Page 110 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

And with that, they’re gone.

I drag a kitchen stool close and sit down, laying my head in my arms for a moment. I hear the distant sound of a car starting up—probably the pearl-white Bentley I saw parked in the drive when we arrived in our Pontiac—and wait until there’s only silence.

I’m not hungry.

If anything, I’mpissed.

But just as quickly as the anger comes, it fades away. Exhaustion replaces it, and all I can think about is how much better I’ll feel tomorrow morning. Then I can deal with this. All of this.

As I let myself back into my room, I check my phone. Peggy hasn’t sent a message yet, but her shift only just started. I’m sure I’ll still be awake later—once she messages me on a break, I’ll call her. She’s always got the answer to shit like this.

I get into bed, wincing when the bandage around my thigh shifts, pulling at the gauze. I quickly check to make sure my cut isn’t bleeding—I’m sure these are thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets or something.

My eyes are burning, so I close them. Almost immediately, the hunters in the woods pop up behind my eyelids. The brutal devils taunt me with their perfect sneers. Ghostly echoes of their hands caress my body as I start slipping under.

Remember this. Remember us.

If I hadn’t been so tired, I’d have laughed.

I couldn’t forget them if I tried.

Chapter 6

Nim

I wake up with a start, grainy, stinging eyes lidded as I try to figure out where I am. My phone vibrates again, and I turn sleepily to the nightstand, yelling when I roll onto my wounded thigh. I fumble my phone, sending it to the floor.

“Shit.” I slide reluctantly out of bed and crouch down to scrape my phone out from under the bed. I stare groggily at the screen.

I don’t recognize the area code or the number, and the call ends before I can answer. I’m so tired, I almost climb back into bed and fuck-cares who was trying to get hold of me. But then I remember everything.

I sit bolt upright.

Fuck.

I pick up my phone, glance at the time. It’s two in the morning. My parents must be back by now—the last time they went out, they didn’t make it past midnight.

Grabbing my black silk robe, I throw it around my shoulders as I walk, yawning, out of the guestroom. I stand for a minute in the gloomy hallway. I have no idea which room they’re in,but at least I know her other kids aren’t home, so I won’t be trespassing.

I try the door opposite mine first. From the pink wallpaper and framed paintings of ballerinas on the wall, I’m assuming this is one of Vicky’s daughter’s rooms.

The next one has my parents’ bag in it...but it’s empty.

My stomach somersaults. Why aren’t they home yet? I hurriedly unlock my phone and call Dad’s phone.

Off.

I try Mom next, but it just keeps ringing. I can barely control my shaking fingers as I call back the strange number that dialed me a minute ago.

“Cinderhart Sheriff’s Department, how may I direct your call?” a lady’s sweet voice answers.

Oh my God.

My stomach bottoms out, and ice pours into my limbs.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“H-Hello?” My voice hitches, panicked tears threatening to spill down my face. “I, uh, I just got a call from this number.”

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