Chapter 7: Marked for Nightmare

After what happened to Old Hank, I couldn’t sleep. Whenever I closed my eyes, it felt like countless eyes were watching me.

Every time I tried to drift off, I’d snap awake, heart racing, sure something was crawling out from under the bed. Even the shadows seemed to twitch in the corners of the room.

Under the bed, on the rafters, in the closet, outside the window.

The old house creaked and groaned, the wind rattling the shutters. I imagined claws scratching at the walls, whiskers twitching in the dark.

Every dark corner and blind spot seemed to hide something watching.

I stuffed towels under the door, pulled the quilt over my head, but nothing stopped the feeling. My skin prickled all over.

When I shut my eyes, I could still hear faint squeaking.

The sound would start low, like mice in the attic, but always seemed to grow louder until it filled my head. Sometimes I heard it in my dreams, sometimes wide awake.

I didn’t care if Second Uncle or Grandma Carol scolded me—I turned on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with light.

The old bulb buzzed, casting harsh white light over every corner. My heart finally slowed, though I knew I wouldn’t sleep tonight.

Before I could relax, Second Uncle stormed in and slapped me across the face.

He barreled in, reeking of beer, belt already half off, and struck without warning. The slap snapped my head sideways, pain stinging my cheek.

"You don’t have the life of a lady, but you’ve got rich girl habits—burning electricity at night, wasting money. Wretched thing, you need a beating to toughen up."

His words slurred, voice thick with bitterness. He never missed a chance to remind me how little I meant in this house.

My head buzzed, my vision went black, and I collapsed to the floor.

I crumpled onto the faded carpet, dizzy and breathless, the room spinning. Somewhere far away, I heard Grandma Carol’s voice, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Ever since Dad died and Mom ran off, I’d been the house Cinderella ever since Dad died and Mom ran off, always beaten and scolded.

I swept floors, washed dishes, fetched groceries. Most days, I barely spoke a word, afraid to draw attention. Every bruise reminded me how powerless I was in their world.

If not for the deal with Jake from the next town over—to sell me as a bride at fourteen for a five-thousand-dollar dowry—Second Uncle would have thrown me out long ago.

I’d overheard them haggling over the price, like I was a heifer at the state fair. Even my own name felt like it belonged to someone else.

Just as Second Uncle raised his hand to hit me again, a commotion erupted outside.

Shouts echoed through the neighborhood, car horns blaring. Someone banged on the front door, a voice shrill with panic.

"Someone’s been eaten! Someone’s been eaten! A monster is eating people!"

The words sent chills down my spine. For a moment, the house seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen.