The Spirits' Guide

BETA/Prologue

"Where are you?" The hairs on Owen's arms rose at the shrieking growl.

He quickly placed a hand over his mouth and nose in an attempt to stifle his loud and heavy breathing. However, his entire body began to shake with such ferocity that he rattled the clothed table he was hiding under.

Slamming his eyes shut, he prayed that the monster didn't hear him.

Silence.

It lasted for what felt like hours but had to have only been a few minutes or even seconds. Slowly, Owen opened his eyes.

Terror shot through his body, petrifying him.

The wide, cold silver eyes of the very creature he was hiding from was staring into his own gray, wide eyes.

The monster gave a happy shriek once it noticed Owen's fear, no doubt plastered onto his face in a horrified pale sheen.

He could only gape as the creature brought a death-gray hand, or what was left of one, to his cheek.

He didn't breathe as the monster lifted its left hand against his right cheek so the monster was holding his head in a firm grip.

Owen flinched as the creature began to sing an off-tune soliloquy. Its song turned gut retching as the pace quickened.

The creature began to sway, moving Owen's head along with it.

Suddenly, the song stopped. Owen tensed further as the monster turned its gaze to the left.

When the monster gently lifted the white cloth, Owen caught a glimpse of an open door.

A door that was slammed shut when the creature entered the room, trapping him.

"Someone's here," the creature murmured in the same sing-song voice as its smile grew. It dashed out of the confines of the underside of the table. The white cloth slowly fluttering back into place.

Owen didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened further as silence resumed.

He knew it was stupid. He knew that it would be best to remain where he was in hopes that the other creature in the room didn't know he was in the room. That it was stronger than the monster that already knew he was free prey. His chances were better if he stayed under the table.

He ran out from under the table and raced with his heart to the open door. He would have shouted if he had found his voice when the door was slammed shut by the creature. Owen could have screamed. He could have sobbed. He could have begged.

All he did was piss himself and shake as he stared into those silver eyes.

The creature tilted its head to the side as its gaze shifted away from Owen.

"She warned me of you." It growled in its screeching voice. Owen began to shake at the sound. It sounded afraid.

This pale, deathly monster that could easily tear him to shreds with its dull, cracked and yellowed nails was terrified of what was standing behind him.

Owen's imagination went full blast as he imagined a monster of degrading flesh and claws, the teeth dull and yellowed, perfect for ripping flesh from bone in the most painful way. The fingers with decaying nails that were cracked and ruined curling around his throat before they stained with dark crimson. The eyes... so cold that they could make any arctic storm feel like acid rain. Owen shuddered at the image.

"My reputation has grown then. Oh goodie," a light voice, much unlike the gurgled groan he had thought would come from behind him, snarked at the monster in front of him. The creature seemed to consider the words before it gave a shrieked roar.