Page 51 of Fed By Fear

Someone scoffs when the bottle is empty. They part ways, waving to one another. One girl catches my eye. She’s older than she was in the cabin, but her pale hair and beautiful face are unmistakable. Kristy.

A rush of anger heats my blood. If she had never brought that damn game…

Kristy breaks off from her companions, heading down the trail alone. Someone is standing on the edge of the forest, partially hidden behind a tree.

My stomach churns.

It’s me.

When I jump on her, I look all wrong. My skin is tinted blue-grey. My eyes are wild and black. My nails are far too long and sharp.

Kristy screams as I pin her to the ground.

My younger self smiles with a mouth filled with teeth that do not belong to me.

The next few moments are nothing but blood, guts, and screaming. My nails slash across her torso, freeing her organs from their hiding spots. My teeth turn red as I clamp down on her face.

The concrete turns black with the spill of fresh crimson.

The last thing to stop moving is Kristy’s left ankle. It twitches three times. Then she falls completely still.

What the actual fuck.

“That never happened.”

“It did.”

“No, no. It was an animal attack. They told us on the news. They went hunting for a mountain lion.”

Madness remains quiet, forcing me to confront the truth spilling across the walkway before my very eyes.

My younger self rises, cracking her neck in a manner that bends it too far to be normal. She wipes the back of her hand across her bloodstained mouth and disappears into the trees.

“That wasn’t me.”

The body left behind is a mess of insides and death. The white nightgown Kristy wore is now torn and stained.

A wave of recognition barrels across my thoughts. The ghost, the one who grabbed my arm—is Kristy?

An invisible jerk at my center sends me tumbling back out of the door. I don’t stand right away. All the doors are still there. One through thirty-four.

“What’s behind the rest of the doors?”

“It is much the same.”Madness almost sounds saddened.

“The other girls from the cabin?” My breathing is quick and labored, gathering in knots at the base of my throat. “But there were only fourteen. Who do the other doors belong to?”

Door number two opens. I flip onto my hands and knees, scrambling as far away as possible. The other doors loom, counting upwards and towering over me. Each door I pass slams open.

I make it all the way to door eighteen before I get caught. I’m dragged inside, my fingertips burning as I try to slow the momentum.

The sky is alight as I fall to the grass. Bursts of purpleand gold fireworks shoot across the horizon. Voices can be heard shouting, “Happy New Year!” in cheerful unison. I’ve landed outside a New Year’s Eve party in a very affluent neighborhood. The man that exits the lit-up home and climbs into the truck is wearing sparkly glasses with the year spelled out. The date makes this memory just six years old.

The girls from my cabin had already been dead for years by now.

The man is average-height, with short brown hair and a youthful face. There’s a dark spot on the left side of his cheek. A birthmark.

Oh no. I know who he is.