[Previously FEATURED] Retail workers have the least chance of being haunted, hurt, or killed. At least, that's what three cashiers assume. When Temple, Marilyn, and Martine meet little Sienna, they find out how wrong they are about job security.
S...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The insistent whispers diminished when she neared the door. Marilyn breathed easier, until a tug at her skull nearly ripped her hair out. Tom dragged her from the door back into the living room, silent as she flailed and cursed him.
The darkness called her name, and she struggled even more.
Marilyn.
The whisper grated loudly, like a mouth on her ear.
She screamed. And kicked. None of it mattered. Tom was a big man, and he hit her repeatedly. Through the beating, she acknowledged the whispers.
She was cold. So cold.
"You won't ruin my career." Tom hoisted her over his shoulder.
She couldn't distinguish much out of her swollen eyes, and she heard even less out of her blood-soaked ears. Even so, the whispers roared in her head.
Tom reached the balcony. A freezing hand wrapped around her arm, and somehow, she knew it was the Shadow. She begged for It to stop, and Tom took her words as a plea.
He lifted her. Hard stone scratched her back, ripped at her dress.
Adler. I used to be Adler. Why did I give him everything, even my name?
Her thoughts jumped, a chaotic mess, like her face.
"Your 'suicide' will buy my next election. You'll finally do some good with your pathetic life!" Tom shouted above the din of the crowd.
He grasped her palm, and ripped the picture from her hands.
Marilyn registered next to nothing.
Martine?
A burst of adrenaline shook her. Leaving was fine, but not without Martine. She grabbed Tom, seizing his shirtfront. She dragged him down on top of her, and a force greater than herself---
Shadow
---helped her.
He wrestled against her iron grip. A stinging cold sealed her fingers together, and Tom was stuck, saddled on top of his wife like he had been for so many years. Only this time, she controlled him.
Tom.
The whisper rang out, undeniable.
He was heavy, and she slipped, dress caught on stone, for the moment.
"The only good thing I ever did was be with her," she whispered, hoping Tom heard.
Her other hand found his closed fist, and with her last bit of strength, she wrestled with his grip until she took the picture back.
Once the dress tore, they flew from the balcony, an eerie silence descending with them. Tom's weight carried them both, pulling them twenty stories to the street.
Before her head cracked on the pavement, she caught one last glimpse of Tom: a red splatter, pieces scattered.
She smiled, and broke apart.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A/N: Ah, poor Marylin. Well, she might come back to life. Oh, who am I kidding? This is a horror story! Although, a resurrection could be cool...
Thanks to the readers, The Dark is gaining momentum. This chapter is dedicated to one of my newest followers, dreamweaverMTZ. Her story November Frost is deeply personal and a wonderful read.
