From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.
April 10, 1930.
I have known fear in my life, and today I was frightened.
I discovered a path that curled around the eastern edge of Gods’ Hollow, leading into the morning sun as it rose and burned off the fog. For nearly an hour I walked at a steady pace, pausing to listen and to look, to seek out signs of the missing.
After nine, I stopped and heard my name.
A soft, beckoning recitation of my first, middle, and last names. Sweetly spoken, a fine, darting needle piercing my heart and taking control of my limbs. Hardly conscious of my own movements, I stumbled along the path, following the voice.
It was the voice of a woman, an elegant and cultured creature who’s tone and form was reminiscent of my youth, when the Indians still raided, and America had not broken away from her King.
The path dipped down and revealed a crypt, a great iron door sunken into it and clinging vines growing up and around the hewn granite. The name ‘Carter’ was emblazoned above the door, and here, her voice grew stronger.
My fingers itched, and my muscles jerked as she bade me to free her, to open the door and to let her out.
Did I not want her lips upon my throat? Did I not long for her breath against my flesh?
I did.
And when I realized what it was that I wanted, I broke free of her.
At that moment, her furious scream shook the Hollow in its entirety.
Birds took to the air, and in the distance, I heard sporadic gunfire from the militia.
I tore grass from the earth and clamped handfuls of the stuff to my ears as I fled her prison.#CrossMassachusetts #horror #house #nightmare #fear #alternatereality #supernatural #scary #skull #gods
