As we came to the bank of the river, my brother yelled, “There she is! There she is!”

Quickly I looked where Jack was pointing. Up ahead, in the river, stood a shape of a person. The early morning fog was thick. The river was loud the crisp wind was blowing the trees in a chorus of wispers. We were running on two days of no sleep, so I doubted Jack’s clarity.

I saw the figure too. Was it our mother? Our mother, who had dissapeared while we were damping in the deep woods, leaving us alone and terrified.

“Mom!” Jack screamed out.

I was about to tell Jack that we were to far for her to hear, but the shape of a person shifted.

It moved.

It began walking toward us.

“It’s mom! She’s coming!” Jack said jumping up and down,fear thrown off of him in the easy way it does for little kids, like an itchy blanket.

Thunder crawled overhead as I watched the person lumber oddly toward us.

It was coming to us. There was no question about that. But was it our mother?

“Mom?” I decided to try shouting, longing for some response.

Nothing.

For a moment Jack and i just watched as it came into better view, the wind howling, the waters rushing, the cold stinging.

“Megan…” Jack said, drawing closer to me. The fear was returning to him.

We saw.

We saw what it was.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

But then 8 screamed, “Jack, run!”