only to die again and be dragged into the pits of darkness. But the truth is, at this point, anything seems possible.
7
Harlynn
“Sleeping isn’t going to get you anywhere.” Beth’s voice floats through my head. “You need to wake up, Harlynn. You need to find my body.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” I ask as darkness and fog swallow me whole.
I’m walking in the woods, the air smells of rot and mugginess and sticks to my skin like a layer of decaying flesh.
“Why am I here?” I whisper, my breath fogging out in front of me.
I peer around, turning in a circle, the muddy ground beneath my feet seeping between my toes. The fog starts to thin, and when I look down at what I’m wearing, fear ricochets through me.
The pajamas I was wearing when I fell asleep.
Am I sleepwalking again?
Panicking, I pinch my arm, attempting to wake myself up. Nothing happens.
“Shit,” I curse as I take off, moving around fallen trees and rocks, heading to who knows where. My best guess is the lake. Just like last time.
But when the trees open up, weirdly, I’m standing in a graveyard, one I’ve never seen before. Then again, it is located in the middle of the woods without a direct path to it.
The headstones look old, cracked and worn, the names faded. As I move around them, I look at the dates. Most are from at least a century ago.
“I wonder if this place actually exists,” I say to myself as I hike deeper into the cemetery. The fog thickens as I do, and a raven caws in the distance.
“This place is very Edgar Allan Poe,” I state as a raven flies down from the leafless branches of a tree and lands on a massive statue perched in the center of the cemetery.
I swear to God, if that thing says nevermore, I’m gonna piss myself.
Luckily, all the thing does is stare at me. Granted, it’s freakin’ creepy.
“Beth?” I whisper, trying to focus on something else.
Nothing but the soft shuffling of the wind answers me.
I turn in a circle. “Beth? Where are you?”
Nothing.
I turn back toward the raven. It’s still watching me, as if daring me to come closer. And while that’s the last thing I want to do, I find myself doing just that, my feet moving on their own, moving me toward the raven and the statue.
No … not a statue, I realize as I get closer. It’s a tombstone. Just a very exaggerated one, tall and wide, carved in the shape of an angel with wings. Cracked wings. And they’re not cracked from weathering or aging. No, the cracks were carved into them when the headstone was created.
As I get nearer to the plaque, the raven flaps its wings. I still for a moment as it flies away, fading into the fog. Then my gaze floats back to the name on the plaque as the fog parts.
“Here lies Star Winterford, fallen angel and maker of death …” I step back. “What the hell is this?”
“A warning,” Beth whispers in my ear.
Goosebumps sprout across my flesh as I reel around, only to find nothing there.
Nothing at all except darkness.
But then the darkness fades as a hole opens up and hands reach for me—
My eyelids shoot open. Surprisingly, with how fast my heart is beating, I don’t gasp or bolt upright in my bed. I just lie there, my heart hammering inside my chest, my eyes wide.
What in the world did I just dream about? And why did I see Star’s name on that plaque? Beth said it was a warning, but what warning? That Star is going to die?
I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm my racing heart and thoughts down. Then I take in my surroundings. I’m in my bed, lying on my side, and Kingsley is lying on his stomach beside me, his face buried in the pillow, his pinkie hitched with mine.
After Beth had been dragged into what can only be described as the pits of hell, I crawled into bed to try to get some sleep, so that I hopefully wouldn’t have a bad case of insomnia when I go to talk to Star and meet Death. Because, you know, who wants to meet Death when you’re delirious from sleep deprivation?
But, anyway, Kingsley assured me that he’d make sure I didn’t sleepwalk anywhere, which is maybe why I didn’t wake up in a creepy cemetery. He fell asleep at some time,