Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

OPHELIA ST. MAUD

NOW

T hat night, in my dreams, I'm standing in a burning house— my house; the one I grew up in, and not the one belonging to old Ms. Tennison; the blind recluse who took my mother and I in after we lost everything.

But the fire doesn't touch me.

Outside, on the other side of the threshold, stands Winifred on the porch, hand outstretched toward me, tears streaking down her soot-caked cheeks. Her mouth is forming words I can't make out, other than my name.

The dream version of me cocks her head.

I am me, and somehow not—an observer, trapped behind thick glass that blocks out all noise save for a whistling wind and crackling embers.

Winifred's mouth stretches open in a silent scream, and my heart, somewhere deep inside this body that no longer feels like mine, lurches painfully.

Go. Run, I silently will toward her. It's okay. Save yourself.

She shakes her head like she can hear me.

So fucking stubborn, I think, chest squeezing.

I try to take a step toward her, blind in my desperate need to shove her out of here. Hell, get us both out of here, as far away from this cursed place as humanly possible. We don't belong here. Especially her.

But when I try to move, a teeth-rattling pain rockets through my body, and I fall to my knees in the flames. Whatever was shielding me is now gone, and I scream and scream and scream as the fire slowly consumes me.

"Winnie!" I finally manage to wail just as my vision gets eaten by the flames, and the roaring wind swallows my voice whole.

And I'm?—

I gasp awake.

Or at least…I think I do.

My eyes pop open wide—unblinking. The fire is gone. There is only darkness. I'm in my room—the one in the attic of Ms. Tennison's farmhouse.

It's cold—unnaturally so. Steam puffs up from my lips with each shaky breath. And yet I'm soaked in sweat. Feverish. It stings. Burns. Feels as if there are hundreds, if not thousands, of little hot needles prickling every inch of my skin, even under my clothes.

But when I try to move—roll over, kick off my sheets, claw off my pajamas, rip out the needles, check over my body for burns—I can't.

I can't move anything, not even my mouth to cry out in pain.

And that's when the panic sets in.

It's just like in my nightmare, only this time, as seconds pass and my awareness and desperation sharpen, I know I'm awake.

I am…

Wide-eyed, I stare at the ceiling above me, my eyeballs the only part of me capable of moving as I take in the shadows above me, watching as they seem to…

Move.

Gathering into a writhing sort of mass that I don't even realize is drawing closer, lowering onto me, until I realize I can't breathe from the pressure, and the ceiling is no longer in sight.

It's just…

Darkness.

An unnaturally heavy, rippling, oily darkness that slithers around my limbs, wraps itself around my waist, and shackles my wrists and ankles to the bed.

It isn't real.

Just a nightmare.

A horrible, sickening burning smell fills my nostrils, bringing hot tears to my eyes and throat. Quickly followed by a finger of darkness creeping up my cheek, curling around my ear with a lover's caress.

My throat clenches around a whimper, just as a hot foul breath fans over my ear, trailed by a distant familiar giggle.

While the more rational part of me acknowledges that this is all in my head, that I'm just hallucinating, dreaming in a sense— sleep paralysis, my mind supplies; I've had this before, often in the weeks that followed the fire that ravaged my life—and the tremor that vibrates my body is no more real than the familiar breathy cackle in my ear and the shadows holding me down, slowly suffocating me…

The reactive, primal part of my brain isn't so easily swayed.

The darkness pulses, threads of glistening light spider-webbing through.

"Shh, pretty girl," the silken female voice as familiar to me as my own whispers, drawing up another choked cry from me…and more amused laughter from her.

And for a moment, my mind flashes, and it's no longer darkness consuming me…

But the fire one more.

A howling roar chased by a beckoning whisper, one I remember as clear as if the horrible night just happened yesterday.

"You can still save him. Come."

No! I internally shout, mentally throwing a steel door down between that night and me.

That tinkling, misleadingly innocent laugh fills my ear again just as a shadowy finger pushes my hair off my face. The rippling darkness converges on me once more, snuffing out the phantom flames, taking the echoing ghost of words with them.

"Oh, my sweet Ophelia," the voice chides softly. "Did you really think I'd be content to just watch from a distance? Share space that is rightfully mine?" She tsks. " I've been watching, waiting for this moment. Waiting for both of you to be ready."

No…

Nononono.

I try with all my might to scream. My chest tightening, aching with the effort. My teeth rattling.

It's not real, I tell myself. Relax, and you'll wake up. You will. Just like every other time before this. The more you panic, the longer it will take to claw your way out.

This. Isn't. Real.

Something boiling hot and sickeningly slippery brushes my lips with the faintest amount of pressure. "Shh, pretty girl. This doesn't have to be a bad thing. It doesn't have to hurt." A tongue flicks at my lips…forked. Like a serpent's. " You're ready now. I know you are. I can taste it. You've been ready." Her voice lowers into an inhuman hiss . "And ssssooon, she will be too…" Pressure descends on my chest. "She's aching for it…"

Again, from within my body, I'm whipping my head side to side, throwing myself at the prison bars that are my frozen, unmoving flesh.

"I know what you crave mossssst, Ophelia. What you both ache for. I can give it to you, you know. It'ssss not wrong. Just ssssay the word, and she'sssss all yourssss."

Nononono. Don't say a thing. Ignore her. It's a trick. A lie.

I try to close my eyes, but it's no use. My eyes burn hot with tears I can't even be sure are really there.

Around me, the seams of light expand, brightening with an overwhelming glare I can't hide from. A deafening high-pitched whine suddenly pierces my eardrums, pressure compressing my skull, and from within, I jolt. My body jerking, thrashing against its flesh and bone prison. Please, I beg silently. Please let me go, let me wake up. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

I don't even know who I'm apologizing to anymore.

God. My dad. My mom.

Winifred…

For failing to protect her, despite the fact she turned her back on me when I needed her most, not only shattering my heart, but flushing ten years of friendship down the drain.

Despite the fact she's just as equally to blame for what happened—that night…what's become of me…what's happening now…

Despite the fact I hate her so much sometimes, it sickens me something fierce.

But most of all?

I'm sorry I was stupid and naive enough to think I'd have her forever.

The piercing whine—no, screeching in my brain grows impossibly louder, sharper. So sharp, I swear I feel sticky wetness trickling out from my ears. Taste iron on my tongue.

Then, faster than I can blink…

The world flips on its axis.

One second I'm on my back, feeling like I'm literally dying.

And the next thing I know, I'm looking down on a sleeping Winifred in a bedroom I haven't been in in years.

Somehow over the agonizing clamor of whines and screeches, a wicked chuckle wraps itself around my senses. Slithering words weaving through the cacophony . "So that'ssss what hidessss beneath that frumpy sssssweater."

A shadowy tendril worms down from where I hover over Winifred to tug at the collar of her low-cut nightgown.

It's white. Thin. Not quite silk, but soft-looking enough that it probably feels like heaven sliding over her creamy skin. It leaves practically nothing left to the imagination, and much to my horror, despite the fear and pain consuming me, my mouth dries, my pussy clenches. Hunger, like nothing I've ever felt before, gnawing at my insides with such ferocity, I ache.

Deeply.

The kind of ache that hollows me out, carving a human shaped emptiness that extends from my skull to my fingers to my toes.

Nothing but my need for Winifred exists.

My blood, my bones, my organs…

Gone.

There is only famine.

A low satisfied hum reverberates against my ear, and I'd shudder if I could. "I feel that. Sssssmell it."

Oh God.

Deep down, logically, I know that if this isn't a dream… it's her doing this. Producing this feeling. Intensifying my emotions, heightening the desires I've done so well shoving under the surface when I'm awake to an unbearable degree.

Beneath me, Winifred rolls her head to the side, long, wispy brown hair fanned across the pillow. Thrusting her chest out, she moans with a light sleepy smack of her lips.

"She's perfect like thissss, is she not? So soft, so relaxed, so defenselesssss… Perfectly, delicioussssly ripe for the taking…"

No!

Bow-shaped lips parted, eyes fluttering, Winifred sighs contentedly in her sleep. While I have no choice but to watch with crippling horror as the shadowy tendril tugs down her nightgown, exposing the creamy swell of a breast, inch by inch, until a rosy peeked nipple is revealed.

Inside my body, I shake my head, thrash against the force keeping me under.

This isn't a dream.

The realization has ragged pleas wrenching from my throat, muffled by my tightly sealed lips as I watch the blanket go next—shoved down her body—revealing long, slim legs twisting along the sheets, thighs grinding against each other.

Her nightgown is rucked up next, bunched around her waist, so that only the pale pink triangle of her cotton panties peeking out from between her writhing lower half is all that separates my eyes from her most private of parts.

I choke on a whimper, my heart racing as the shadows begin lowering me on top of her, putting me flush against her, chest to chest, hips to hips. Every pliant inch of her molding to every pliant inch of me. Inches I can feel…

Winnie…

How is this happening?

"Because I willed it so," the voice in my head whispers into my ear, the voice more human this time. In fact…it almost sounds like mine. " Feels good, right?"

I try to shake my head, my nostrils flaring as a wave of Winfred's scent washes over me. Her lavender soap. Her arousal, musky and sweet.

She's so close…

So close and yet not enough.

I watch as my hand appears in the corner of my eye, guided by the shadows between our bodies, fingers curling gently around Winifred's throat.

Her pulse flutters rapidly against my fingers as the tip of my nose dips toward hers. My hair falling around our faces, the inky black ropes getting lost in the shadows writhing around us, pressing down on me, pinning me against Winifred.

That hair-raising foul breath of the thing ensnaring us coasts over my ear once again, followed by the slippery forked tip of a tongue flicking at my lobe. Another cry sounds from behind my clamped lips.

"Look at her. She thinks it's a dream. A good dream, by the looks and smell of it."

I try to close my eyes—hold my breath—but it's no use.

"Go on, take what you need from her. You know you want to. You've been dying for it, haven't you?"

It's not until the lean, lithe silky-soft body beneath me arches up, wedging a thigh between my legs, right where I throb hotly through my thin lace shorts, that I realize the words weren't for me this time.

She's talking to Winifred.

My throat constricts with a pleasured moan I have no hope of containing, one that actually manages to escape me. And it's in that moment, Winifred's eyes fly open on a gasp, her body going eerily still.

Confusion swirls in her bleary eyes when she takes me in, doing very little to bury her arousal. Flushed cheeks, blown pupils, chest heaving…

She's as gone for this as I am.

Her lips move, tracing my name—the nickname she used to use for me. Ophie.

She's so close…

"Yesssss. She issss."

So, so close…

"Just say the word, and this can be all yoursssss. All…yourssss…"

I…

Winifred's chin trembles, and she cranes up toward me ever so slightly, like she can't help herself. Lips parted, eyes crinkled and pleading like she too aches from within—hungers for what could've been…

"Say it. Say the word, and you can have thissss. You both can have thissss."

A beat passes, then?—

"Right, little bunny?"

The voice this time is mine.

But it's…it's not me.

It—she—the thing…

It's using me…

When I try to shake my head— No, Winnie. Don't listen. Ignore it. It isn't me. Wake up. Run— nothing happens.

I'm nothing but a puppet as the entity controlling my body has me grinding up against Winifred, my pussy riding her thigh. Nothing but utterly helpless as I feel my other hand find its way between us, snaking up to join the other wrapping around her neck. Squeezing.

The pretty hazel eyes looking up at me in fear bulge, lips gaping like a fish as Winifred struggles for air, her legs and torso writhing under my unmovable body. Shadows shackle her wrists, just as they shackled mine, keeping her from clawing at my hands.

What are you doing? I demand internally. STOP!

"Say it," the voice, harder than it was moments ago, grits out.

Inside, I'm banging on invisible walls, watching with blood-curdling terror as Winifred's fluttering lips turn blue.

You're going to kill her!

"SAY IT!"

Shadows coil up and around Winifred's face, mapping out her features…her gaping lips…her reddened, glistening eyes…

And I can't help but notice how cold she suddenly feels…

Unnaturally so.

A shadowy finger dips threateningly into her mouth, and my mind…

It just… it whites out.

I'm sorry, Winnie. I tried…