Series: Charmaine Pauls
Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
The man—demon?—who spoke before says something again. His tone is sharper, angrier. A command. It’s not directed at me, though, because one of the other demons responds to it by heading toward me.
My heart rate spikes, and adrenaline floods my body.
Maybe this isn’t hell. Maybe these creatures aren’t demons but football players in strange masks. Or maybe I’ve fallen asleep over my laptop, and this is a really vivid nightmare.
Whatever it is, I don’t wait to find out.
I turn, and I run.
Or at least I try to run.
I make it exactly two steps before my bare toes catch on some root and I faceplant onto the wet ground.
A ground that hisses and bucks underneath me as stinging needles bite into every inch of my exposed skin.
“Ahhh!” I leap to my feet and back away, frantically slapping at my burning arms, face, and legs as the “ground” rears up in front of me and opens its horrific vertical maw, the dripping sideways fangs inside glinting in the distant firelight.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
I am in fucking hell.
The hairy, tube-like creature—which I’d call a caterpillar if it weren’t my fucking size—hisses again and lunges at me, maw open as if to swallow me whole.
I let out another scream and turn to run again, only to hit a steel wall.
Or, as I realize with the small portion of my brain that still retains some functionality, the chest of the demon coming after me. He must be wearing a metal plate underneath his snakeskin attire because I bounce off his chest, hard, and fall backward on my ass.
Right next to the giant caterpillar thing and its stinging hairs.
I scream and cover my face as it drops down onto its dozen legs and lunges at me.
Instead of its fangs biting into me, there’s a whooshing sound, followed by a cold, slimy spray across my arms and face. I gag and cough-spit as the taste, bitter and acidic, seeps into my mouth.
I’m still coughing and spitting as a huge, clawed hand yanks me to my feet and a rough palm sweeps painfully across my face, wiping away most of the slime… which I’m now realizing is the caterpillar’s guts or blood or whatever it had inside.
To say that I’m grossed out to the point of puking would be a major understatement.
I dry-heave as my demonic savior drags me toward the fire, where the other figures are still hanging out. As we approach, they growl something in their foreign tongue, and he replies, not looking at me. Which is good because I’m still trying to process the fact that I was just attacked by a creature straight out of an entomophobe’s nightmare.
Seriously, am I in hell? Is that what the weird circle of lights was about—a portal to the underworld?
The demon dragging me shoves me in front of him, making me stumble and nearly fall into the flames.
“Excuse you,” I snap and twist my arm against his grip. He must not have been expecting any resistance because I actually break out of his hold.
For a moment, that is. In the next instant, he grabs my wrist, growls, and twists my arm behind my back with such force that I scream and fall to my knees.
The fucker laughs—full-on cackles, like a movie villain—and his buddies join in.
Then he releases my wrist and backhands me.
He probably uses only a fraction of his enormous strength, but my ears ring and I taste copper in my mouth.
I’ve never, ever been hit, and I can’t say I’m a fan.
I do, however, have a high tolerance for pain—and apparently zero common sense. Operating purely on instinct, I scoop up a handful of dirt and embers and fling the mixture at his face.
He roars in shock, and this time, the retaliatory blow across my face is less restrained. I can practically feel my brain rattle inside my skull, and my vision darkens as sounds fade in and out.
When my vision clears and the worst of the ringing in my ears stops, I spit out blood, along with something small and hard. I run my tongue over my upper and lower teeth until I find the tender, gaping socket where one of my lower canines should be.
One of the other demons barks out an order, and my assailant releases me.
I fall onto all fours, too dazed to do anything but pant weakly. If I were still in the hospital, I’m pretty sure I’d be diagnosed with a concussion. No, scratch that. If I were still in the hospital, none of this would be happening.
Why am I not still in the hospital? What the fuck is going on? Nightmares aren’t supposed to be this detailed or prolonged, and despite all the weirdness surrounding me, I can’t bring myself to believe that I’m in literal hell. Or that I’m dead. I smell, feel, and taste things far too acutely for some metaphysical realm. Not to mention, the empty tooth socket in my mouth and my split lip are throbbing like I’m very much alive.