Acrid gasoline fumes filled the rundown barn as a chainsaw revved too close for comfort. Hot breath brushed my ear with a taunting echo, “I want your pretty hair. I want your pretty hair.” I couldn’t see a thing, but perhaps that’s because my face was burrowed too far into the back of my husband’s neck as I clung to him like a crazed spider monkey. “R-u-n!!!”
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