Phoebe was ready to wobble over and comply with whatever the woman wanted, but the horror she saw on Julia’s face made her stop dead in her tracks.
“Get over here now; run,” Julia pleaded. Phoebe didn’t need to look to know that the monster was behind her. Knocked close to its original, intended prey by the train’s shaking. She scrambled forward, trying to put as much distance between her and it as possible, but it was too late. Far too late for Phoebe to escape, far too late for the witch and the fox to rescue her, as it dug its claws into the fabric of her dress and pulled her close.
Phoebe thought that she didn’t remember dying. Phoebe denied having ever died, even if a part of her maybe believed it. But now as she stared death right in the eyes, her body brought forth every memory.