Fatal Vows

Chapter 6

I run across the beach, the sun streaming down through a mysterious fog. The beach extends for miles, infinite.

I risk a look back to see the woman, dagger in hand, eyes hysterical. A horrifying grin curves up her blood-splattered face.

"Come here, darling!" she sneers, "You must pay for your crimes, dear." Her dark hair is tangled and matted. She runs in her torn wedding dress, kicking up sand. I continue to run, my heart racing.

I bump into the man in black, making me fall to the sandy ground. The mask hides his face, but I see a glint of his teeth as he shoots an evil smile. I'm shoved forward, the man disintegrating before my eyes.

I attempt to crawl back but am frozen in place as I meet the fiery eyes of Esther King.

"You must pay!" she seethes with a cackle and she raises her knife to strike.

I wake in a cold sweat, my body shaking, water dripping down my shirt, gulping down raspy breaths, the image of Esther still glued in my brain. I glance at the dim digital clock on the table. 

Four twenty-two. I lay back on the bed's backboard.

With a small gasp, I reach for my locket. I sigh in relief. No blood.

I feel an odd sting on my arm, remembering the cuts from the forest growth. I bring my hand up to the moonlight and cover my mouth at the sight. Cut into my arm in thick, bloody letters is a single word.

You.

I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing the madness of this trip, wanting it all to just end.

What if this place really is haunted?

"No," I whisper aloud, my throat dry. It may be cold-blooded murder, but the signs lead to something more logical than ghosts. Who would do something like this, and why target me?

Questions buzz in my head. I shove my thoughts aside and sneak into the bathroom, conscious of the creaky floorboards, eerily reminiscent of those of the hut from earlier. I run a gentle stream of water from the sink and place my arm below the faucet, rubbing the dried blood away from the odd cuts. The only person who'd be able to do that without breaking in would be my mom.

I shake the image from my head. She wouldn't. Couldn't. Still, I know it's the only reasonable explanation.

I wipe the remaining rust-colored water from my arm, staring at the pink lines, blood seeping through in some places, my mind humming in confusion.

I wearily walk to bed for the second time, wiping the small drops of blood off with my thumb. I grab my sweatshirt and slip my arms inside the velvety cotton, shielding the cuts from my mom's wandering eyes, welcoming the soft feel of the comforter on my wavering body. I bundle myself in tightly, falling asleep almost instantly.

I drearily open my eyes to see my mom sitting next to me on my bed. Her brown hair cascades down her shoulders, her highlights shining in the morning sun.

"Were you cold last night?" she asks, brows furrowed.

I tug the sleeves lower on my arms. "I guess."

She nods, taking in an unsteady breath, "The police want to talk to you." She brushes a strand of hair from my face, flashing a pained smile. "Whenever you're ready, sweetie."