Page 2 of Sweet Nightmare

But the moment my fingers touch the lock, a huge clap of thunder rumbles across the sky.

Shit, shit, shit.

Hundreds of heads lift at the same exact time—and every single one of them turns straight toward me. Eyes narrow. Teeth flash. Growls echo off the rough stone walls.

And just like that, I’m totally fucked.

Nails skitter across the floor as they race toward me as one.

Fuck slow and steady. I whirl around and dive for the door just as the first wave reaches me.

Nails rake down my calves as I fumble for the door. I shake off the first few then gasp as teeth tear into my thigh and hip. Reaching down with one hand, I rip several more of the little bastards off of me.

But one enterprising chrickler manages to hang tight as it climbs up my back. It’s got long, pointy teeth that scrape a gash across my shoulder while its longer, even pointier claws drag straight down my right biceps as it tries to hang on. I muffle a yelp as fresh blood—my blood—hits the toe of my battered but beloved Adidas Gazelles, but I don’t bother trying to pull it off a second time. Freedom is right here. I just have to reach out and take it…and avoid getting swarmed yet again while I do. I flounder around trying to flip the iron latch. The lever is ancient and likes to jam—but I’ve done this enough to know all the tricks. I push the left side in, jimmy the right side up, and pull as hard as I can. The latch gives way just as another chrickler—or maybe the same one, who can tell at this point—bites down hard on my ankle. To shake it off, I kick straight back as hard as I can and wildly thrash my leg around while simultaneously yanking on the door, also as hard as I can. It’s heavy and my shoulder is throbbing, but I ignore the pain as the door finally moves. I rip the last chrickler off my shoulder and dive through an opening barely wider than my hips before slamming the door close behind me.

To make sure nothing follows me out—chricklers are sneaky like that—I throw my back against the old wood as hard as I can. Just as I do, my best friend, Luis, saunters into the dim light of the basement hallway. “Looking for something?” He holds up my first aid kit, then stops short as he finally gets a good look at me. “Damn, Clementine. Has anyone ever told you that you really know how to make an entrance?”

“Don’t you mean an exit?” I rasp, ignoring the horrified look on his face. “The incoming storm must have riled up the chricklers more than usual today.”

“‘Riled up’? Is that what you want to call it?” he shoots back but is nearly drowned out by a loud, animalistic crying coming from behind the door. “What is that godawful noise?”

“I don’t know.” I glance around, but I don’t see anything. Then again, this entire hallway is lit up by exactly one sad, bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, so it’s not like I’ve got a fantastic view. Like the rest of this school, darkness is definitely the basement’s friend.

But the crying is definitely getting louder…and now I can tell it’s coming from inside the pen.

“Oh, shit.” As I slide the last lock into place, I see a small chrickler paw caught between the door and the frame.

Luis follows my stare. “Fuck, no. Clementine, don’t even think about it!”

I know he’s right, but— “I can’t just leave the poor thing like that.”

“That ‘poor thing’ just tried to eat your entrails!” he shoots back.

“I know! Believe me, I know!” Considering how many parts of my body are currently throbbing, it would be impossible for me to forget about it.

He rolls his silver wolf eyes so hard I’m a little surprised they don’t actually disappear into his skull.

By now the crying has turned into muffled little yelps and I can’t just leave the thing like that, monster or not. “I have to open the door, Luis.”

“Damn it, Clementine!” But even as he says it, he’s moving behind me to back me up. “I want the record to state that I oppose this decision.”

“The record shall so reflect,” I tell him as I take a deep breath and reluctantly flip open the lock I just closed. “Here goes nothing.”

CHAPTER TWO

AT YOUR BECK

AND CALDER

“Keep your hand on the door!” Luis urges as he leans over my shoulder to micromanage, something he tries to do in so many areas of my life.

“I’m planning on it,” I answer, wrapping one hand around the handle and bracing the second one directly above it so I can push the door shut as soon as the chrickler’s paw slips free.

I pull what I’m hoping is just hard enough, and the second the paw slips back through the opening, I throw all my weight behind the door and slam it shut again as hard as I can. By some miracle, I actually manage not to create a new disaster.

A chorus of outraged yowls arises from the enclosure, but nothing escapes.

I’m safe…at least until the next time.

---