Page 1 of Snatched By the Sandman

Chapter 1

I’m playing some twisted game of hide-and-seek.

ZENYA

“Comatose” by Skillet

“Get Out Alive” by Three Days Grace

Leave it to me to fall off a mountain straight into another dimension where people without faces are hunting me.

For now, I’m just calling this Goth Wonderland. And I honestly don’t know if I want to go home or go deeper. Especially when home is kind of…everywhere for me.

All I know is I don’t want those things eating me.

I’ve never shied away from the dark nature of the world. Not when that dark nature is in my blood. This is probably taking it too far—but what a rush!

At least Wonderland didn’t steal my tattoos. After all the money I’ve spent to decorate my body, I’d hate to start a supernatural small claims court.

Heart ricocheting in my chest, I toss my dark purple waves over my shoulder and pick up the luxurious skirts of the gothic white corset gown I found myself wearing when I arrived. I’d say it’s out of place against the backdrop of twisted shadows and ethereal mists. But it could be my subconscious projecting last night’s gothic tragic romance film.

The left side of my body taunts me with its dark ink of skulls, swords, and dead flowers, telling me I’d always end up here. The right side, like the angel on my other shoulder, comforts me with pretty purple fairies, stitched pink hearts, and silver stars.

Adrenaline thrills my blood—from fear and lethal curiosity.

These faceless beings herd me like a morbid, twisted gang, their mouths open in a voiceless perma-scream. Like symbolic echoes of my past when I spent my life with someone who wore a thousand faces. None were ever real.

I stagger through the murky haze of this realm that can only be described as ominous but in this dark, tragic way. Like I’ve stepped into a vintage black-and-white photograph. Or a realm where everyone is silhouetted with a small moon glowing behind them.

Terror rips through my blood at the thought of these wraith-like figures touching me. For all I know, they could turn me faceless, too—forcibly transforming me into them.

In the distance, a malevolent fortress looms like a dark guardian, its sinister iridescence pulsating against the blackened sky.

Against the backdrop of this dark, fathomless landscape, and the ground seeming to shift with every passing moment, it’s the only potential hiding place. My bare feet sigh on the soft, gray moss, cloaked in cool mist before pain howls into my arches from a jagged rock cutting into the skin.

Surrealism distorts my surroundings.

Drawn towards that castle, I quicken my pace, my hands clutching the folds of the gown. The air thickens with the malice of these stalkers hunting me. Their icy breath curls so close like claws scraping the back of my neck until chills shiver up my spine.

Hope and desperation war in my chest as the fortress seems close enough to touch one second before betraying me like an untouchable mirage.

A wave of iciness sweeps across my back, and I press my lips together, resisting the urge to turn my head.

Close your eyes, Zenya. And never look back.The familiar deep voice thunders in my mind, followed by the memory of lips touching my brow and the scent of decay and blood lingering in my bedroom.

When my body collides with hard stone, agony knifes through my chest. A cry tears from my throat, but I stumble without falling and lurch forward…right into the heart of a desolate cemetery.

Of course, I’m playing some twisted game of hide-and-seek.

The atmosphere grows colder, and my tattered breath ghosts into the air. More faceless hunters appear on each side of me, prowling ever closer.

With crypts surrounding me like a labyrinth, restricting my view, I hold onto the vision of that fortress, only hoping there is a way through this gravestone maze.

Part of the dress snags on the finial of a small iron gate wrapping around a grave, ripping half of it away until it flies away like a bridal veil on the wind.

A shift in the wind signals more phantoms lurking closer. And I’d swear fingers creep along the ends of my hair. Violent emotions devour me, ones I have always tried to avoid, ones I’ve substituted for mad thrills.

Rounding the corner of another crypt, I crash right into a figure—towering over me, reducing my average height to a waif-like state. So dark and imposing dressed in a long black robe with a hood—like a specter making me wonder if he’s with the faceless ones. My breaths stagger.

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