Dimokre Chronicles Book 1: Crossed Paths

Chapter 32 - The Bed and the Mirror

"I—what?" Sarah froze, staring at Michael from across the room. She clutched Jade Eye's handle, staring at him in disbelief.

He made sure the curtains were closed and marched over to the bed. "Get under—" he panted out as he pulled them back. "—the covers."

"Uh, with you?" she whispered. "Shouldn't we be hiding in the closet or something?"

"Yes, with me, I'll go in a second." Michael shook his head. "No closets, and make sure the blanket's completely covering you—especially the head." He leaned back to look in the crack of light between the curtain and the wall.

"Michael, uhm, I'm not comfortable with being in a bed with—with you," Sarah stammered.

He glanced at her, his eyebrow furrowing. "What're you tal—"

A tense feeling nipped at the back of his neck. He glanced through the crack in the curtains and jumped. The eyeball appeared in the window. The pupil frantically glanced around, like it could see through the curtain. It didn't focus on Michael, and he dove to Sarah.

"Please just trust me," he muttered.

Sarah glanced at the window, and Michael could see the gears in her head turn. He grabbed her hand and pulled. She obliged. She went under the covers, and he tucked the covers under her feet. He darted to the other side of the bed and ducked underneath. He covered his feet, laid down, and swiped his hands on the underside edge of the blanket.

"You fully covered?" Michael asked.

"I think so."

"Okay."

Michael nodded. He stared out, not really focusing on anything.

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

Sarah whispered, "What's a Creature of Nightmares?"

"Creatures of Death," Michael corrected. "Powerful, horrifying, horrible monsters that—" he stopped himself.

A weird chill spread throughout the room. Hair stood on end. He wanted to swallow, but his throat seemed stuck in its current state.

"What. Is. That?" Sarah whispered hoarsely. She patted the bed until her hand landed in his and squeezed it.

Michael bit his lip to keep from reacting to the tight clutch. Without moving his head, he locked eyes with her, wide and urgent. Do not move. He squeezed her hand. The feeling lightened, and he whispered, very slow, very low. "When that feeling comes back, don't hold your breath. Breathe as deeply and slowly as you can."

The feeling came back in, like a wave of dread before a storm. He looked at Sarah, who was clearly holding her breath out of instinct. He flailed his nostrils and breathed deeply in. She pursed her lips and forced air into her nose. He mouthed out counting to three, then let the breath out. She did the same. It felt loud, having that much purposeful breathing together under the covers. It felt hot and suffocating under them, but Michael didn't dare move or arch away from her.

The feeling vanished. Sarah relaxed, and Michael had feeling in his hand again. She turned to sit up, but Michael yanked her arm down.

"Wait," he hissed. "It's probably still here, just not looking at us. Where's your sword?"

"On the floor. My side of the bed. Is it sharp enough to do anything? Its skin looks too hard for it to do much."

"How did you—? It looked soft to me," Michael murmured. He shook his head and peaked out.

Sure enough, the monster was still there. It was in the middle of busily investigating her desk, its eye watching all the trinkets and picture frames neatly lined in the cubby shelves connected to it. It lurched and studied the desk's surface, before pushing the chair out of the way and glaring underneath the table.