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Crack. Crack, crack, crack.
Quick steps that feel like it’s hit fast forward bring it closer, its bones breaking as it makes its way to the side of the bed. I open my mouth, ready to scream for Felix, when the head raises, white eyes staring at mine.
I’ve met many demons in Castle Pointe.
This one drips with an evil that’s unmatched.
Its hand flies up, shooting forward, the dark shadow of its arm sliding down my throat. It’s a pain like no other, like my organs are twisting, my bones are shattering, my skin is shredding, all while I sit immobile, silent, as this thing penetrates my soul.
I lift off the mattress, the body still consuming me.
I drift toward the ghost, and even with every ounce of strength I have in my body to stop this, I can’t do anything besides watch in agony as I float toward the dead. The other hand comes out, its fingers curling, pulling my chin toward it without having to actually touch me. Then the fingers graze my skin, cold, and so, so dead. Scaled skin that smells like rot and dirt. And just as the cold fingers curl around my jaw, its face turns, showing me the horror of death as it stares at me, face to face.
Its mouth opens wide, the skin around its lips splitting, breaking, the skeleton beneath showing. The eyes go wide, the skin around its face wrinkled, pale, nearly a hue of blue. It lets out a horrified scream, and I can see so deeply within its soulless abyss, I’m afraid I’ll never find my way out.
Ishoot up, my head pounding as I glance around the empty room. The dark sky shines through the window, showing the dust and dinginess of the loft. My fingers stretch out, ready to piss Hazel off just because I don’t know how to do anything else, when my palm hits the cool mattress instead.
“What the fuck?” I mumble, turning my head and seeing her side empty.
My brows furrow, and I instantly slide my feet over the side of the bed, my socks hitting the unpolished floors. “Hazel!” I bark, expecting her to be downstairs, taking a piss or something. But I hear nothing. I feel nothing.
Worry starts to fling around my chest, and I know in my gut something doesn’t feel right. The air is too heavy, too dense with something that feels akin to the darkness that would linger in the school, or in the asylum on the other side of town.
I stand up, and the first thing I see are her books and backpack, exactly where she left them. She wouldn’t have left willingly without them. She’s been carrying them around everywhere with her. My eyes fall to a black box, and I bend over, lifting it off the ground. My eyes narrow when I see a pentagram inside, as well as what looks like hair. I pick up a small glass vial, shaking it around and seeing it slowly bubble, before placing it back inside.
What the fuck have you gotten into, Hazel?
Setting it down where she left it, I clench my jaw as I walk across the room and down the stairs, staying on high alert as I look everywhere. Whether I expect to see her fucking with me, or some creepy fucking spirit, I don’t know. I see neither. Everything is just empty. Silent.
So much fucking silence.
“Hazel!” I roar, my hand going up to rub against my chest. I don’t like this feeling inside of me. Like the thought of losing her will cause me pain. I shouldn’t care. I wanted to kill her mere hours ago, but even as I say that, I know that’s not a complete certainty. I kicked her out of my house with the intent of never looking at her again, but the dread started to trickle in immediately, knowing that kicking her out in the middle of the night without even a single weapon is dangerous, and foolish of me to do.
I can’t deny that the moment she left, I shrugged the guys off. I ended up stewing at my house for hours, wondering, waiting for her to fucking come back to me. But she never did.
So, I became a stalker, heading to her house, figuring I’d find her in her bed, doing some witchy shit that would solidify my decision to be done with her.
But her bed was empty, and the night was no longer night, but turning into day.
Frustration mixed with horror that I might have killed the girl who has weaseled her way into my fucking dead-ass soul, and I was ready to go get fucking stoned out of my mind and forget the world, when I walked into the empty house, and I could instantly—instantly—fucking sense her.
It’s like our souls are connected, even when they were never meant to be.
I wanted to hurt her, but just like every other time I’m around her, I turn into this raging fucking beast, and I can do nothing but attack her. I can’t get enough of her. I’m insatiable.
But as always, Hazel seems to mix herself up in shit so deep there’s no damn light. And I can’t, I refuse, to even think about something happening to her. I’ll fight the dead for her, to save her. And then I’ll punish her for the damn witchcraft and darkness that surrounds her.
I make my way downstairs, seeing it empty as well, the run-down living area just as I left it earlier.
I growl, clenching my jaw as I bark out, “Hazel, what the fuck!” Hoping, wishing, for a fucking annoying cackle to rip from her throat, but I get nothing.
“Shit,” I huff, spinning around and heading back upstairs. I grab my clothes, pulling them on with quick, steady jerks, shoving my boots back on my feet and lacing them up quickly.
I swear, if she isn’t already dead, I’m going to kill her for doing this shit to me.
Racing back downstairs, I make my way outside. The fog makes it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of me, and I narrow my eyes, feeling the death surrounding me.
Something isn’t right.
