A.J. Whitten
Excerpts
PROLOGUE
The boy would be his.
It was only a matter of time.
And then, he could walk the earth again. See the sun. Breathe fresh, sweet air, not this fetid exhale of the dead. He had waited so long, for the life-giving meal that would resurrect his body, bring it back to what it had been before. Turn him from pathetic, scrabbling creature into something that resembled a human again. Take away the torture of his existence and allow him out of this darkness. How long since he had seen the light?
Centuries.
Two torturous centuries, the length of his sentence. But soon, that wait would be over.
He lived in the depths of hell, in a hole where no one looked. He suffered, crawling through the muck, the wet, across stones that scraped what remained of his body, shredding his skin, tearing his nails. He had learned to adapt, like a creature in the wild, finding ways to extend his time here.
So he could wait. Wait to be fed.
She would bring the boy to him. Today. He could almost smell the boy’s blood. Taste his flesh. Feel the life that would pour into him, resurrect him again.
Soon. He would be whole.
And then—
And then he would get his revenge.
CHAPTER ONE
Dying in the movies always looks cool. The hero gets a big send off with flames and some hot chick. Behind him, a stack of bullet-stoked gang-bangers’ bodies are piled up in crushed SUVs. Everyone cries. Fade to black.
Dying that way rocks.
But the way I was going to die would suck. Stuck in the bottom of a well. No way out, no hope of anyone ever finding me. While some beast-creature-monster-thing waited in the corner for me to give up.
So it could eat me alive.
Oh my God.
I screamed for help, but it was a waste of time. Who could hear me this far down? Not even me, not anymore. My voice had pretty much deserted me a long time ago.
Just like she had.
If I died—I couldn’t think the word when, that totally wigged me out—they wouldn’t write movies about me. ‘Cuz no one would stay past the opening credits. My fourteen years on earth had been that boring.
Until now.
I started shivering. I was cold, I ached all over. But more, I was scared. Scared all the way into my bones. My blood was popsicle juice, thick, freezing.
How long had I been here? Twenty minutes? An hour? Two? It didn’t matter, not anymore. It seemed like I’d spent my entire stupid life down here, covered in slime, wet, terrified out of my freakin’ mind.
Worse, I had nowhere to go to get away from that…that thing. Whatever the hell it was. A rat? Yeah, I told myself, it had to be a rat. Or a raccoon that had fallen in, gotten stuck like me, in the bottom of a damp, moss and mold-encrusted well. The light at the top as far away as Mars.
But you know what was worse? And yeah, there were worse things than being stuck in a hole while some monster lurked in the shadows.
Like being there because you were shoved down a well by someone who was supposed to love you.
That sucked ten times more.
My fingers felt like raw hamburger from scraping against the rounded, slippery bricks of the walls. But the well still held me tight. Twenty feet down. Maybe more. It was hard to tell.
There was no other way out, not unless I could pull a Superman and fly up. But I wasn’t any kind of a hero, just a not-so-built high school freshman who’d been cut from the football team last week because my own father wouldn’t give me a passing grade in English.
I heard a huff-huff. Almost like a laugh. Holy crap. Not again. I hugged the wall.
It was back.
That thing that lived in a dark space, maybe a tunnel, carved in the back of the well. I didn’t know what it was. And I didn’t want to know. I might have been fourteen, and thought I was immortal when I was standing on firm ground, but when you’re stuck in a two-inch skanky puddle in a well, with some thing a few feet away, I don’t care who you are, you’re ready to piss your pants like a three-year-old girl.
It huffed again, then something scraped against the floor. A scritch-scratch.
That was a rat. Yeah, a rat, with really long claws.
Or at least, I prayed it was a rat.
But no, there it was again, louder now, too loud to be a rodent. I shrunk away from the sound, but where was I going to go? I had three feet of space, three feet of darkness filled with slippery, slimy wet that stuck to my clothes, my hands, like glue, but I scrabbled back all the same, away from that scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch, patiently coming closer to me, one clawing, scraping step at a time.
Oh God.
More huffing, like it was smoking a huge cigar, or like it had an anteater nose and was inhaling my scent. Did rats eat people?
If it was a big enough rat, I bet it would. Then why hadn’t this one come after me yet? What was it waiting for? Was it waiting until it sensed I’d finally given up? Or waiting until it was sure no one was ever coming back for me?
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Get me out of here. I’ll do my homework, clean my room, be nice to my brother, my stepfather, hell, everyone all the time. Just please make someone notice I’m missing.
Please.
I pressed against the wall. The stones scratched a pattern of hard lines into my back. The water beneath my Vans sloshed against my socks, slippery, thick as--
God, thick as blood. But it wasn’t blood. No way, wasn’t blood. Every horror movie I’d ever seen raced through my mind.
Scritch-scratch.
Closer now.
Bile rose in my throat, the puke thick, burning on the rewind. I spewed chunks.
“Help!” But all that came out was a croaking whisper. From far away—too far away—I heard the barking of Whipple, my dog. Little Terrier yips, useless against the well, the creature.
Who’d hear him this far from civilization? We were in the woods, for God’s sake, not in the mall. Dog kept on barking his head off. Thought he was Lassie or something. “Whipple,” I whispered, calling him even though he couldn’t hear me. Like a hope-aholic, I reached up the stone wall. My hands grasped for leverage, for a nook, anything to grab, to latch onto in the cold, damp bricks. I found nothing but more of that gluey, slimy moss and crevices too thin to gain a foothold.
I was going to die. Alone down here. And no one would ever find me.
I started to cry. I didn’t care if boys weren’t supposed to cry. My guts twisted, and I had to punch a fist tight into my solar plexus to keep whatever was left of my lunch from riding back up the throat elevator.
Scritch-scratch. The breathing heavier, thicker. Filled with the smell of rotten eggs and dead animals. I gagged.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, Jesus God. I swiped at the sweat and tears on my face. The slimy moss stuck to my cheeks, holding on like spider webs. It wouldn’t let go. Was going to stay with me forever. Would be there when they found me, when they found my body—
Buck up, stop crying. Be a man, for God’s sake.
Trying to go somewhere?
The words came, not from a person’s voice, but in my head. And even weirder, not in my own voice. In another voice, one that was deep and gravely. The voice of...
The thing. Holy freakin’ crap.
The dog kept barking, the sound of his yipping going in and out like a radio station that wouldn’t stay tuned. Was he looking for help? Running in circles? Chasing a stupid rabbit?
Scritch-scratch. I’m coming closer.
More breathing, more of that smell, like a stink bomb released right under my nose. I grabbed at the walls again, but whatever sticky slime was on them wasn’t enough to hold me.
I closed my eyes, thought of Megan, tried to smell her shampoo, picture the deep pools of her blue eyes. But I couldn’t. It was as if trying to conjure her up in this foul place only made the whole situation worse—
And this was bad enough already.
Oh, Cooper...
Oh my God. Holy freakin’ mother. Did that thing just say...my name? The rest of my lunch came hurling forward.
Someone, anyone, I didn’t care if it was Harvey the Clown on Channel 33, please notice I was gone. But who? Who would think to come this far back in the woods?
Look in the well, of all places?
Then Whipple stopped barking. Terror filled every blank spot inside me. The last thoughts of hope ran away.
No one was coming. Who was I kidding? She wasn’t coming back to get me either, and that thing—
The thing’s breathing got louder, the huffing increasing in volume, bouncing off the walls, heat multiplying in the small space, coming at me like a mortuary fan filled with the scent of formaldehyde and rot, and then, the breath was on my neck, making my tiny hairs stand at attention, and then I didn’t care if the whole world knew I was scared, I was scrabbling against the wall, knowing it was useless, knowing the thing was going to get me, eat me, have me for dinner—
The boy would be his.
It was only a matter of time.
And then, he could walk the earth again. See the sun. Breathe fresh, sweet air, not this fetid exhale of the dead. He had waited so long, for the life-giving meal that would resurrect his body, bring it back to what it had been before. Turn him from pathetic, scrabbling creature into something that resembled a human again. Take away the torture of his existence and allow him out of this darkness. How long since he had seen the light?
Centuries.
Two torturous centuries, the length of his sentence. But soon, that wait would be over.
He lived in the depths of hell, in a hole where no one looked. He suffered, crawling through the muck, the wet, across stones that scraped what remained of his body, shredding his skin, tearing his nails. He had learned to adapt, like a creature in the wild, finding ways to extend his time here.
So he could wait. Wait to be fed.
She would bring the boy to him. Today. He could almost smell the boy’s blood. Taste his flesh. Feel the life that would pour into him, resurrect him again.
Soon. He would be whole.
And then—
And then he would get his revenge.
CHAPTER ONE
Dying in the movies always looks cool. The hero gets a big send off with flames and some hot chick. Behind him, a stack of bullet-stoked gang-bangers’ bodies are piled up in crushed SUVs. Everyone cries. Fade to black.
Dying that way rocks.
But the way I was going to die would suck. Stuck in the bottom of a well. No way out, no hope of anyone ever finding me. While some beast-creature-monster-thing waited in the corner for me to give up.
So it could eat me alive.
Oh my God.
I screamed for help, but it was a waste of time. Who could hear me this far down? Not even me, not anymore. My voice had pretty much deserted me a long time ago.
Just like she had.
If I died—I couldn’t think the word when, that totally wigged me out—they wouldn’t write movies about me. ‘Cuz no one would stay past the opening credits. My fourteen years on earth had been that boring.
Until now.
I started shivering. I was cold, I ached all over. But more, I was scared. Scared all the way into my bones. My blood was popsicle juice, thick, freezing.
How long had I been here? Twenty minutes? An hour? Two? It didn’t matter, not anymore. It seemed like I’d spent my entire stupid life down here, covered in slime, wet, terrified out of my freakin’ mind.
Worse, I had nowhere to go to get away from that…that thing. Whatever the hell it was. A rat? Yeah, I told myself, it had to be a rat. Or a raccoon that had fallen in, gotten stuck like me, in the bottom of a damp, moss and mold-encrusted well. The light at the top as far away as Mars.
But you know what was worse? And yeah, there were worse things than being stuck in a hole while some monster lurked in the shadows.
Like being there because you were shoved down a well by someone who was supposed to love you.
That sucked ten times more.
My fingers felt like raw hamburger from scraping against the rounded, slippery bricks of the walls. But the well still held me tight. Twenty feet down. Maybe more. It was hard to tell.
There was no other way out, not unless I could pull a Superman and fly up. But I wasn’t any kind of a hero, just a not-so-built high school freshman who’d been cut from the football team last week because my own father wouldn’t give me a passing grade in English.
I heard a huff-huff. Almost like a laugh. Holy crap. Not again. I hugged the wall.
It was back.
That thing that lived in a dark space, maybe a tunnel, carved in the back of the well. I didn’t know what it was. And I didn’t want to know. I might have been fourteen, and thought I was immortal when I was standing on firm ground, but when you’re stuck in a two-inch skanky puddle in a well, with some thing a few feet away, I don’t care who you are, you’re ready to piss your pants like a three-year-old girl.
It huffed again, then something scraped against the floor. A scritch-scratch.
That was a rat. Yeah, a rat, with really long claws.
Or at least, I prayed it was a rat.
But no, there it was again, louder now, too loud to be a rodent. I shrunk away from the sound, but where was I going to go? I had three feet of space, three feet of darkness filled with slippery, slimy wet that stuck to my clothes, my hands, like glue, but I scrabbled back all the same, away from that scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch, patiently coming closer to me, one clawing, scraping step at a time.
Oh God.
More huffing, like it was smoking a huge cigar, or like it had an anteater nose and was inhaling my scent. Did rats eat people?
If it was a big enough rat, I bet it would. Then why hadn’t this one come after me yet? What was it waiting for? Was it waiting until it sensed I’d finally given up? Or waiting until it was sure no one was ever coming back for me?
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Get me out of here. I’ll do my homework, clean my room, be nice to my brother, my stepfather, hell, everyone all the time. Just please make someone notice I’m missing.
Please.
I pressed against the wall. The stones scratched a pattern of hard lines into my back. The water beneath my Vans sloshed against my socks, slippery, thick as--
God, thick as blood. But it wasn’t blood. No way, wasn’t blood. Every horror movie I’d ever seen raced through my mind.
Scritch-scratch.
Closer now.
Bile rose in my throat, the puke thick, burning on the rewind. I spewed chunks.
“Help!” But all that came out was a croaking whisper. From far away—too far away—I heard the barking of Whipple, my dog. Little Terrier yips, useless against the well, the creature.
Who’d hear him this far from civilization? We were in the woods, for God’s sake, not in the mall. Dog kept on barking his head off. Thought he was Lassie or something. “Whipple,” I whispered, calling him even though he couldn’t hear me. Like a hope-aholic, I reached up the stone wall. My hands grasped for leverage, for a nook, anything to grab, to latch onto in the cold, damp bricks. I found nothing but more of that gluey, slimy moss and crevices too thin to gain a foothold.
I was going to die. Alone down here. And no one would ever find me.
I started to cry. I didn’t care if boys weren’t supposed to cry. My guts twisted, and I had to punch a fist tight into my solar plexus to keep whatever was left of my lunch from riding back up the throat elevator.
Scritch-scratch. The breathing heavier, thicker. Filled with the smell of rotten eggs and dead animals. I gagged.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, Jesus God. I swiped at the sweat and tears on my face. The slimy moss stuck to my cheeks, holding on like spider webs. It wouldn’t let go. Was going to stay with me forever. Would be there when they found me, when they found my body—
Buck up, stop crying. Be a man, for God’s sake.
Trying to go somewhere?
The words came, not from a person’s voice, but in my head. And even weirder, not in my own voice. In another voice, one that was deep and gravely. The voice of...
The thing. Holy freakin’ crap.
The dog kept barking, the sound of his yipping going in and out like a radio station that wouldn’t stay tuned. Was he looking for help? Running in circles? Chasing a stupid rabbit?
Scritch-scratch. I’m coming closer.
More breathing, more of that smell, like a stink bomb released right under my nose. I grabbed at the walls again, but whatever sticky slime was on them wasn’t enough to hold me.
I closed my eyes, thought of Megan, tried to smell her shampoo, picture the deep pools of her blue eyes. But I couldn’t. It was as if trying to conjure her up in this foul place only made the whole situation worse—
And this was bad enough already.
Oh, Cooper...
Oh my God. Holy freakin’ mother. Did that thing just say...my name? The rest of my lunch came hurling forward.
Someone, anyone, I didn’t care if it was Harvey the Clown on Channel 33, please notice I was gone. But who? Who would think to come this far back in the woods?
Look in the well, of all places?
Then Whipple stopped barking. Terror filled every blank spot inside me. The last thoughts of hope ran away.
No one was coming. Who was I kidding? She wasn’t coming back to get me either, and that thing—
The thing’s breathing got louder, the huffing increasing in volume, bouncing off the walls, heat multiplying in the small space, coming at me like a mortuary fan filled with the scent of formaldehyde and rot, and then, the breath was on my neck, making my tiny hairs stand at attention, and then I didn’t care if the whole world knew I was scared, I was scrabbling against the wall, knowing it was useless, knowing the thing was going to get me, eat me, have me for dinner—
