Page 156 of Ash and Poison

He loves it.

I hate it.

The spiders tell me stories as well. Horrible ones.

They tap against my ribs when I try to sleep.

Tiny feet.

Tiny voices.

Million voices. Growing, growing. It’s so loud. My head aches.

They crawl within and without.

I have to cut my skin and let them go.

Not all at once. That would be cruel.

Just enough.

A little at a time.

It hurts me.

My dress becomes crimson, but I can’t stop.

I have to liberate them.

Let them go.

Poor spiders.

At least, they should live.

R.

35

WHEN EVIL FALLS

DIYA

Leaving Holland on the floor, I pushed myself to my feet, my breath unsteady. I winced when I took in a deep breath. The air smelled rotten.

I trailed my fingers along the cracked walls, looking around the tight space. There were no windows, no way to let the air or light in. On the rusted metal shelf were crates filled with packets of freeze-dried vegetables, cold meat, and pickles that had lost their shine. And there were more glass jars filled with spiders.

A bunker.

The place was ancient, and the walls hummed with things better left forgotten. No one knew this was here—except the ones who built it, and the monsters still crawling in and out of its shadows.

A perfect place to hide and kill.

I looked around, my stomach roiling. Walls stained with blood. A lone chair… like a throne made for someone to watch. Maybe she sat here watching as he raped them. A chain bolted to the floor. A stained mattress shoved in the corner like an afterthought.

This was their playground.

Where they kept their victims. Broke them. Played house with their pain.