Page 18 of The Nightmare's Kiss

And it forms a mouth—a mouth with full lips and a hint of sharp teeth behind them. Prominent cheekbones and long lashes…

More and more like the figure that appeared in my dream.

I blush, remembering how alluring I found the figure then, and still do, if I’m being honest. It also makes me wonder, for one mad moment, if that means the dream wasreal?

But I dismiss it quickly. That’s impossible. And yes, this whole situation and the Nightmare’s very existence are impossible, but the idea of something infiltrating my dreams is a whole other realm of unreality. Plus, surely, if this subject could enter my dreams, Dr. Wright and the other higher-ups would know. It’s not that I have immense trust in Dr. Wright, but…someonewould’ve warned me. Right? It’d be dangerous not to. And it would affect my work.

…Unless they don’t care. I’m just an expendable employee to them. Or maybe they don’t even know what the Nightmare is fully capable of. A chill creeps up my spine as I remember all the conspiracy theories about disappearances in town. They don’t seem so ridiculous now that I know they’re working with actual monsters here. Maybe some subjects have escaped over the years…or maybe the disappearances have been employees.

But no. Nope. Not gonna let myself get paranoid. There is nowaythis creature can actually affect my dreams. The more logical explanation is that I must’ve seen the Nightmare form this face before, during one of its other transformations, and my subconscious ran with it in my dream.

I nod to myself, reassured by the logic. The Nightmare mirrors the motion, nodding back, and I suppress a laugh.

“Think you’re funny, do you?” I mutter to myself. Humor is another sign of intelligence…but of course, I can’t get ahead of myself. I still have no evidence of that. The ability tomimicdoes not equal intelligence. Birds and apes love to imitate human speech and behavior. It’s fascinating, but it doesn’tmeananything. Yet.

I tap my pen against my palm, thinking. “How do I get you to talk…” Writing was a bust, and even now that the subject has formed a mouth, it still isn’t speaking, so I have to think of something else to try.

My eyes focus on its long, clawed fingers. They seem close to humanoid, and dexterous, with opposable thumbs. Sign language might be possible. I only have a grasp of the basics of it, but it’s a place to start.

After racking my brain to dredge up some of the words I learned in high school, I step up to the glass barrier and carefully move my hands through the motions forhello,yes,no, andplease. I speak the words along with each one. The subject mirrors each one precisely, picking up the motions with surprising speed. It both excites and frightens me to think about how intelligent the being I’m dealing with may be. Even if it’s not human-level sentience, if the thing is as smart as a dog or an ape, then it deserves better treatment and far more stimulus than the Facility is giving it.

Once it’s mastered the basic words of sign language, I start on the alphabet. I spell my own name out—just M - A - R - A for simplicity—and gesture at myself.

But I can’t get the subject to do anything other than imitate me. After several tries, I remember that I still have to finish my instructions for the day and give up for now. I wave goodbye to the subject, resume my seat, and turn the opaqueness on the barrier back up so I can focus on my basic duties.

The Nightmare does not seem pleased about this. It paces back and forth in front of the barrier and refuses to respond to any of the usual stimuli as I run through them. When I press the button for a sound stimulus, its form comes apart—wisps of darkness at its edges going brittle and spiky in a way that feelsangry—and then, amazingly, it lifts a hand and signsno.

I blink. Hit the sound again. Again its hand moves, the gesture angrier this time.No.

“It can’t bethatsmart,” I mutter to myself. “It’s just…imitating…”

Still, I can’t bring myself to continue with those repetitive instructions. Instead, against my better judgment, I set the envelope aside and hit the button to bring down the barrier again.

The Nightmare straightens.

Yes, it signs at me, and then:Hello, Mara.

And its lips pull back to reveal a smile full of sharp, sharp teeth.

12

Chapter Twelve

I’m surprised how easy it is to get Dr. Wright to agree to meet with me. And more surprised that she asks if I’m okay with meeting up outside of work hours. I’m sure she’s very busy, and it’s true I only had an informal meeting in mind, so I agree… But part of me wonders if there’s another motive to this. I know the Facility is decked out in cameras. Is it possible she doesn’t want someone there to overhear this? Does she suspect what I’m about to tell her? Is there someone there she doesn’t trust?

I don’t really trusther, if I’m being honest. But she’s the best point of contact I have at the Facility. I’m definitely not talking to Ethan about this, and I get the feeling Ezra doesn’t have much more power there than I do, so Dr. Wright it is. She invites me for breakfast at her place tomorrow morning. Eight a.m. is hideously early for a Saturday, but that’s beside the point right now.

Suddenly, I am unsure of myself. Of the lack of evidence I’ve gathered. I have nothing but my memory and my words to back me up. Will it be enough?

It has to be. I know I saw what I saw, and that the Nightmare is more intelligent than the people at the Facility seem to understand. Even if she doesn’t believe me right away, if I raise the flag on this, ithasto be enough for Dr. Wright to take a closer look. Hopefully that won’t mean taking me off the project… But if it does, I’ll have to accept it. This isn’t about me. This is about subject X-13. If I’m right, the Nightmare is being grossly mistreated.

And Iamright. I have to keep believing that. I may not have much in the way of hard evidence, because I can’t carry any notes or videos out of the facility, but I know what I’ve seen and I know that it’s gone beyond the boundaries of pure imitation. The subjectiscommunicating with me, and it’s learning at a rate that implies a high level of intelligence. Now, I just have to find a way to convince Wright.

Of course, after tossing and turning for hours, I fall asleep only to have another damn dream about the Nightmare. I curl up in bed and screw my eyes shut, ignoring the constant, looming presence of the humanoid shadow in the corner.

“Yes, subconscious, Igetit,” I mutter to myself, wishing I could dream about something—anything—else. But this is what I get for obsessing over my upcoming conversation before bed, I guess.

Work is already consuming my days, leaving me exhausted and deprived of human contact… Now, it’s following me into my dreams too.

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