yet another, deeper breath is heard, this time sounding like an “Ah”.

8 feet.



The pursuer starts to stumble. He flutters his arms with an amazing speed as he passes by John and with full speed crashes into the pile of rusty pitchforks.

John slowly turns around and gazes the scene, unable to grasp the sheer lunacy of this moment.

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