Vengeance from Beyond: The Ghost Reapers Series Book 3

Click… click… click.

The sound reached a door very close to Shane’s. He gathered his thoughts and focus, to prepare himself in case something happened. His mind began to wander as he pondered over what made the sound, then where Jester had gone, and what happened to the orderlies from when he was admitted.

It was a long moment before Shane shook his head and realized he had lost his train of thought. How much time had passed since he heard the last click? He couldn't remember. Had it just been a moment? A whole minute? Ten?

Shane was staring up at the ceiling, and the sound had stopped. He rolled over in bed to look at the door, to focus on the tiny window in case something passed; a shadow, like it had the day before. There was no window to view this time. The shadow was there, but it was inside the room and blocking the door.

It was the shape of a man, just standing in the darkness in front of his door. Black on black, it was hard to determine if it was anyone he had seen before. For now, it was merely a shape.

The shadowy form moved, and Shane made out an arm. The spirit dragged a hand across the inside of his door until its fingernails reached the hinges with a loud click.

Without warning, the shape moved. It was on top of Shane in the blink of an eye, and he made out more of the figure. The ghost had been that of a man about Shane's height, with a mane of ragged, dirty blond hair hanging over his face.

Shane could see multiple scars in the pale flesh, not the result of accidents, but intentional cuts all over the spirit's face. It looked as though the blade of a knife or a razor had been used to create a patchwork of scars across every exposed skin.

Two of the largest scars went from the corners of the ghost’s mouth and up his cheeks. Two more ran from his forehead down over his eyes, and then down his cheeks on either side of his nose.

The ghost held Shane down by his arms and, even in the tangle of hair, Shane could see that his eyes had been sliced open.

Shane struggled in the ghost’s grip, and he felt the cold hands squeeze his wrists tightly. The ghost’s arm jerked, and he raised Shane's hand just enough to thrust it back, forcing Shane to punch himself in the face.

The spirit was humming, making strange noises as it repeated the gesture with Shane’s other hand.

Shane's muscles were incredibly weak. He pulled away, but the exhaustion in his body made it feel like he had spent the entire day working out and was now too spent to put in any effort. Just trying to pull away from the ghost felt like he was trying to lift a car.

The ghost didn’t speak, he just hummed and held fast, preventing Shane from getting the upper hand. At one point, he leaned in and bit Shane's forearm. Teeth like ice punctured the flesh as Shane started to scream, but the ghost forced Shane’s hand over his mouth to muffle it.

When the spirit pulled away, Shane saw blood running down his arm. Every crooked tooth had plunged into the flesh, but he had not taken a chunk. Instead, he had left a perfect imprint of his maw, marking Shane.

The ghost continued to hum softly and lifted Shane’s left hand. He took one of Shane’s fingers between his lips and bit down hard on the nail, pulling it until it tore away from the nail bed.

Shane’s body jerked but refused to respond the way it should have. He was powerless against a ghost that sought to torment him. He could feel his muscles straining, trying to work, but every flex was like lifting a thousand-pound weight.

The fingernail ripped off, and the sharp pain that shot down his arm was like burning electricity. He cried out between clenched teeth, and the ghost dropped his hand, pressing down over his face.

He saw the mouth open, broken and stained teeth coming for his face, and he froze as the ghost’s gaping jaws settled over his left eye. He didn’t dare move as the ghost stopped, not following through on its threat.

The world had gone black over Shane’s eye. He felt cold teeth like icicles, and the air coming from the ghost’s mouth threatened to freeze his eyeball. All he had to do was clamp down, and he’d bite into Shane’s cheek and eyebrow. If he had enough force, he’d be able to bite Shane’s eye right from his face.

The humming began again, and Shane held as still as a statue. He didn’t understand what the ghost was doing or why, but it was too powerful for him to fight in his condition. He needed more time.

With a silent anger twisting in his gut, Shane relaxed completely. He let his arms go limp and lay there, not struggling or defending himself.

The spirit stayed where he was, pressed against Shane’s body, mouth locked over his eye socket. Shane felt something probe his face, cold and sloppy. The ghost’s tongue pushed into his eye socket, plunging into the corner, and then sliding across the eye’s surface like a slug. Shane clenched his jaw but didn’t resist.

He sensed the ghost was waiting to punish him for fighting back. It was like Dr. Loomis himself, expecting Shane to act a certain way so he could be corrected in whatever brutal manner he found appropriate. Shane would not play this round.

The ghost stopped humming and slowly pulled away. The tangle of hair hung between them, tickling Shane’s face. In the darkness, Shane could barely make out the spirit’s expression, but it seemed emotionless. It was neither pleased nor disappointed. It was blank and unreadable.

The sliced eyes stared into Shane’s, and the ghost produced a curious sound the way a dog might when confronted with something unexpected. Shane made no sound and did not move.

The ghost began humming again as it slipped away, slowly and awkwardly walking backward toward the door. Shane didn’t turn his head to watch him go.

Click.