Page 60 of Jacob Michaels is Dead

“I can do this.”

“I will do this.”

“You’ll come back.”

A voice in the back of my head wasn’t so sure.

“I will come back.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” I nodded once. “I promise.”

“I love you.” Lucas whimpered. “Just in case I haven’t told you enough. In case I never get to again.”

“I love you, too.”

I kissed Lucas again, then laced my fingers through his, and we raced away from the tree towards the house.

The room was cold.

Bitterly cold.

And I had no memory of the room.

But that didn’t keep me from opening my eyes to find that I was lying on the bed in the middle of the room.

It wasn’t apparent at first, due to my confusion at waking up in a strange room, chilled to my bones, but I wasn’t even in Lucas’ house. In fact, I wasn’t sure whose house I was in, actually. The room did not look familiar—but it looked somewhat familiar at the same time. Maybe because it looked like a child’s bedroom—the dark shape of an overflowing bookcase in the corner. A desk for homework along one wall. A toy chest that was overflowing. Cartoon sheets of some kind that I had kicked off in my sleep.

With my child-sized feet.

I gazed down at my body only to find that I was not staring at my body but that of a child—or a very young teen. Maybe a tween? This revelation should have sent a shock of terror up my spine, but I was getting used to the odd things in my life. Instead of screaming out in shock or panicking in any way, I sat up cautiously and swiveled my hips to let my legs dangle off of the side of the bed. Giving a quick glance around the room, looking for any sign of danger, I lowered myself to the floor.

Icy cold floorboards slapped against my feet, and I winced, though I made no noise. It was dark, I had no idea where I was, and there was no way for me to know if there was anyone else in the house. Would someone come to investigate if they heard me? And if someone did come to investigate, would they be dangerous? Harm me in some way? I let my feet adjust to the cold of the floorboards as I scanned the room slowly with my eyes.

Just a typical tween’s room.

Nothing unusual.

Other than the darkness.

Nothing looks normal in the dark.

As I stood there, my feet adjusting to the cold and my eyes adjusting to the darkness, my ears began to pick up the voices.

Beyond the door positioned at the opposite side of the room, someone was talking. Low and rumbly, the voices sounded muffled and hollow. My feet began to move without me willing it, and I found myself being drawn towards the bedroom door. The cold was pervasive, making my feet—well, the feet I now had—feel like blocks of ice. It pushed through the cotton of the pajamas I was wearing. It slid over and around my body, doing its best to compel me back into bed. To forget the voices and the door.

Suddenly, I found myself in front of the door, my hands reaching out to brace myself against it as my ear moved towards the cold, smooth wood. My ear connected with the icy surface, trying to hear the voices better. To try and figure out what it was they were saying.

The voices became louder with my ear pressed against the door, but I still couldn’t make out what it was they were saying. After a few moments, listening to what sounded like two voices quarreling or, maybe, debating, I crouched down next to the doorknob. I leveled my eye to the keyhole and looked through into the room beyond.

What I saw…was I really seeing this?

In the room beyond, seemingly lit by fire or candlelight, was a pile of raw bones, gleaming white and splattered with blood. Sat upon what could only be described as the “throne” of bones was a hooded figure.

I knew that figure.

As if he knew I was watching, the hooded figure’s head turned towards the door.