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PROLOGUE
The sundipped low in the Nevada sky as Julian, a docent at the Silver Sage Museum ofNatural History, made his way through the dimly lit insect wing. His footstepsechoed against the polished stone floor, mingling with the soft murmurs of thefew lingering guests. The museum's closing time had arrived, and though Julianwas eager to finish his shift and escape the suffocating stillness of theinsect displays, he maintained a friendly demeanor as he approached eachvisitor.
"Thankyou for coming," he said with a practiced smile, gently guiding an elderlycouple toward the exit. "We hope to see you again soon."
"Sucha fascinating place," the old man replied, his eyes twinkling with genuineappreciation. "We'll definitely be back."
Juliannodded and ushered them out, his mind already racing ahead to his plans for theevening. Going home, relaxing on the couch... yes, that sounded just perfect.
Justthen, one of the security guards came over, a somewhat distressed look on hisface. “Julian, did you see any shady characters around here?” he asked. “Acustomer mentioned they saw someone odd milling about.”
Julianfrowned, racking his brain for the information, but came back empty-handed. “Noone that stood out.”
Theguard nodded. “It was probably nothing then. I’ll leave you to it.” With that,he took off. Julian thought nothing more of it; they were a busy museum, andsometimes people came in to steal or something, and that was probably all itwas.
Julianfocused his attention on clearing out the remaining guests. As the heavy doorsswung shut behind the final couple, the silence in the wing seemed to deepen.Julian paused for a moment, listening to the faint hum of air conditioning andthe rustle of wings in the live butterfly exhibit.
"Isanyone else here?" he called out, raising his voice just enough to carrythrough the shadowy corridors. When no reply came, Julian allowed himself asigh of relief. He could finally close up. It had been a long, arduous daytending to the exhibits and greeting guests, and he couldn't wait to go home.
As heturned to head back to the front desk, however, something caught his eye. Onone of the benches nestled between the glass cases of beetles and moths, a manlay sprawled out, his back turned to Julian as if asleep. Julian frowned,annoyance prickling at the edges of his thoughts. How had he missed thisstraggler?
"Sir?"he called, approaching cautiously. "The museum is closing. I'm going tohave to ask you to leave."
The mandidn't stir, his body stiff as a board on the bench. Julian's heart began tobeat a bit faster, his unease growing. Was the man drunk? Ill? He drew closer,noting the pallor of the man's skin and the unnatural stillness that seemed tosurround him.
"Sir?"he asked again, his voice wavering slightly. "Are you alright?"
AsJulian reached out a hesitant hand to shake the man's shoulder, he couldn'thelp but wonder what kind of strange twist of fate had led this particularvisitor to fall asleep in the insect wing, surrounded by the creeping, crawlingcreatures that inhabited the displays. And more importantly, he wondered how hewas going to handle the situation if the man refused to wake up.
With adeep breath, Julian steeled himself and reached out to shake the man'sshoulder. "Sir, wake up," he urged, his voice firmer this time. As hetouched the man's arm, an icy chill shot through him, freezing the words in histhroat. The man's skin was like marble – cold and unyielding.
"Hey,mister!" Panic edged Julian's voice as he shook the man more vigorously,but it was no use. There was no response, no rise and fall of the chest. Julianpulled at his shoulder, and the man limply fell to his back, revealing hisman's eyes – wide open, staring glassily at the ceiling.
Andthat was when Julian noticed the blood.
A poolof it through the man's shirt, as though he'd been stabbed in the chest.
Julianscreamed, his hand instinctively flying to his mouth as he stared in horror atthe lifeless figure before him. At that moment, a grotesque detail caught hisattention: a small, dead caterpillar lay on the man's forehead.
"Wh-what'sgoing on?" Julian stammered, his mind racing with questions. How had thishappened? Who had done this?
As therealization set in, Julian's chest tightened, his breath coming in short,shallow gasps. He needed help. Now. Fumbling for his walkie-talkie, he pressedthe button to connect with security, his voice shaking.
"Security,this is Julian in the insect wing. I-I need assistance immediately. There's aman here... he's... he's not breathing. He looks like he's been stabbed. Sendhelp now, please!"
"Copythat, Julian. We're on our way," crackled the voice on the other end, onlyserving to deepen the pit of dread in Julian's stomach.
"Pleasehurry," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the dead man on the bench.The caterpillar, dead on the man's forehead, seemed to mock him.
AndJulian couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just stumbled upon something muchmore sinister than he could ever imagine.
CHAPTER ONE
Thestifling summer air weighed heavy on Fiona's chest as she sat in the passengerseat of Jake's car, her heart pounding in anticipation. A bead of sweattrickled down her temple, but she barely noticed it as Jake steered the car upthe winding dirt road towards the dilapidated old house that loomed in thedarkness. If their informant was to be believed, it was the place where theymight finally find closure for the horror that had haunted Fiona's family forten years.
"Areyou sure this is the right place?" Fiona asked, her voice barely audibleover the crunching of gravel beneath the tires. She stared out the window atthe decaying structure, shrouded in shadows and despair, and tried to push awaythe image of her sister, Joslyn's, face that flashed through her mind.
"Positive,"Jake replied, his grip tightening on the wheel. "The witness said a mannamed Damien used to come here all the time with a car that matches thedescription of the one Marcus thought he saw Damien in."
