Chapter 9

The dream started out oddly,and I only knew I was dreaming because I watched myself sleeping on my tiny bed. How strange to see myself relaxed, my skin still smooth despite my age, my hair a natural light brown splayed over the flat pillow.

I floated away from my sleeping self, taking steps that never quite touched the floor. My grasp of the door handle led to my hand passing right through, as if I were a ghost. Kind of wild. I swung my fingers through the door itself, feeling no obstruction, no sense of anything. What would happen if I tried to pass through?

I closed my eyes as I ghost-stepped through the portal. I opened them to see the hallway with four other doors. One for linens, another for the bathroom, then there was mom's hobby room, and at the end of the hall my parents' bedroom, a place I'd never been welcome even when young and a loud thunderstorm would have me shivering in terror in my bed. When I'd been growing up, it had always been locked. My only glimpses of my parents' space being the brief moments when I'd be in the hall when the door opened.

I wondered what hid inside. I floated for it and passed through the door, half expecting to be blocked. After all, how could my subconscious show me a room I'd never entered?

To my surprise, I stood in the forbidden space. Like the rest of the house, it appeared tired. The plaid comforter was worn and shiny in spots. The pink, low-pile carpet matted flat from the door to the bed. I drifted to the long dresser, the big, blocky, wooden kind rarely seen these days with MDF being so popular. A mirror bracketed above it didn't show my reflection.

I wondered what hid in the drawers. My hand passed through when I attempted to tug it open. The nightstand proved just as disappointing. Was it weird I wondered if mom kept any sex toys? I doubted there would be any, though. Mom didn't seem like the type. Then again, as a woman, she had needs, and it wasn't as if my parents had sex. Or if they did, I'd certainly never heard them. Then again, I used to sleep like a rock.

The boring space led to me exiting and passing by the hobby room I'd resented—mostly because it had three times the closet room mine did. I descended the stairs, sinking more than actually walking, and paused as I heard a voice. Mom was talking to someone.

I entered the kitchen to find my mom on the phone, whispering loudly. "I don't know why she's here. I thought we were done dealing with her." She paused as if she listened. "No, I didn't toss her out. I knew you'd want her to stay."

Did she talk to Dad? I knew this was a dream, and yet I found myself intrigued.

"She's upstairs sleeping. I didn't know what else to do with her."

I frowned. How did she know I slept? Had she peeked in on me?

Mom cradled the phone and grimaced. "What are we going to do about tonight?"

Oh, did Mom have plans? She never went out. I'd never had a babysitter growing up, nor even any family. Just my parents and a few friends who usually arrived as I went to bed. Never did know what they did at their little soirees. Once my head hit the pillow, I slept like a rock, which, in retrospect, made me wonder if my mom used to give me a little cough syrup or something else to get me to pass out. Interestingly enough, the house never showed signs of a party the day after. No beer cans or wine bottles in the garbage or recycling. No leftovers from snacks. I'd wondered as a teen if they were swingers. Maybe they hid a sex room in the basement for orgies?

Barf.

Mom uttered a sigh. "So long as it ends tonight. We've endured long enough." A pause then, "Bye."

She hung up and scowled, muttering, "As if I don't have better things to do."

Mom pushed away from the kitchen counter and headed for the basement door with its many locks. A slim bookcase by the door held a vase with plastic flowers. To my surprise she yanked out the dusty floral arrangement and shoved her hand in the container, pulling out a set of keys. They jangled as she undid the set of three locks. She kept glancing in the direction of the stairs as if worried I'd suddenly appear. Why would I care if she went into the basement?

The door opened, revealing a set of wooden stairs, and she quickly stepped inside before shutting the portal behind her. I heard a lock engage on the other side.

Even more curious. I passed through the painted wooden panel in time to see her reaching the bottom step.

Down I floated, spotting the washer and dryer sitting right across from the staircase. A furnace squatted beside it, along with the hot water tank. The space seemed tight, mostly because a wall had been erected with a door set within. A door with more locks.

Mom undid them and passed through, leaving the door open. I followed and then bobbed inside for a peek, only to teeter in surprise.

The basement turned out to be more interesting than I'd have imagined. Shocking, too. An upside-down cross had been bolted to the far wall. Under it, black candles showing signs of being burned, pooled wax on the floor by their base. A basin dangled above an unlit brazier. The floor had a bright red carpet, newer and lusher than anything else in the house with a pentagram stitched on its surface. On the wall by the door, a row of hooks held robes, dark ones with deep cowls.

Holy fuck, my parents were Satanists. No wonder Dad didn't want me coming down here.

I almost laughed at myself at this point because, for one thing, this was a dream. No way did my parents worship the devil. Funny how my subconscious thought they did.

Mom wandered to a wooden wardrobe tucked in a corner. She flung open the panel and scowled at its contents. "Time to clean you up."

Something uttered a noise, and I hastened to see what was inside.

What the actual shit? I gaped at the woman tied up inside. She wore a party dress and heels, her blonde hair frizzy, eyes wide with fright. Her mascara had run down her cheeks in dark streaks. A strip of duct tape covered her mouth.

With absolutely no gentleness, Mom hauled her out. "Why must it always be dirty whores? Would it kill him to bring back a virgin? But, no, apparently that's too hard these days because girls are all sluts."

I blinked as Mom grumbled, her hands swiftly cutting the clothes from the young woman with the utility knife she'd pulled from her pocket.

Why was my mind imagining such fucked-up things?

"I'll bet he chose you because you're a cock sucker. As if anyone wants to put their mouth on his tiny, dirty dick."

The bound woman whimpered.

"Don't you start sniveling. This is your own fault. Going to bars, showing off your body, inciting lust. You're getting what you deserve."

Tears welled in the woman's eyes.

"You're wasting your theatrics. Tonight, you will be consecrated to the Dark Lord. With your blood, we will show our devotion. With your blood, he will speak to us and give us instruction. The time is near. Soon he will walk among us, and we, his valued servants, shall be rewarded." Then in a low mutter, "About time. After all I've done. I gave up my life and youth for the cause. Raising that brat. Readying her so that, when the moment arrived, he could escape his prison."

Jesus was my mind ever fucking with me. Now it had my mom as part of some conspiracy working with Moloch. I could see the allure in believing it. My parents being Satanists looking to free the demon lord would make it easy to explain their treatment of me. But it also made no sense. Wouldn't they have sacrificed me when young?

I'd had enough with my subconscious. I fled the basement, floating back up the stairs, only instead of entering the kitchen, I found myself once more in that stony cavern with Moloch.

"If it isn't the messovenata. Miss me?" he taunted with a cruel smile.

"You're not supposed to be here." I shook my head and slashed my hand. "I got rid of my powers. You can't use me anymore."

""You can't escape your destiny so easily. The stars are finally in alignment. Your blood ripe for the spilling. Soon, I will walk the Earth again and bless you with my seed."

"Fuck off. I'm not playing this game anymore. I'm not the reaper witch. I'm back to being nobody, so go find someone else to bother."

"Your denial is ambrosia. It will make your inevitable chagrin all the sweeter. Perhaps I should give you a taste of what's in store." With that, he ripped off his loin cloth, and I quickly turned from the winking tip of his prick.

"This isn't real." I repeated the mantra over and over, even as the air around me heated as he neared.

"Which hole shall I try first?" he rumbled, which led to me squeaking and trying to bolt.

He quickly reached out and grabbed my arm, the touch searing flesh, drawing a scream, a scream that followed me as I woke in my tiny childhood bed.

But forget rising. While I slept, someone had bound my hands and feet!