This is a FREE STORY with one paid bonus chapter!
Once the sunlight goes to bed, that's when darkness wakes the dead.
When a series of grisly deaths devastate 19th-century New England, sixteen-year-old farm girl Faith must outsmart the Undead to ke...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
When morning arrives, a murky light slants through the windows.
I'm sitting on the floor, my body slumped against Papa's bed. I lift my head and an ache squeezes my skull, a nagging pain that advances down my neck and across my shoulders. I hadn't meant to fall asleep, but as the minutes turned to hours and still no sign of Honor and Thomas, my eyes grew heavier and heavier until I could no longer keep them open.
They're still not here. My brain pushes past the different scenarios that might be holding them up but every solution leaves me more disheartened than the last.
Are they with Mr. Baptiste? Has he made them his prisoners, too?
I've never felt more trapped. All I want to do is bring them home, but I'm afraid to leave Papa alone. His breathing's worse. His lungs rattle now, a series of short, wet gasps emitting from deep inside his chest. When I offered him more tea, he shoved the cup away and fell into a deep yet restless sleep.
Wind whistles around the windows, the dark sky marbling into a lighter shade of gray. If there weren't so many clouds, the first rays of sunlight would filter through the curtains. I miss the golden beams on my face, their comforting warmth as they embrace me. But the sun abandoned us.
My bottom shifts against the hardwood, the scratches on my wrist clinging to the sleeve of my dress and pulling at my skin. I tug at the material and the wounds slice open, ribbons of yellow drainage streaming down into my palm.
Everyday I think they can't get any worse, and yet they always prove me wrong. No matter what I do or how I treat them, they won't heal.
A thought nags at me, an urgent formation that refuses to go away. What if they don't get better? What if they make me sick, infect me with whatever poison took Andrew? He's the one who gave them to me. What if they turn me into—
No! There's no such thing as the Undead.
I push myself up, bracing against the mattress, and a black haze creeps along the edge of my vision. I count to five, willing the dizzy spell to pass, when a sudden hiss rises from the bed. I whip around as Papa rolls to his side and faces me. A smear of blood stains his chin, and covers the blankets.
His eyes open.
"Papa!" I go to him, my heart spiking in my chest.
He's too weak to sit up on his own. Flinching against the pain, I scoop my arm under his neck and stuff another pillow beneath his head. He's still hot to the touch.
His face angles toward mine and he smiles. Blood cakes between his teeth and long, viscous strands stretch from his lips. "Rose. I've missed you so much."
He still thinks I'm Mama. "No, Papa. It's me. Faith. Your daughter."
His brows furrow and a deep crease forms between his eyes. And then his forehead lifts. "Faith..."
