Chapter XIII
Cassandra
They are coming.
I am not safe.
Claws of desperation sink into my chest, scratching frantically, a wounded animal stuck in a trap. I’d rather devour my flesh, chew through pain and bone, rip myself to bloody shreds, than stay ensnared.
My jaws clench as I feel the familiar weight of doom settle upon my shoulders, ready to suffocate me in my sleep.
Despite everything I’ve done, I am still so weak. Clayton taught me that I am pathetic and useless, and I am. I need to do something, I need to find a way out. I can’t let them take me alive, they can’t have me, they can’t—
My bare feet slap against the cold, stone floor as I whip my head back, gasping from this never-ending chase.
All I can see is a pitch-black void staring back at me from the end of the hall.
The candles on the wall flicker, casting heavy shadows, and the gloomy tendrils twist, making ominous patterns.
Watchful, unseen eyes track my every movement.
The void creeps closer, swallowing all light and hope as it comes.
My lungs heave, spluttering and struggling to inhale enough air to continue. Every muscle burns as if I have been running for hours, and I don’t know how much longer I can continue.
The shadow from the void grows, and I choke on a sound that’s half breath, half cry as it looms like an arachnid crawling out from an armoire’s dark mouth, ready to eat me alive. No one can have me.
Fear keeps me running—I will not die like this.
The castle hallway is stuck in an infinite loop, with no windows or doors in sight, no exit or freedom.
My thoughts drag heavily with fatigue, words blurring together as my legs tremble. I don’t want to continue to live like this, with terror pounding constantly in my chest.
All I want is freedom.
For my entire life, men have thought that they have a right to me, to my body. To sell and purchase me, to dictate my future, to make me feel unsafe in my skin. I am at once angry and tired.
“Cassieeeeeee.” A voice echoes through the walls, taunting, haunting me. “Cassie, I’m coming for you.”
My body freezes.
It isn’t possible.
No, no, no, no. NO.
“Leave me alone!” I shout at the darkness. A scream full of desperation erupts from me as I grab onto my hair, yanking, ready to pull it out. I’m a stupid, stupid, stupid girl.
“Come here, wife,” the voice demands, each word deepening in tone until it becomes warped and demonic in its screech.
His voice crawls up the back of my spine and skitters around my neck like an infestation of spiders ready to burrow under my skin and make my body their home. They want to use my entrails to host their eggs, clawing out through my stomach when grown, exploding by the thousands.
Their furry little legs scurry along my bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their trail, and I flinch at the sensation.
The cold wall greets my shoulders as I slam myself against the stone, trying to shake the spiders off of me, to stop their pincers from sinking into my flesh.
They can’t have me either. No one can have me unless I say so.
“Get off me!” The words leave my lips in a shriek as I wildly slap my skin, trying desperately to get them off.
Spinning around, I try to force the invisible spiders away but gasp at the sight of Clayton standing there.
The world freezes.
His eyes stare, hollow dark voids that mimic the hallway. Blood drips from his head to the floor with little plinks, as if a tap of his lifeblood was left running. Something is unsettling about Clayton, like his skin is too smooth, his features too perfect.
My back hits the wall again as I try to stumble away, head shaking in disbelief.
“We’re comin’ for you, bitch. We’re gonna tie you down, burn you alive, shoot our cum in your ashes, and feed what remains to the pigs.” His laughter is cruel, echoing around me and inside my brain, over and over again.
A harrowing wail fills the air, and I slam my hands over my ears.
“Get out, get out, get out,” I mumble frantically, my chest rising and falling with panic. “You’re not real, you’re not. I killed you. I killed him.”
But I know Clayton’s friends are coming for me, that they will find me too, seeking retribution for his death.
Something else must have possessed me the night I killed my husband because I’m still so fucking weak.
Clayton grins as if he can read my thoughts. “You’re gonna be a dead woman, Cassie. Time’s up, you fucken’ bitch. Get ready to swing from a bridge.”
His smile grows ever wider, twisting up as it begins to engulf his face. And as his demonic grin swells, so does his body.
Clayton inflates like a human balloon, the sound of rubber skin as it stretches echoing down the darkened hall. His body turns bulbous as it expands and bulges unnaturally. He rapidly gains size, his stomach swelling to almost touch the ceiling just before he—
Pop.
The shriek that leaves me is unholy as pieces of Clayton––decayed flesh, organs infested by maggots, urine––spray me.
Wetness splatters against my body and skin, the smell of rotting fish and fermenting melon overwhelming my senses and causing me to retch, my stomach curdling as the hallway turns into an ocean of his fetid mass.
Only one word can describe this smell—death.
Death is coming, and it’s coming for me.
A sudden gasp escapes me as I awaken, the sheets drenched in sweat. Abruptly I sit up in bed, clutching my hands to my chest.
I know what I need to do. I have to find Izcacus.