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I touched him and Mama told me not to touch him.
Tap tap tap . . .
I scurry back, my head woozy as the blood rushes to my ears, but Mama’s face is all I can see, her eyes twinged with disappointment.
Tap tap tap.
Not a single ounce of sorrow rests in that gaze.
Tap.
“See what happens when you don’t listen?” Mama nods to the casket, lips pursed.
I follow her gaze, a scream of terror freezing in my throat.
That’s not Papa at all.
It’s Mason.
His face is twisted in a hellish grimace, mirroring a smile. His eyes wide open, stormy gray, and glassy. But it’s the hole in the center of his forehead that fills my veins with ice.
My chest tightens painfully, as the room begins to sway around me, the faces of the crowd distorted and demonic. I suck air into my lungs, but it’s not enough and my heart feels like it’s going to explode in my chest.
That’snotMason.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
“Mama?” I think I ask, but before I can focus on her reply, everything goes dark.
Tap.
What the fuck is tapping on my face?
My eyes will barely open, but I can see it’s still dark.
Where am I?
Tap tap tap.
“Hannah . . .” Someone whispers from above me.
Mason. I’m in Mason’s room. I can feel him beside me, but . . . why can’t I feel my legs?
Tap tap tap.
I open my mouth to tell whoever is touching me to stop, but no sound comes out, save for a choking gurgle when the saliva in my mouth pools from the nausea in my stomach.
“Look at me.”
That’s not Mason’s voice.
That’s Melissa.
I force my eyes to crack open with everything I have in me.
And my heart stops.
Melissa sits above me, shadowed in the moonlight, a knife raised above her head.
