Page 39 of Nightshades
“La-lala-la-la-laaa.”
She sniffles, rubbing her nose on her sleeve. “What is that?”
“Your worst nightmare.” The roots blur with speed, wrapping around her, then sling her against the wall, trapping her for me.
“I’ll give you all the money I have. I have millions stashed away in foreign bank accounts. You can have it. You can take it. Don’t kill me. Please,” she shouts. “Help! Someone help me!” she screams.
The nightshade flower blooms, releasing the invisible poison, and her screams for someone to come save her become silenced. Fireopal coughs and chokes, struggling to even say one word.
“No one is coming for you.” I scratch a claw down her cheek. “No one is saving you.” I press my finger against her gunshot wound, and her mouth parts, a silent scream leaving her. “I’m not in the business of saving lives, Fireopal. I take them.”
The nightmare leaves me as smoke, entering through her mouth. Her big, fearful eyes release one last tear before sin possessesher, melted coal dripping down her cheeks in replacement of her sadness.
“What do you fear, Fireopal?” Nightmare asks in a breathless haze. “Let. Us. See.”
I drift into her mind, chasing her subconscious.
In the depths of her mind, we’ve found ourselves in a very dark, cold fog. I look up to see snow has started to fall, gentle like Lula’s hand when it will one day caress my face.
My boots crunch over rocks, and I look down, noticing I’m standing on a cliff or a mountain of some sort.
“Help me, please, help me!”
Her voice echoes through the empty space, bouncing off the stone walls. Rocks crunch under my boots as I follow the sound of the desperation hitching in her voice.
“Someone! Please, don’t let me fall. Please! Oh, god!”
I haunt her through the dark, my breath the only cloud my eyes can see. Snow begins to gather in the cracks, showing that time is passing by. A brisk chill howls, a frigid storm—another threat to her life.
Making my presence known, I kick a rock hard enough that it rolls to the edge of the cliff. It falls. Seconds pass until I finally hear it hit the ground. The impact bounces between the cliffs, taunting Fireopal with just how loud her death will be.
“Is someone there? Hello? I’m going to fall. Please, I’m afraid of heights. I’m afraid of falling to my death. Help me!” Her cries echo pathetically in the fake scenario of her mind.
Her fear feels so real because I make it reality, but if she wanted to, she could fight me. She could fight her way out of this nightmare. It would be the only way she could survive me.
No one has been that smart.
And I hope they aren’t. Feeding would truly be a nightmare if someone figured that out.
Falling to all fours, my nails click against the rocks. My movement is slow, creeping, and methodical. I crawl up the side of a mountain, using the sharp, strong points to pull me up to higher ground.
As I play with my food, the tall, slender mountains become taller, heights that remind me of Gothic cathedrals. Only this isn’t a sanctuary. Prayers can’t be reached here. She’s trapped in the torment of the Hell she has created for herself.
Unholy darkness for an unholy soul.
I climb high enough to find a plateau, crawling to the edge on all fours. I perch on the very tip, sitting on a throne of death. Looking down hundreds of feet, I fixate on Fireopal gripping the edge of the cliff with her fingers.
From here, I can smell the strong stench of her fear. I twist my bone nipple rings, growling at how good it feels to be so close to inhaling another’s will to live.
It’s all mine.
“Someone please!” she calls out, her isolated shouts all alone in the cavern of her mind.
Such a pitiful thing. It’s a good thing I’m here to put her out of her misery.
One hand drops from the edge, exhaustion mixing with the bitter tinge of terror snowing down on us. A beautiful scenery for such an ugly death. Cue the violins and sad symphonies for her to rest in pieces.
“I’m getting so tired, please!” she sobs.