Ana was not in her house. She was not in Morganwood, and she certainly wasn’t anywhere on Earth. The long, thin trees were all lined in a row, as if their only purpose in life was to be cut down and replaced with a younger version of themselves, used for the same ultimate purpose. A fog surrounded her on all sides, lessening her vision so that that she couldn’t see what lay on the horizon. The moon could barely be seen in the cloudy sky, but she could see it’s silhouette, a full blood moon that was nothing but an ill omen.

She has had this dream before, and she knew how it ended, but she had never been more aware that she was asleep. She didn’t want to be here, but she didn’t seem to have much of a choice.

A sound erupted from behind her; a low growling, the crashing of trees, large footsteps. Her heart started to race, and by instinct she started running the opposite way. She has never seen the monster, but she knew it was chasing her somewhere, and she had no choice but to let it.

She raced past the identical trees, her footsteps letting out a dull thump against the unnaturally clean ground as the monster’s thunderous stomps grew ever closer. They thumped, shaking the ground as the beast ran towards Ana. She almost tripped at one point on a root that rose from the ground and nearly fell to the ground, but caught herself at the last moment. That near slip-up cost her everything, and she dodged a sudden dark, clawed hand that reached down to grab her. She screamed as it slammed into a tree, splintering it in half and spraying debris everywhere. She continued running in a different direction, breath fast and quick as she jumped over the tree roots that threatened to trip her over again.

It was leading her somewhere, and she finally arrived to the destination. Long, wooden stairs descended into the ground, stretching in either direction so she had no choice but to descend them. Something was different this time, however. In the basement below, she could see warm fire and a silhouette standing in front of it. She rushed into the room as the monster followed, crushing the rickety stairs as it followed.

She stopped in front of the man standing before the fire—no, it wasn’t just a man. It was Beau, but what was he doing in her dream? He was never in her dreams. He looked at her with a placid, neutral expression as if he did not care that she was there. Did he not see the monster coming in behind her? They were both trapped. Trapped, and nearing their death.

The monster. She had almost forgotten—It gripped her shoulders and pushed her to her knees, its dark hands suddenly seeming smaller. It grabbed hold of her wrists and restrained them. She fought against the grip, but it was to no avail.

She looked back up at Beau, terror in her eyes. “I have done nothing to deserve this! Do you hear me?”

He did not answer her, nor did he move to help her. Instead, he took a cigarette out of his pocket. This wasn’t unusual, Ana often had cigarette dreams but never like this. She could only watch as he lit the cigarette with the fire behind him and brought it to his lips.

Fear suddenly filled her with a reason unknown to her, and she struggled against the hands holding her. “No! Stop—wait! Please!”

She could not do anything as he inhaled, the cherry of the cigarette glowing a bright yellow. He held the smoke in his lungs for a brief moment before exhaling, but what came out wasn’t the disgusting fumes she was familiar with. Instead, it was fire. Blue, hot fire. It consumed his face, covering it and slowly spreading to his neck. Beau stood stock still, the cigarette dropping from his hand.

Ana cried out, trying to pull away from the monster holding her. “Beau! Beau, please! Don’t do this! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

What was she saying sorry for? She didn’t know, or maybe she didn’t remember. She just wanted him to fight against the fire licking and consuming his face. She wanted him to be safe, and to be free from the fire around them. This was somehow all her fault, she could feel it in her bones and in her heart. She was the reason why they were here, and she had to make it right somehow. She knew she had to.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

She pulled and twisted against the hands holding her, until she finally turned around and looked up at the monster above her. She never did that, she never looked at the monster. It was an unspoken rule between them. Don’t look into it’s face, and maybe she would safely wake up.

Dark purple eyes stared back, with intense and hot blue flames spilling out of it’s mouth. she made a mistake. A terrible mistake.

Ana awoke with a gasp, leaning over and staring at her lap as she fought to even her breathing. She had the nightmare again, she knew that much. The details were starting to become foggy, however. The most she could remember was a cigarette, and Beau. What was he doing in her dream? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t think she wanted to. Some things are best left in her mind.

She looked around, confused about her surroundings. The events of last night came back to her, and she groaned. She didn’t mean to fall asleep, she had just starting crying last night and couldn’t stop. She must’ve closed her eyes for a moment and passed out. Jazzy had still been in her arms the last she remembered, but now the cat was taking a nap on the couch, curled into a fluffy white ball.

Marchosias hadn’t come. That was obvious, seeing as there was still a dead body in the hallway. Why hadn’t he? He had received the summons, that much she knew. Was he just ignoring her? She must’ve really gotten under his skin during their last fight. What a jackass, she thought, standing on numb legs. It appears Judas was right, but she would never admit that to his face.

Jazzy perked up from her spot upon seeing Ana awake. She raced to the kitchen, sending out a stream of hungry meows on her way. Ana sighed and walked to the kitchen, pouring kibble into her bowl. The feline didn’t seem to care all that much about a dead body in the hallway, although her paws were still stained.

She rubbed her aching neck as she walked into the hallway, glancing at Deacon’s body before quickly looking away. It hadn’t started to smell yet, which was good. She only had a vague idea of how to hide a dead body from the crime shows she obsessively consumed as a teen. Bag the body, dig a six-foot hole, get rid of the evidence. That was the human way, anyway. She was sure there were spells that could help her, but she knew none.

The Motloes could know. They got away with Ophelia’s murder, after all. She thought about Ophelia, dead, her body half-way in the river, her bright pink hair spread out before her, and her hands balled into fists. No. I’m not relying on anyone anymore. They can all burn in hell.

The first step was to take a shower and dress into something more fitting for disposing of a dead body. That seemed the right thing to do, at least.

—_—

Ana wiped the sweat off her brow and exhaled. It was now late evening, and she spent the entire day digging a hold that was big and long enough to fit the body. She had showered and changed into an old t-shirt she had since since high school, with hair dye stains all over it during her crazy hair color phase. She had also thrown on some striped sweatpants she had been planning to throw out at some point.

Finding a spot to dump Deacon was the easy part. She had chosen the field of broken statues, but far away from her dad’s grave as possible. Deacon didn’t deserve to be near him. Digging, however, was the hard part. It had started out easy, as the soil for the first few feet or so was loose enough for her shovel to dig into. As she got deeper, she encountered chunks of clay that were harder to dig up, giving her a difficult time. She had taken a break in the middle of it, just to drink water and cool off, away from the boiling hot sun.

She stared at the hole she made, an estimated six feet deep and long enough for Deacon’s long legs. She sighed, smoothing her stray hairs down and turning to the body, now covered in trash bags and at least have a roll of duct tape. She hated touching a dead body, but she was the only one there to drag it outside in the sweltering summer heat. She was starting to think it was close to smelling.

She grabbed it by the feet and dragged it to the whole, pushing it down and watching it plop onto the dirt below. That is Deacon, she told herself. You’re burying Deacon, a man who you talked to just last night. A man you were still cordial with two and a half weeks ago.

It didn’t seem to matter anymore. Deacon had made his bed by trying to use her for his sick fantasies, and now it was time for him to lay in it.

She grabbed the shovel and took a scoopful of dirt. She dumped onto his face, and repeated until she could no longer see him.

After she was done, she washed her hands in the stream nearby and visited the ruins of her dad’s grave. She hadn’t been here since Marchosias ruined it, and now she regretted it.

“I’m sorry, dad.” She whispered to the shattered headstone. “I’ve fucked up…so much.”

What would he think? He wouldn’t think of her as a failure like her real father would. He would just be disappointed in her. She should’ve known this would’ve happened. She always pushed people too far and paid the price.

She returned back to the house after a few minutes of solemn thinking and tried to clean the remaining mess. There was blood all over the walls and floors, and the rug would have to be thrown in the trash. Or burnt, along with her dress. She liked that dress.

Scrubbing blood off of wooden floors was harder than she thought, especially when she didn’t know where to start. The few cleaning supplies she had weren’t necessarily made to clean up blood. The sun had set before she had finished the floor and walls, but by the time she did she felt exhausted and dirty. Her hallway looked better than before Deacon ever entered her house, at least.

She decided it was time for another shower.