Eyes stare up at Rachel from a flat, unrecognizable face that’s haphazardly folded into a neck and torso. Boneless limbs lie every which way, stretched out beyond recognition. A swollen tongue hangs from the mouth, lips pulled into an awkward, ugly gape. It looks like a film prop or a twisted Halloween decoration that’d been left out in the sun. The heap twitches again and a bulge appears in the neck. A thick, serpentine thing slips out of the mouth, protruding from between the lips, slinks across the flattened nose, and whips the chubby cheek. It quickly disappears before a bloody snout becomes visible. Whiskers move and beady eyes stare out from the jawless face, cradled between broken teeth.
Rachel steps back and suppresses a scream, which comes out as a squeak. She stares in abject horror at the scene. Her stomach flips in revulsion. The damage is done, though. The image will forever haunt her nightmares.
“In the name of the Wee Man,” Dougal whispers, aghast.
“I told you,” she says. Anger takes over as she opens her eyes again. She averts her gaze to look directly at Dougal, his face now the shade of ash. “I freaking told you we shouldn’t come down here, didn’t I?”
His eyes fix on the boneless body, his jaw works as if he’s speaking under his breath, but he can’t find his voice.
“Dougal, c’mon.” She nudges his shoulder, pushing his immense form backward so he can snap out of his stupor.
“He’s boneless. Utterly boneless,” he finally utters, unable to pry his gaze away from the heap of human remains. Dougal raises his hand, wipes his palm over his forehead and eyes, and shakes his head. “How’s it even possible?”
“If we stick around here for much longer, I’m pretty sure we’ll find out. Let’s go.” Rachel tugs at his sleeve, but he doesn’t budge. “We need to report it.”
“Aye,” he concedes.
“We need to report this now.”
He nods, but doesn’t move his feet. The shock seems to have gotten the best of him. It’s understandable, but considering the killer could still be lurking somewhere nearby, watching them, waiting to strike—
Rachel tries again. Unable to keep the quiver from her voice, she hisses, “Dougal, damn it.”
“I heard ye the first time,” he barks, snapping away his gaze from the wretched soul. “Unlike ye, I have to process my emotions when I come across murdered folks. Not everyone can go on unaltered like a bloody robot.”
Surprised by his outburst, she says in a low, threatening tone, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dougal breathes loudly through his nose, and marches past her. “Ye know full well what I mean.”
“I actually don’t.” She balls her hands into fists, exasperation and confusion stiffening her muscles. “No, what are you going on about?”
“Och, please,” Dougal mutters. He spins around to face her, cutting off access to the exit. His face is still red, but his ice blue eyes have grown even colder. “Ye’re so calm, ye barely blinked right now.” He gestures in the general direction of the corpse. “Normal people don’t react like that. And don’t even get me started on yer pompousness.”
“Now I’m pompous?” Rachel tries making sense of the warped puzzle pieces in her mind. “Sorry, but I’m struggling to understand how I got to be the bad guy here. It’s not like I killed the guy.”
“The way ye talk. It’s like ye’re always talkin’ down to me, to Nan, to everyone,” he interrupts her. “Ye never show who ye are underneath the fakeness, and Lord help me, ye always know what’s best. Even when ye don’t know anythin’, ye’re somehow always right. It’s annoyin’ to say the least. No wonder ye don’t have any friends.”
In her peripheral, she notices something lingering nearby. Rachel turns away from Dougal, searching for the lurker. There’s nothing there, though—it’s probably just her mind playing tricks on her as it processes that traumatizing image.
Ready to stand up for herself, she turns to Dougal, when suddenly she notices it again. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end. Her heart picks up speed as she tries discerning the ghostlike figure from the corner of her eye.
“We need to go,” she says.
“I don’t know who ye are, Rachel. It’s like ye have no depth as a person.” When she doesn’t respond, he says, “Freak out, for God’s sake!”
The figure takes a clipped step toward them, limbs bending unnaturally. It makes a staccato movement with its shoulders, before taking another step forward. The creature’s head jerks to the side, fingers twitch revealing talon-like nails. The rest of the strange creature’s body is obscured as it flickers in and out of existence, as if it’s stuck between two worlds.
Rachel’s heart pounds harder with her growing anxiety. She’s about to make a run for it when Dougal presses his balled hand against his head. His fingers move into his hair, violently tugging clumps from his scalp. A deafening roar rips from his throat. The sound rebounds.
“What’s happenin’ to me?” He goes down onto one knee.
“Fae influence, I suspect.” Rachel grabs hold of him by snaking her arm around his waist, and helps him get back to his feet.
Dougal drapes an arm across her shoulders for support, leaning on her with much of his immense weight. He drags his feet as she half-carries him the way they’d come. He’s not the easiest person to maneuver, but she manages to get him up the stairs regardless of the approaching flickering creature. Rachel kicks the door shut behind them and hears the lock click into place. Whether the barrier would provide a modicum of protection, however, is debatable.
“It feels like there’s a swarm of bees buzzin’ round in my head,” he explains through labored breaths.
“Hold on,” Rachel says. She comes to a stop halfway up the hallway, leans Dougal against the wall and makes sure he’s steady before reaching to the back of her neck. With deft hands, Rachel unclips the
