Chapter 9 Carwynn
CARWYNN
“Become exactly who you were born to be . . .” a haunting voice in my mind echoed.
I shot up out of bed, panting.
The dreams started a couple years ago. Always the same two things over and over again—a pink, egg-shaped rock and a black box with gold carvings.
The first part of the dream, I’d spot the petal-colored rock in a cold stream, scooping it up in my palm.
Then, I’d be thrown forward into complete darkness .
. . but I wasn’t afraid. Slowly, gold light would start to glitter on a cave wall, revealing the dark obsidian box with gold markings.
I’d feel a tug. Grabbing the box, it’d slip through my fingers, falling. That’s when I’d wake up.
Tonight was no different—except that voice.
It was still dark out. A slight tapping had me turning to look out the window. Outside, the freshly bloomed red rhododendron scraped the glass.
An eerie chill pimpled my skin as an urgent voice whispered in my mind, “Run!”
I bolted out of bed, headed toward my foster mom’s room. The door creaked open, showing dark streaks smeared across the floor.
Blood.
There was so much of it.
“No!” My sob echoed against the floral wallpaper.
Then, a creak sounded from the kitchen. My breathing hitched.
“Run!” the voice yelled.
My inkling tugged. Hard.
I was bawling. It was a struggle to even hear my own thoughts.
God, what am I gonna do? Dead. She’s—she’s dead! Someone’s coming!
Sprinting out the back door, I headed toward the cemetery, side-stepping small gravestones. I used the back of my sleeve to wipe tears and snot away.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening! What now—what do I do?
The high-pitch squeak of the cemetery gate had more tears welling in my eyes.
No. Please . . . Please, no . . .
I fixed my sights on the mausoleum in the back, quieting my feet as I headed for it. Carefully, I pulled the door open, about to step in when—
A large hand covered my mouth, painfully ripping me back. They pinned my back to their chest and a deep, sinister voice rumbled.
“It’s a human girl.”
They held me captive, but there was another crunching of footsteps growing near. That’s when I saw him—a tall man with a skeleton head. No, not a head…a whole face tattoo.
The markings swirled all over his hands, up his neck, around his whole body. It was the face of Death itself.
Ice blue eyes narrowed at me. Tilting his head, he whispered to himself.
“Fascinating.” That horrifying face drew closer to mine. My cry muffled through the dirty hand on my mouth. “Is this the little troublemaker we’ve been looking for?”
The man restraining me huffed in disbelief, breath hot and putrid against the shell of my ear.
“You can’t be fucking serious. A human child?” He grunted, then sniffed me. “She smells like honeysuckle and chocolate, for Hell’s sake! No way she’s one of us.”
The boogieman gave a malicious smile.
“No human evades my shadows,” he whispered, more to himself, low enough for only my ears.
His cold finger trailed down the side of my face.
A strange emotion flashed behind those haunting eyes before he frowned.
“There’s no greater pain than to have what you want most ripped away.
” The words were feather soft, their tips dipped in venom.
“It’s for the best . . .” His eyes dropped low, mourning.
Then, darkness struck.
A black entity snapped out from the Boogieman, slicing across my neck like a razor. Warmth pooled down. A deep pain caused my body to tremble.
Everything grew eerily quiet.
What just—?
I was released from the other man’s hold and fell to my knees with a thud, grabbing my neck, desperately trying to keep my body in one piece. To withhold my blood—my spirit from spilling out.
Not like this. I don’t want to die.
The other man roared. “He wanted her alive!”
That cold, menacing face stabbed me in place like a needle through a bug. Piercing my soul.
“Like you said, she’s not one of us,” he growled, eyes landing like a loaded threat to the other man.
The boogieman and his companion walked away, not bothering to stay and watch the mangled life they destroyed fade away.
“Everything will be all right . . .” a whisper tickled my mind. Mine? Or just another echo from the cemetery?
A numbing cold seeped into my skin, the wet ground dampening my clothes. Dirt. It smelled like fresh dirt. The kind I’d scent whenever they dug a new grave to lay the recently deceased to rest.
I couldn’t move. Only my thumb briefly twitched, one smooth stroke slid along the cool gemstone ring.
Within seconds, I was gurgling my last breaths.
Dying . . .