Page 39 of Buried Souls
I spin around at the faint voice, my hair blocking my view as the strands wrap themselves around my face.
“Little thieeeeeeeeeeeef...”
My heart hammers, fingers locking up from sheer panic as I remove the strands from my eyes.
A wraith-like creature stares back at me through empty sockets, its skeletal limbs reaching for me as its fish-like tail swings back and forth in the currents.
I scream, bubbles of air escaping my lungs, hands and legs flapping wildly.
“You shouldn’t have returned, little thief,”the raspy voice echoes in my ears, shivers of dread erupting over me as all blood leaves my body. “You shouldn’t have tried to take something that doesn’t belong to you.”
Claw-like fingers wrap around my necklace that’s become a part of me, like a fifth limb, ripping it from around my neck. Ripples of energy explode around us, the intense shock waves pressing down on my chest, compressing my lungs.
“You thought you had escaped me the last time, didn’t you?”Gleeful cackling follows. “Foolish girl, you should have run away with him when you had the chance. I wouldn’t have beenable to follow. You will never leave, now.Your soul—just like the souls of his family— belongs to me.”
I gasp, my throat burning up, lungs screaming for oxygen, pleading for some relief. Water rushes in, filling my mouth and sweeping into my airways.
My limbs turn stiff, mouth gaping open. My eyes are wide, unblinking, locked on the full moon illuminating the ebony lake.
“Sweet dreams, little thief.”
My body sinks, the dark waters swallowing me up.
Until nothing else remains.
Until all turns black.
CHAPTER 18
“Familiar Faces”
Beeping.
Steady. Distant. Cold.
My eyes flutter open to a ceiling too bright, too white. Sterile. The soft hum of fluorescent lights fills the silence above me, and somewhere nearby, a machine clicks like clock marking lost time.
I turn my head.
Pain blooms behind my eyes as if someone’s punched me in the face. The motion feels wrong—like I’m moving a body I’d forgotten how to wear.
A hospital room.
Bland walls. A plastic pitcher of water. A heavy quilt covering my limbs. My right arm is wrapped in gauze. My left hand is bruised, the fingers stiff.
A nurse enters.
No, not a nurse.
Olga.
She freezes when she sees my eyes open.
“My God,” she whispers. “She’s awake.”
Voices follow. The rush of feet. A doctor. A flurry of questions: “Can you hear me? Can you speak? Do you know your name?” All blending into one another, a chorus of noise.
My throat burns, as if I haven’t used my voice in ages. My lips are cracked.
