Page 220 of Heart So Hollow

I can’t move. My muscles strain and my heart beats faster the harder I try to lift my arms and flex my core. I’m trying to jump up, scramble out of bed, run away as fast as I can, but I’m frozen in place. My jaw tenses as I try to open my mouth and scream, but my lips stay shut. My eyes are the only part of my body I can move, darting back and forth in panic.

My eyes are open. Why can’t I move?

I recognize his face, fixed in a blank stare. He looks the exact same as the last time I saw him, except now he’s dressed in black camo pants and a black t-shirt.

Hunting…

Finally, he moves and reaches for the door handle. My heart seizes, and to my utter horror, the glass door slides open.

I hate sliding glass doors. This house was built before I had any say in the matter, but I should’ve insisted. I should’ve insisted on closing it up. Sliding glass doors are weak points, too easy to gain access.

He moves slowly and methodically, stepping inside the room, sliding the door closed, and flipping the lock shut behind him.

Why wasn’t it already locked? I always keep it locked.

All I can do is blink. And when I do, his shape changes, only for a split-second. He’s not a man, he’s a horror, a tall demon covered in black fur, with pointy ears and claws that sprout from his massive hands. He has a long snout, white teeth with long fangs, and his mouth fixed in a snarl. It’s only a flash in my mind’s eye, and then he returns to his human form with smooth skin, full lips, and piercing black eyes.

He strolls toward me, coming to a halt at the end of the bed. I still can’t move, paralyzed as he takes hold of the blanket and sheet and begins pulling them down my body, making my skin crawl as the cotton brushes against me.

As if in a trance, he drops them on the floor and then sinks a knee onto the mattress. My chest aches with each pound of my heartbeat as he begins crawling up the bed, over my body. I feel his clothes, I hear him breathing. I try to stiffen my muscles, but he nudges my knees apart with his like they’re dead weight.

Hovering over me, he reaches up and runs a hand up my stomach, pushing my shirt up to my chest. I cringe, but my muscles are still frozen. My lungs heave and there should be sound coming from my mouth, but there’s not. He splays his hand out on my stomach and begins to slowly run his palm over the firm curve of my bump. Nausea roils through me.

Don’t touch me…just leave…get out…you’re the wrong one…

His lip trembles and they part a little more with each labored breath, until I can see into his mouth, his teeth clenched while his eyes remain fixed on my stomach. Finally, he runs his hand along the underside of the curve, dragging his thumb in a wavy trail across my skin. Then he retracts his hand and raises up on his knees. Staring down at me with a macabre mixture of hatred and desire, he begins unbuckling his belt in smooth, fluid movements.

No…no, no, no, no…

I can’t even close my eyes and wait for the nightmare to end. Instead, I have to watch him destroy me again, grind me into dust under his muddy boot. All I can do is decide where to fix my eyes, which is on his face because I don’t want to see what’s happening anywhere else.

Where are you? Maybe he’ll come back. This time, the right one will come back…and he’ll kill him.

He jerks my sleep shorts and underwear out from under me, my limp legs flopping back down as he throws them to the side. I recognize the smell of his clothes and the sound of his breathing and the sting of his hand as he grabs my thighs.

Stop…stop…stop…

He plants one hand next to my shoulder and glares down at me. When he finally speaks, it’s only three words.

“Say my name.”

Even if I could move, even if I could speak, I’ll never do anything he says ever again. But something in his eyes tells me he already knows that. There’s a pause, and then his mouth twists beneath his dead eyes.

No—

His hips slam into me and every cell in my body screams. The adrenaline crashes through me like ice water as my brain tries to block out what’s happening. My lungs are on fire and my stomach turns with every jolt to my core.

Despite the onslaught, I see him reach behind his back and pulls something out of his pocket. When he brings his hand back around, I hear the click and see the flash of the blade. But I still can’t scream. My mind is a hurricane, flashes of lightning behind my eyes incinerating any cohesive thoughts.

Gripping it with white knuckles, he brings the Buck knife to his ribcage, letting his fist rock back and forth with his hips. I don’t feel anything, all I can see is the knife, fixed against his torso.

He leans down, his mouth brushing my ear, “I’ve been waiting for you,” he murmurs, before pulling away.

He jerks his arm back and then thrusts it forward, sinking the knife into my stomach.

But before I can feel the blade slice through my abdomen, I wake up.

It’s a nightmare, but not like the others I’ve had up until now. I don’t wake up screaming or crying like before. I should have, but this time, it’s different. I wake up with a start, but I’m still. Alert, but calm. No blood, no carnage, everything is as it should be. But I’m still left with an unsettled feeling.

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