Eventually he was forced to stop. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? He had long since broken down into an idle shamble, a stitch in his side pulled him to the left, his right leg unable to bend at the knee. He'd vomited at least once, he remembered. When was that? Hours? Days? In utter despair, he pitched forward and barely threw his hands ahead to break his fall. He lay in the dirt groaning in pain, his left cheek smeared with sweat and pressed into newly forming mud, literally spent and unable to move. His coughs and labored breathing sent loose dirt into a small cloud that obscured his features. But he was there. Maybe he couldn't drag himself the final few feet to enter the door, but the school would fill his vision should he dare open his eyes. Though his world was defined by misery, he smiled and occasionally attempted to push himself into a sitting position.

As he reclined on the ground and breathed like an old man afflicted with consumption, Kyle risked opening his eyes by a tiny sliver. His hard, blind run should have meant his pupils were fully dilated, but he was not immediately blinded. Actually, there was very little light at all. He opened his eyes completely and gazed upon the full glory of the building which represented a shining beacon so very long ago. What he saw was utterly outrageous. Though not a collapsed hulk, the school was indeed a massive wreck. This was no lustrous gem, but a rotten shanty leaning heavily to the left. Not one window remained unbroken, some appeared smeared with crusty gore, others devoid of frame and sill. The stairs were smashed to splinters, the wood so ancient it resembled shaped dust. Chunks of remaining paint hung precariously in lonely, thick flakes dozens of layers, and years thick. It was undoubtedly the same schoolhouse, yet Kyle very much questioned this metamorphosis. This new version was worse than a rundown barn, where even lean-tos could feel superior. Still the dilapidation was eerie and set him on edge.

Deep within the recesses of his will, Kyle withdrew the final burst of energy available and crawled to the stairs. He clambered up the ruined mess, hell bent on claiming at least the entryway. The deck squalled constantly at his weight, but he stared at long last, upon the door he nearly killed himself to reach. Or at least where the door used to be, now only a raw hole sporting a rusty broken hinge. Kyle was about to search for another reserve of stamina to haul himself fully upright, but something in the edge of the teetering doorjam caught his attention. Some words were lightly scratched there, so he felt obligated to read them. Any clue to decipher this odd situation was welcome.

Stare upon the day,
stare upon the night.
What is there to witness
in the dark and hallowed light?

Shortly after Kyle started reading, a distant clash of thunder rumbled through the twisted sky. Kyle looked back and noticed a flash over the horizon. Great. Somehow this is getting worse. He shook his head in contempt and went back to reading his discovery.

Sip from all, both foul and fair,
and the foe will drink his due.
The whisper is the penance,
in the valley of the blue.

More insistent thunder, followed by longer and brighter lightening. Isn't that backwards? He continued to read, doubting the wisdom of that decision even as the words left his lips.

The rift has only solemn
words to steal the humble faith.
True answers lie nowhere here,
but for those who know The Wraith!

While Kyle read that final stanza, the thunder rolled perpetually without break or pause, crashing with unrelenting fury and impotent rage. One particularly loud clash stole his attention from the poem and into the ruined doorway itself. The unfortunate improper sequence of thunder and lighting aside, an opportune flash illuminated the inside of the first floor. For a few split seconds, Kyle saw that the second floor had partially collapsed. He saw the teacher's desk was laying on its side, most desks scattered against the left wall where the floor betrayed an obvious tilt. He saw a chalkboard hanging askew, and numerous shards of glass mixed in the debris. Amidst these prosaic elements of detritus, he focused upon a creature that his brain refused to acknowledge.

Kyle felt his stomach sink and a shiver disrupt his soul. It was lucid. It was exceptionally angry. Though a loose mess of tattered skin, visible bones, and diminutive size, it was astonishingly powerful. Let's not forget, it hated him beyond comprehension. A few choice phrases crossed Kyle's mind as everything fell into place. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Into the lion's den. Holy God, I practically served myself to the damn thing on a silver platter! What went through It's mind, he refused to imagine.

Not that any doubt remained after it remodeled its vestiges of features into a baleful sneer. Presently it opened its mouth horrifically and immeasurably wide, issuing a quaking roar that vibrated the school to its very foundation. The building lurched dangerously further to the left, but neither It nor Kyle noticed or cared. Kyle gaped at It's mouth and beheld Eradication, Nothingness, Oblivion. Kyle again stumbled under the weight of its palpable rage, and as it washed over him anew, it carried a message: It would have vengeance. Weak and spent, Kyle had nowhere to run, exactly as It had planned. It lunged.

Kyle screamed.