Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Emma stood outside the movie theater. Instead of the light snow that had settled on her shoulders that night, torrents of rain ate through her jacket and soaked her skin. She ran under the outcropping. To the doors.

She shivered as she wrenched at the handle, a gust of cold air freezing the water to her flesh. The doors trembled, but refused to budge.

Open, damn it!

It was only then she realized how dark it was inside. The area holding the concession stand was pitch black. The ticket booth, empty. She pounded on the glass.

“Tara! Are you in there? Let me in!”

Emma jumped back when four rows of tiny bulbs flared to life on the lobby wall. She squinted, distance making the image at the center of the lights indistinct while her eyes struggled to adjust. When they did, she backed away until her heels struck the curb, the downpour drenching her.

W-what . . . ?

Emma stared into her mother’s eye sockets, her open mouth just visible above the bottom border of the poster’s frame. Tendrils of darkness poked from the three voids like tiny worms, swarming over the bulbs and squirming toward the floor.

Toward her.

“No . . . no! No!”

Emma turned to flee when the first strand of black slipped under the doors and wrapped around her ankle. The dark thread squelched against her flesh, spreading out from the pressure of its own grip before it pulled. She fell hard, her side striking concrete. When she opened her mouth to scream, the darkness rushed in, sliding between her teeth and covering her tongue in a foul oil slick. Free of the ooze, the lights glared at her around her mother’s face while Emma mimicked her death mask. The blackness thickened in her throat, pushing from the inside until she heard a snap.

***

Emma woke up. She was retching phantom liquid out of her lungs when she saw the dark figure leaning over her. This time, she could scream. The shape recoiled as her fingernails slashed for its black hole of a face. Her father’s voice grunted when one of the points struck home.

“Emma! What’s the matter with you?”

She rubbed her eyes, the light filtering in from the open door finally bringing her father’s features into focus.

“Dad?” Emma glanced at her bedside alarm clock. “It’s two in the morning. What—”

Her father pushed her bag into her hand. “No time.”

His gaze flitted around the room. “You have everything ready like I showed you, right?” He shook the bag. “Your gear?”

Another drill. Seriously? We just had one last week.

Emma was mid-groan when she saw the frantic light in her father’s eyes. She didn’t have long to look before he was pulling her off the bed.

“Come on! I’ve got everything loaded up in the car.”

Emma yanked the bag out of his grip.

“What are you talking about? I’m not even dressed!” She threw the bag down. “Dad! You’re freaking out! You’re freaking me out! What’s going on? Tell me!”

“Stop arguing and get in the damn car!”

Emma stood as tall as her 5-feet-3 inches would allow and crossed her arms.

“No. Not until you talk to me.”

Emma’s father lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a shaking hand. Without warning, he wrapped her in a hug. His hold was so tight, she barely registered the sting in her arm.

“Dad . . . ?”

Emma’s legs went weak. She slid to the floor, held up only by her father’s embrace. The panic from her dream dug a fresh set of claws in her mind when he began to blur with the rest of the room, and darkness swallowed him with everything else.

His voice barely registered in her ears, but she could still make out the pain in its tone. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. But we really have to go . . . ”