Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

s e v e n t y - n i n e

"And I think you ought to stay away from here
There are ghosts in the walls and they
Crawl in your head through your ear" 
Such Small Hands - La Dispute 

Amara's room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of a small lamp on her bedside table. She lay under the covers, her body still tense from the strange whispers and memories that had haunted her earlier. She had finally managed to drift off to sleep, but even in her dreams, there was no peace.

She was back in her childhood bedroom, kneeling at the foot of the bed, just like she had so many times before. Her mother stood behind her, watching with cold, judgmental eyes. The room felt suffocating, the air thick with the weight of her mother's disapproval. Amara's knees ached against the hard floor, her hands clasped tightly together as she whispered prayers, her voice shaking.

"Kneel," her mother's voice commanded, sharper than before. "You will pray until you are clean."

Amara's chest tightened, fear and shame washing over her in waves. She wanted to stop, wanted to run, but she couldn't move. Her body was frozen, trapped in place by the weight of her mother's control.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp sting across her cheek, the force of the slap jerking her head to the side. Her mother's hand. The familiar pain was all too real, and her heart raced as she struggled to stay awake, to keep praying.

But it wasn't just a dream.

The sting on her cheek lingered, sharp and real, pulling her out of sleep with a start. Amara gasped, her hand flying to her face as she sat up in bed. Her skin burned where her mother's hand had struck her, but when she looked around, she was alone in the room.

She threw the covers off, her breathing ragged as she stumbled to the bathroom. The soft light flickered to life as she leaned over the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

There, on her cheek, was a red mark—faint, but unmistakable. A handprint.

Amara's heart pounded in her chest as she ran her fingers over the mark, her mind racing. It wasn't possible. Her mother was dead. This was just a nightmare. But the mark was real, and the lingering pain told her this was something far more sinister than just a dream.

She stepped back from the mirror, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Was it all in her head? Or was something else at play?

The bunker had always felt safe to her, like a fortress against the horrors of the outside world. But now, it felt different. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed darker, more oppressive, as if they were watching her, waiting for her to fall back asleep.

Amara turned, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the door to her room slowly creak open on its own. The air grew colder, and for a moment, she thought she heard a faint whisper—her mother's voice.

"Evangeline..."

Her chest tightened, fear curling in the pit of her stomach. This wasn't just her mind playing tricks. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Amara stepped back, her pulse racing as she scanned the room, looking for any sign of movement. But the shadows were still, and the only sound was her own rapid breathing.

Suddenly, a soft thud echoed from the hallway outside her room, and her blood ran cold. It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine.

She reached for the door, her hand trembling as she pulled it open the rest of the way. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bunker's lights casting long shadows on the walls. But there was no one there.