Page 19 of The Hellkeeper

It’s empty. He’s gone.

Good.

Maybe he got bored. Maybe it’s another girl’s turn for him to torment.

I push to my feet and begin to pace. Should I tell Margaret? What would I even say?

"Hey, Margaret! Remember how I told you I ran away because my village wanted to sacrifice me? Yeah, well, now I’m saying there’s a man sleeping under my bed and cutting off human tongues for me. Crazy, right?"

Yeah. No.

She’d pat my shoulder, give me a tight smile, and immediately call the cops. And when they showed up and found nothing? They’d assume I was a lunatic. Maybe even send me backthere.

I turn off my brain and move on autopilot. I take a shower and go through the motions; pretending like it’s just another normal day. But as I clean the restaurant, my mind doesn't stop terrorising me. Is this a curse? Did leaving that place doom me to something worse?

…Or—and this is an incredibly stupid thought, one I refuse to acknowledge as anything other than sheer exhaustion—could the Hellkeeper take the shape of a man? Could he be tricking me?

God. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t even know if I believe in the village’s curse or the Hellkeeper.

All I know is that I’m confused.

And homesick. Even though my village sucked, it was still home. The only one I’ve ever known. I miss my mother. I miss the peonies that infiltrated that village.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Margaret sing-songs with a bright smile.

“Morning.”

We fall into our usual easy rhythm. The familiar routine is oddly comforting, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Breakfast options today?” I ask as I scribble on the menu board.

Margaret hums in thought. “Let’s keep it simple. Pancakes with butter, avocado toast, or the special, French toast.”

“Sounds good.”

There’s still this nagging worry in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I blurt, “Can I ask you something weird?”

Margaret pauses mid-step. “Always.”

I grip the rag in my hands a little tighter. “Do you think the curse, the one my village believes in, is real?”

Margaret turns fully, her brows lifting. “The Hellkeeper?”

My body locks up, but I nod.

“No, sweetheart. That nonsense isn’t real.” She laughs like the whole thing is a big, stupid joke.

Even though it’s just her opinion, it makes me feel better somehow.

“So,” I say, swallowing, “you don’t think my life is going to be cursed because I ran away? Or that some… thing is after me?”

Margaret pats my back, warm and reassuring. “I promise that won’t happen.”

I let out a breath, nodding. “Thanks.”

“What brought this up?”

How do I explain that I woke up terrified out of my mind, convinced a monster was hiding under my bed?

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