Page 1 of When Death Whispers

Prologue

P A R K E R.

A growly voicerips through my dreams, making me sit straight up in bed. The shadows on my walls are wiggling—twisting and squirming like worms in dirt—and I blink real hard, hoping they’ll stop. But they don’t.

My unicorn night light is still glowing beside my bed, its soft purple shine barely reaching past my pillow. It’s not enough. Everything else is dark. Too dark.

I don’t like the dark.

I rub my eyes with my fists and look around my room. Everything’s where I left it. Mr. Snuggles and Dolly are still sitting at their tea party with tiny cups and pink plates. My princess dress is hanging on the hook by the door, waiting for tomorrow. And the closet door is closed. Daddy always makes sure it’s closed.

Because that’s where the monster lives.

And monsters can’t come out if the door stays shut.

P A R K E R.

The voice comes again, quieter now, almost like Daddy’s when he’s telling me a bedtime story. But something’s wrong. It’s not soft in the right way. It’s thick and sticky like sunscreen. And Daddy never calls me Parker. He always calls me hischickpea.Only Daddy gets to call me that.

“D-Daddy?” I whisper, my voice tiny and wobbly.

No answer.

Maybe… maybe he didn’t hear me. Maybe I should go find him. He always knows what to do.

I kick off my blankets and shiver when my toes touch the cold floor. My unicorn nightie is warm, but it’s short, and my bare legs feel like ice. I tiptoe to my bedroom door and crack it open, peeking into the hallway.

It’s dark. The kind of dark that makes you run back to your bed and hide under the covers. No light from the kitchen. No TV sounds from the living room.

No Daddy.

“Daddy?” I try again, barely louder than a breath.

Still nothing.

Then—a soft creak behind me.

My heart jumps like when Daddy chases me pretending to be a dinosaur monster. Only this isn’t pretend. I spin around fast, staring at my room. Nothing’s moved. Mr. Snuggles and Dolly haven’t spilled the tea. But the closet…

The closet door is open.

Just a little bit.

A crack.

Oh no. Oh no no no. The monster.

I take a step back toward the hallway, my fingers tightening on the doorknob. “Daddy!” I yell, my voice cracking. He always does the go-away-monster dance before bed to keep me safe. It works. It’s supposed to work. Maybe it didn’t this time.

The closet creaks again. The door opens wider, slowly—like it’s trying to be sneaky.

My belly flips and twists like when I spin too many times on the playground. I stumble backward and start whispering the special song Daddy made up just for me—our monster-fighting song. He says monsters don’t like it. That they get scared and run away.

“Monster go, you can’t stay,

Daddy danced the fear away.

Closet’s closed, the light is on,

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