Page 27 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

With one last sniffle, I wipe my face again, forgetting my hands are covered in soot and other things. I've likely coated my wet cheeks with the gross concoction that covers my hands, but I don’t have it in me to care right now. I climb to my feet and slowly make my way to the house, my brain finally switching back on the closer I get. I need to call someone. I need help.

Walking into the house, I make sure to avert my eyes in order to avoid the scene of the men on the floor and the ruined interior of my once cute house. I head up the stairs, mindlessly walking until I reach my bedside table where my phone lies.

Scrolling through my cell, I look for anyone I can call. Now four in the morning, I can't imagine anyone will be awake, but I try Adam first. Hoping he picks up despite the time, I wait as the line rings, only for crushing disappointment to draw a whimper from my mouth when the line goes to voicemail. I try once more to no avail.

I scroll some more, finding Cassie's name, but immediately shake my head. The kids are both likely in bed. Molly is only just getting better after being sick. What kind of person would I be if I dragged them into this mess I don't even understand right now? No, Cass isn’t an option.

My mother isn't answering her cell even after trying three times, and the two guys that gave me their numbers are complete strangers that will think I'm entirely insane if I call them and tell them about... I don't even know because I don't know what the hell has happened. Hopelessness weighs heavily on me, worry pummeling my brain like its own personal punching bag. What do I do?

Clutching my cell tightly in my palm, I leave my bedroom, my body still shivering, sore, and aching. I carefully step down the stairs, trying to keep my movements steady, only for them to falter when my eyes catch sight of a broken picture frame. That only sets off a chain reaction, and I end up taking in the destruction once more.

A heavy pressure forms in my chest as my eyes scan everywhere before they fall on the dead men, my eyes widening when I take them in. They didn’t look like that before I ran out of the house to vomit… did they?

All four men have begun to rapidly decay, their skin changing from a pale sickly color to a pasty gray. It's as though all the remaining life within their bodies has begun to flow from them, wrinkling their skin until it barely hangs on to their bones. Before my very eyes, they turn into nothing but literal skin and bone, their clothes hanging off their now extremely thin frames.

I stumble back, scared to take my eyes off them. My phone clatters to the floor when my hand accidentally loosens in my haste to move as far away as I can.

"Looks like you have a problem there," comes a voice fromrightbehind me.

A scream breaks from my vocal cords just as I practically jump out of my fuming skin, twisting around and almost landing on the floor in a heap of overwhelmed emotions. When I right myself again, my eyes meet a set of gray ones that look awfully similar to mine. The man before me doesn't look very old, maybe in his mid-forties with a black and graying beard that's been neatly trimmed. His hair is the same, streaks of gray running through otherwise black locks of artfully styled strands. His face is free of wrinkles, his pale skin as unblemished as mine. He looks like an ordinary man, though there's something about him that tells me otherwise. This man isn’t human, and I believe as much after witnessing actual bodies turning into dusty husks in my own fucking home.

A dangerous aura surrounds him, menace whirling like it's a part of his being. What’s completely out of sorts is how comforting the feeling is, like it's something I know and am used to. That feeling alone causes me to take a step back, knocking over the already broken entry table and bumping into the wall behind it.

"Now, now, little one. There's no need to look so frightened. I won't hurt you," he says, his voice raspy and aged.

I shake my head, moving along the wall and away from the stranger that doesn’t really feel like much of a stranger. Of course I'm frightened. I'm scared out of my fucking mind right now. I went to sleep and woke up in the early hours of the morning to find my house in a worse state than it had been before going to bed. There are four dead bodies littering my hallway, and I have no idea howanyof this happened. Then I watched them wither away until they were just shy of turning to dust. To top it all off, now I get a weirdly familiar visitor who just pops up out of nowhere and witnesses everything. Not to mention my charred clothing, my body feeling like one giant bruise, and the big fucking gap in my memory as to how I got from my bedroom to the destroyed hallway. A different person would have checked out already, and even I'm barely hanging onto my sanity while I try not to let my fear consume me. Sure, the stranger says he won't hurt me, but I'm not naïve enough to think he's telling the truth despite the persistent feeling in my chest. The darkness that surrounds him, the danger that pulsates from his very skin, makes me believe he's not one to tell the truth, but there’s something in me that says that may not be entirely true. That only notches my fear that much higher because this shit should be impossible.

Moving back, slower this time but no less deliberately, I slide along the wall, keeping the stranger in my sights.

"Why are you alone, little one?" he asks, something akin to concern warping his words a little. He has a slight accent, though I can’t really pin down exactly what it is. The concern sounds as genuine as the lilt in his accent. That can't be right, can it? Honestly, I don't even know anymore. Maybe this is all an incredibly bad dream and I'm still in bed, tossing and turning while my mind conjures up all of this crazy. Maybe, just maybe, none of this is real, even if it feels very much so. "Will you answer me?"

Shaking my head quickly, I take another step back, bumping into something that I don't care to look at since that would mean taking my eyes off ofhim.

"I swear I won't hurt you. I only need to know if you're alone," his raspy voice tells me, calm and steady. It’s disarming and enough to calm me down a little. Not enough to get any closer, because I’m notthatstupid, but my body is calming against my common’s senses desires. His gray eyes hold a kindness that surprises me, his posture relaxed and inviting. He doesn’t seem to want to hurt me, and it feels authentic enough that I relax a little more. Only, relaxing brings back the distraught emotions I’d been feeling before.

"Answer me, little one," he commands with a stern voice that is equally as gentle.

A tingling feeling tickles the back of my head, and I find myself whispering, "I'm alone."

His gaze darts to the men on the ground and back to where I stand motionlessly. It almost looks like his eyes grow darker, black seeping into them. They appear to look saddened and desperate to help, but when he blinks, they go back to the gray IknowI've seen before. What the fuck?

Nodding, he takes a step back. He makes to turn and walk away, but before he takes another step, he turns his head and softly says, "Answer your phone, Willow."

I find myself nodding, the tingle at the back of my head growing before it disappears entirely. Blinking, I shake my head, bringing my soot-covered hand up to rub against the back of my neck. I look around quickly, eyes darting back to the door. Sputtering, I eat up the distance between me and the doorway, finding it completely empty. Where the stranger once stood now holds nothing at all.

It's then that I register my cell phone ringing on the floor where I’d dropped it. I dart toward it, turning the screen to face me, and find Bishop calling. For a moment, I blink stupidly at my cell, wondering why the hell he's calling at this hour.

With a shaky hand, I swipe the answer button and put the phone to my ear. I don't say a thing, though my breathing is off kilter and coming too quickly. My palms grow sweaty, and I feel my heart thundering in my chest, suddenly becoming light-headed with all the stress on my mind and body. I haven't had a panic attack in years. Of course I'd get one just as I answer the phone.

"Willow? Willow, is that you?" Bishop asks, the alarm in his voice impossible to miss. I can't answer, the panic attack choking me with a force I've never suffered before.

My hands begin to shake so hard that the phone once again falls, and I slowly slide my back down the wall until my ass lands on the floor, my breathing labored and incredibly strained. Slowly, my vision begins to change, an unusual red filter covering everything around me. What the fuck? What's going on? What the hell is happening to me?

I cry out, scared and confused, feeling so out of control that the powerlessness that has embedded itself within me grows to unbearable feats. This is no normal panic attack. I know it’s not. I’d suffered enough of them when I was a kid to know that with startling clarity.

My mind grows hazy, the air catching in my throat when I try to inhale a steady breath, and my hearing fades in and out. I can vaguely hear someone shouting my name every now and then. It all seems so distant, like I'm not really here and the voice is coming from someplace in my mind. The aches in my body begin to fade, replaced by a warmth that feels comforting. I know that feeling. I’ve felt it before, but I just don’t know when. I focus on that instead of the madness my life has turned into tonight, feeling the heat swell and grow hotter and hotter until it’s like I'm suffering a fever without the awful side effects.

I roll onto my back, my hazy eyes staring at the burnt ceiling without really seeing it. Everything around me becomes blurred, like the edges of a dream that isn't quite manifesting properly. Once again, I hear a male voice shouting my name, but I'm lost to the sensations that war in my body, the panic slowly fading and making way for... something else. Something I’m pretty sure I’m remembering feeling once tonight already.

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