Page 137 of Endless Terrors
His cock still had my saliva on it, and my sex was wet—he slid in effortlessly, his entire length filling my insides in an instant. I groaned, and Oliver swore.
“Fuck,” I exhaled, dragging the word out. Oliver crossed my wrists over my head, and his other hand held my leg in place. As he began to move, he bent and kissed me again, releasing his hold. My nails dragged down his back and I was moaning, breathing Oliver’s name against his mouth. We moved in perfect unison, as if we’d connected mind-to-mind. I was lost in him, consumed by the heat and light spreading through my entire body. He was part of me, pounding into me, and he still didn’t feel close enough. I wanted more, harder, deeper. As if Oliver heard the thought, or sensed the need in my moans, he obliged. His grip on me tightened and he shifted, then thrusted again, getting so deep that I nearly came.
Then I felt it.
Our souls met, tangled together, and burned. A connection forged, and it felt like magic. Real magic.
Oliver’s subconscious sizzled through me and melded with mine. I saw an image of myself. Seven years old, kneeling on a cold basement floor. A small boy knelt at my side—Damon. Our eyes were squeezed shut and our lips moved. Then, suddenly, I wasn’t observing the scene.
I was in it.
“Monster, monster, come out to play. Monster, monster, I’ve been waiting all day,” we whisper together. We want to scare ourselves, and practice manipulating each other’s fear. That’s why we started playing the game. We want to make our parents proud and become the strongest Nightmares who ever lived.
My eyes are still closed, and the basement is so quiet that I can hear my own heart. I begin to wonder where a beast like the one we’re chanting about might live. What it might sound like. My heart begins to quicken.
Behind my eyelids, I hear something in the darkness. A sound from some forgotten place where nothing can die.
A monster emerges.
My eyes fly open. Across the basement, there’s a place where no light reaches, not even the bulb that dangles from the ceiling on a string. A growl ripples through the stillness.
Red eyes lock on mine.
In an instant, I know—it’s coming after me. I’m the one it wants.
I grab Damon’s hand and bolt for the stairs. The monster snarls. I sense it emerging from the shadows as we get to the top. I slam the door shut and lock it. I back away slowly, panting, still holding onto Damon. He says my name, a note of protest in his voice, and I let him tug his hand free. Then something slams into the door. I jump, yelping, and panic takes over.
“Come on!” I shout to my brother.
I run for the back door. Damon runs after me, shrieking. He thinks we’re still playing the game. I yank the knob so hard that the whole door ricochets off the chock, then swings back and hits my shoulder. I don’t care, I don’t falter. I’m sprinting for the big tree out back, the one with the thick leaves and easy-to-climb branches. Nothing bad can reach me up there.
Damon is right on my heels as I scrabble up the trunk. “Run, Tuna, run!” he cries.
Halfway to the top, I wrench around, looking over my shoulder. I scream so loudly that it pierces the autumn air. The monster is there, at the bottom of the tree, those red eyes peering up at me. I have the wild fear that it might have wings, and suddenly, it does. They stretch wide and catch the glow beaming down from a nearby streetlight. My mouth is dry with terror.
Beside me, Damon giggles.
Something about the sound makes my racing heart slow. He can’t see the creature chasing us, I realize, staring at him. His small face is wreathed in delight. Maybe this means I’m imagining it. I risk another glance toward the ground.
Before my eyes, the monster disintegrates and blows away, as if it’s ashes on the wind.
I almost sob in relief. A game. It was just a game.
Then I experienced what could only be Oliver’s memories. But … it didn’t make sense. These sensations and fragments couldn’t belong to my best friend. They belonged to something primal and cold. I could feel its mind, its instincts and urges. Hunger. Fury. Hate.
More images were coming now. Confusion whirled through me.
The monster is free again. Made again. It rips out of the darkness. It wants to hunt, and kill, and eat.
It doesn’t know where it is or what any of the shapes around it mean. The monster does recognize one thing, though—prey.
It finds the male first. The monster’s claws swipe through his prey like knives. It likes the sound of screams. It enjoys the smell and the taste of blood. With a roar of triumph, the monster lowers its great head to feast.
But wait. There’s another one.
The monster can hear fleeing footsteps. It abandons its first victim and explodes down the hall, where it catches hold of the female. This one puts up more of a fight. She doesn’t scream as much. The monster feels the sharp sting of pain, and realizes its prey has a claw of its own. Snarling, it swipes at her with more speed than before, driven by the instinct to survive. She gasps and hits the wall, sliding down, the whites of her eyes glowing in the dim.
Once again, the monster is about to feast when it is interrupted—it hears a second sound. The rustle is so faint that the monster is uncertain, and it goes down the hall more slowly than before. It stands on its hind legs and pushes the door open. The hinges creak.
