Buried: Demonic Games Series, #2

Buried

Demonic Games Series Book 2

Written by Sara Clancy

Edited by Emma Salam

Copyright © 2017 by ScareStreet.com

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Let the Nightmares Begin…

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Let the nightmares begin…

See you in the shadows,

Scare Street

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Captive Preview Chapter 1

Voices from Beyond…

Chapter 1

In the walls of Castle Vaduva, only the flimsiest of veils hung between life and death. As meaningless as that which separated the waking world from dreams. Everything reduced to a matter of perspective, never truly one or the other.

That truth was the only thing Mihail knew with certainty as he descended the winding staircase.

The narrow walls echoed his footsteps. Water oozed between the gargantuan stones of the walls, carrying the scent of moss and rotting earth. The thin trails of liquid caught the soft wisps of light that radiated from the glow stick dangling around his neck. Mihail wished that he had chosen a different color. The red was innocent enough within the tube. On the walls, however, it looked like the castle was bleeding.

Mihail no longer went to bed unprepared for nightly wanderings. He kept the source of light around his neck, shoes on his feet, and a piece of chalk in his pocket. The small scraping sound it made as he dragged it across the walls silenced each time it found a thicker line of water. It had already dwindled down, and he could feel the stones against his fingertips. For months, he had searched the corridors of his ancestral home and he still hadn’t seen every room. The upper levels of the structure were a labyrinth of dead ends, sheer drops, and hidden passageways. Underneath, dug into the broken spire of a mountain that the castle sat upon, was a maze of windowless catacombs. It was easy to get lost in the utter darkness. If it weren’t for the trails of chalk he left as he went, he would have never been able to find his way back to the surface.

Tonight, however, there was a gentle, pulsing light in the distance. It had come to Mihail’s room. He wasn’t sure if it was part of his dream, or if it had woken him, but the result was the same. It had beckoned and he had helplessly followed. But no matter how long he walked towards it, he could never reach it. The haze of light pulsed like a beating heart, the source always just out of sight around the next corner. It had led him down to the depths of the castle until he was forced to mark the walls with chalk or run the risk of never finding his way back.

He reached the bottom of the staircase. The seeping water had become a trickle. Each droplet met the damp, raw earth with a solid thud that rattled within his chest. The scrape of the chalk became uneven, the surface of the wall broken by random dips. Mihail turned but the little light around his neck could barely make it to the stone. He pulled the chain off from around his neck and wrapped it around his free hand.

Holding it out before him, he smothered a cry.

The rocks were gone, the roof now held up by stacked layers of human bone. The phantom light pulsed, its glow running along the curving tunnel with a strength it hadn’t possessed before. The whole structure was built from the dead, their bones withered and tarnished with age, the empty sockets that had once held the eyes staring at him with something between accusation and mockery. Then the light reseeded until Mihail only had the glow stick to see by.

Mihail snapped his hands to his chest, clutching them to his sternum until he could barely breathe. The thick haze inside his skull smothered his thoughts until all that remained was the need to follow the light. And his fear to do so. He took a step forward, unable to stop himself or even lift his trembling arm to mark his passage.

The water turned into a thin layer of sleet that cracked under the soles of his slippers. As he rounded the bend in the hallway, he hit an unexpected patch of ice and was thrown against the wall. Mihail scrambled back, frantically brushing at his arms, hair, and hands, desperate to erase the sensation of the bones against his skin. His panic was shattered when the light came again. This time, when he turned to see it, he got his first real look at the source. It was a small dancing orb, too bright to tell if there was anything solid within it. While it had been moving fast enough to always keep beyond his sight, now it remained where it was. Pulsing. Waiting for him to follow.

The chill of the catacombs had long since turned Mihail’s hands numb. His quickening heartbeat tried to surge his blood through his icy fingers, adding a repetitive spike of pain as he watched the orb dance impatiently. The sight sent shivers down his spine. He locked his knees in an attempt to keep from taking another step. He didn’t want to go. He knew he shouldn’t and clenched his muscles to the point of pain in an attempt to keep him in place. At his hesitation, the orb swirled, shimmered, and began to emit a sweet, delicate voice. A woman’s voice as smooth as silk and carrying an unmistakable hint of flirtation played across his skin.

The voice called to him again. Mihail felt it like a physical touch wrapping around his stomach. A tingling warmth that tightened until it began to drag him forward. Resistance was a lost thought. A notion that no longer had any meaning. He began to stagger forward, each step adding to his need to be closer to the orb. The light flashed as if in approval. Each rendition grew brighter until it lit the walls and washed over him with a tropical warmth.

When the light touched him, he felt incredibly light, like he might float away. Its absence left his limbs heavy enough to be sure he’d be crushed under their weight. His feet scraped over the glassy ice, drawing him ever closer to the voice, the light, the heat. Under the layers of fog, his mind screamed at him to turn back. To run. To just freeze in place until the creature left. The light was so bright now that, when it receded, the darkness seemed more profound. Colder. His heavy, panicked breaths filled his ears, growing louder each time the light died. This time, when it returned, Mihail found that it wasn’t a sphere anymore. Now, the glow carved through the cracks of a wooden door that had appeared a few feet in front of him. They blazed through the darkness at odd angles, white-hot and brilliant, before they started to recede. Despite himself, Mihail rushed forward and wrenched the door open. A bitterly cold wind hit him. It stole the air from his lungs and he longed to lift his arm to protect his eyes from the snowflakes that bombarded him. But his body remained rigid and he was forced to endure it as the light died out.

The majority of Mihail’s life had been spent in an elite boarding school in America, where life had been so mundane that he had leaped at the chance to complete his final year online and return to his ancestral home. He had barely been in Romania for a day before he learned his first painful lesson that, despite what he had always been told, he should be afraid of the dark. And everything that could be lurking in it. Unable to move, and close to hyperventilating, Mihail squinted into the abyss. The snow hit him like needles as the wind cut through his clothes. It wasn’t until the orb’s light returned that he was able to see where he was.

Beyond the doorway in which he stood, there was a small patch of barren, undisturbed snow. The woods encroached around the edges, thick and impenetrable. With the orb weaving its way through the branches. It called to him. Beckoning him to follow. While thinking was difficult, Mihail’s desire to flee was almost palpable. But his body wouldn’t move. Rising panic brought with it a realization. He had only ever traveled downwards and had never crossed a bridge. This can’t be real, he realized.

Castle Vaduva was built to stand against an army. It sat upon the single spike of stone that rose up in the middle of a wide ravine, with a rushing torrent of a river protecting its base. The drawbridge was the only point of entry or exit. So there was no way that he could be here now, standing a few feet away from the forest, without having passed it. Even if the spirits that lurked inside the house were strong enough to mess with his sense of direction again, the layout itself made it impossible.

The light faded, drawing him from his labored thoughts. Even as it extinguished, the tantalizing voice remained, louder than it had been before but still somehow a whisper. She called him by name and his body responded. Against his will, he took his first step across the threshold. With a soft crush, the top layer of sleet gave way, allowing his foot to plummet into the soft powder. The thin material of his sweatpants didn’t offer much protection against the chill. He could feel it pressing against the bones of his shins and numbing his toes. Away from the protection of the walls, the wind ravaged him, whipping at his hair and freezing his skin.

With only his crimson glow stick to see by, his field of vision was reduced to just a few inches. The snow looked like blood and was as cold as the grave. Movement made him hesitate. The shadows shifted. He longed to lift his arm to use the light of the glow stick at its most effective, but his arm remained stiff and useless by his side. However, the orb returned, its silver light washing out from the woods. By its light, he saw the snow twitch. A dark stain bled out across the pristine landscape. Rotten hair and fresh earth. As he watched, something moved under the surface. Bit by bit, the hair domed, pushing up as a head emerged from the ground.

Thin, small arms dragged themselves free. It moved in jolted, broken lurches. As if every joint was dislodged, its bones shattered. One moment, every movement looked labored. Painful. The next, it possessed an incredible speed. As it drove its hands into the snow, it lifted its head. Mihail couldn’t breathe as he found himself staring at the deformed features of a child. Its face was distorted, and pale, with only the most basic representation of features. Like an unfinished mask. Twin red dots marked its cheeks but there was nothing sweet about the appearance. Its glassy eyes were unblinking. Its smile stretched wide enough to nearly split its face in two.

With a flurry of activity, it crawled its way free, crushing the snow as it forced itself onto its feet. The child twitched and shook as it charged towards him. Mihail tried to run but his feet were rooted to the spot, unable to move as the haggard, broken figure lurched towards him. The light grew brighter, glaring, burning his eyes. Blinded and locked into position, Mihail couldn’t protect himself as the creature slammed into him, hands raking at his clothes, searching for flesh.

A ghastly scream shattered the night. Not animal, not human, and emitting from the woods around them. The child’s movements froze. Within a second it was gone, both the child and the light. Unprepared to have his body back in command, Mihail was left toppling into the abyss. The snow puffed around him as he fell onto his back. A thousand touches, each one making him flinch.

Panting wildly, he looked around, trying to force his eyes to adjust. Nothing stirred. The blistering cold ravaged his skin as he held the glow stick up, swinging it back and forth. The ring of light it created was too small. He could barely see further than an inch into the darkness. Holding his breath, he strained to hear even the faintest sound of movement. It was impossible to tell how far off it was, but there was the distinct sound of unfurling wings. He snapped his gaze up, over the haze produced by the glow stick. Peering into the darkness, his lungs aching for breath, he shivered at the first flicker of movement. A pair of eyes stared back at him, reflecting the minimal light like silver disks.

Mihail lurched to his feet, scrambling through the fine powder, trying to retrace his footsteps back to the door. Colossal wings beat at the air behind him. He could hear them swiftly drawing closer as he fought for every step. The snow thrashed as the unseen creature swooped. Icy breath washed across the back of his neck. He barely had a second to notice the doorway before he hurled himself through it. Grabbing the wood’s edge with both hands, he swung around to close it.

He froze in place as the darkness was suddenly replaced with a dim twilight. It wasn’t much, but all the abrupt changes left his eyes watering. A new wave of frigid air struck him like a physical blow and rocked him back on his heels. Mihail clung to the door, half hidden behind it, and tried to catch his breath. Snow pricked his fingers but he didn’t dare move. Not until the world made some kind of sense again.

Like a receding tide, his panic drained away and his mind cleared. He found himself standing at the castle’s grand entrance. The door itself was a mammoth work of art. Detailed faces were chiseled into the towering hunk of wood. It was so large that each time Mihail opened them, it was as if he was peeling back the roof itself. The winds that lashed at him created snaking tendrils of snow that slithered deep into the massive foyer. The moment winter had set in, a rotten-blue film had fallen over the castle, as if the air itself was bruised. The deprivation of color made it impossible to tell the time or ignore the smothering silence.

The only thing to break both were the bats. Mihail hadn’t been able to find their roost, but they took to the sky in their thousands, becoming the only marker for dawn and dusk. They were also the only animals he had ever seen within the walls. For months, there hadn’t been a single insect or chirp of a bird. Not even a rodent looking to escape the cold. Only the bats that filled the air now, flooding back to the peaks of castle. It’s dawn. Relief coursed through him, making him sag against the door. It took his weight without swinging.

The more violent and malicious ghosts were active at night. Some were still active during the day, but they were weaker and seemed content with being creepy and annoying rather than physically dangerous. Exhausted and drained, Mihail watched the bats for a while, taking comfort in the sight. Snow gathered in the nooks of his cable knit sweater. It was the thickest one he owned. A soft green cashmere that was comfortable enough to sleep in. He always