Page 82 of Stalk the Dark
I made to turn back, but light flared to illuminate the way forward. Light cast by a lantern set on a shelf.
Who’d lit it? Oh…a door. I would have missed it if not for the lantern. Part of me knew investigating the room was dumb, but the other part, the part in the grip of this dreamlike state, couldn’t help but continue, leaving the whispers of caution behind.
Was it locked? I tried the handle, and at first it stuck, but then there was a soft click followed by the door swinging open. The passage beyond was lit by wall sconces burning low.
My boots left footprints on the checked floor, and the air tasted thick and dusty. If there were ghosts that cleaned the castle, then they certainly hadn’t made it to this part of the building. The passage opened onto a circular room. Was this part of a tower? Thick drapes covered the windows to block out the natural light, but candles burned in candelabras on a large oak table.
Who’d lit them?
A shiver danced up my spine, warning me that maybe I shouldn’t be here.
Yes, you can. Yes, you should look.
My feet drew me forward into the chamber where the walls between each window held a portrait in a gilded frame—the golden hue muted by an age of dust.
Closer, look closer.
Yes, who was that in the paintings? I held the lantern up to get a better look. A woman with hair as dark as midnight looked back at me with wide gray eyes, but her face was obscured by a slash of crimson paint, brushed across it in one deep stroke to ruin her visage. The next painting showed another woman with hair like autumn leaves and smiling gray eyes. Butonce again her face was ruined, this time by a crimson cross. The third painting showed a woman in profile, and this time her eyes were painted out and her mouth left exposed—full lips lifting in an almost smile.
Six paintings, each of different women with the same eyes.
Do you see? Can you see?
Wicked laughter echoed around me. What was that? Who was here with me?
I turned in a slow circle, lantern held aloft to light up the shadowy fringes of the room.
Not long now.
Not long at all.
Do it now. Show us. Show it to us.
What the?—
Spectral fingers plucked at my hair and pinched my arm, my cheek. “Get off!” I slapped at the air and made a dash for the exit.
The door slammed, and the lock engaged with a click.
Terror pooled in my belly, ice and sleet rushing through my veins. I turned to the room, chest heaving as I focused on controlling my terror. “Open the fucking door. Now!”
A gust of air blew around me, lifting my hair and scraping icy talons across my cheek.
Show us. Let it out.
We want to taste it.
Feel it.
The voices surrounded me, too loud. Desperate. A ball of anger grew spikes inside me, pricking at my senses.
Yes, there…give it to us. We yearn for it.
And suddenly it was impossible to breathe past the tightness in my chest, past the burgeoning rage that made my ears burn and my eyes water. I wanted to hurt someone. To smash and burn. To kill.
I wanted to kill.
Do it. Make him pay. Make him suffer.
