The Undoer by Melissa J. Cunningham

Author:Melissa J. Cunningham [Cunningham, Melissa J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Clean Teen Publishing
Published: 2016-05-09T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-four

Dean

Lost and confused, I sit in the dark, my head in my hands. I don’t even try to understand my situation. There are no lights on in the hall outside my cell door, and the demons certainly didn’t give me anything like a candle. What I wouldn’t give for a smidgen of light. I can’t even see my freaking hand in front of my face.

For the millionth time, I stumble to the door, press my face against the window hole, and yell for help, for light, for a voice in the dark, for stimulation of any kind. There is no answer and I wonder if they have forgotten me down here. I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours, so maybe they are trying to kill me by default.

I mean, what do they care? I’m a nobody now that they know I can’t be possessed. I don’t know what keeps them from latching on inside me, but I heard someone sneer the word inviolable as I was dragged out of that farce of a party. Three other demons tried their hand at me, and none could possess me. Coem had looked at me like an impossible puzzle he’s determined to figure out.

I take that moment to scream through the door again, banging my head against the rough wood in helplessness. Why am I even wasting my breath? I’m hungry, dirty, and only have the corner of my cell to use as a toilet. They don’t even given me a bucket. It reeks in here, and so do I.

And then…

A light begins to glow far down the hall, bright enough that my hungry eyes search pathetically for the source. I wait, my breath rasping in excited hitches. “Help!” I scream again, hoarse from lack of water. Again, I lean my head against the door, tears forming at the edges of my eyes. “Please,” I whisper. “Please, help me.”

“I will help you,” a voice says happily from the other side.

My head jerks back at the sudden utterance. In the dim light, my eyes struggle to focus. Just outside my door stands a girl. A child really, with red, curly hair, and her eyes… her bright blue eyes… they are so easy to see. They practically glow. She’s about seven years old, but rather than relief at finally having someone to talk to, a dark terror grows inside me. This isn’t a normal little girl. Not with those alien eyes and that piercing voice.

I back away from the door until my legs hit the cot.

“Can you come out and play with me?” Her voice rises to a whine—a clarion bell of pleading—the sound of a spoiled, lonely child with no friends.

I can’t see her, but each time she calls out, a sickening chill prickles my spine. Crawling onto my cot, I push myself all the way to the wall until I’m practically part of the plaster. I squish my eyes shut and cover my ears.

“She’s not real, she’s not real, she’s not real,” I whisper, over and over.

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