Prologue Ace I wake up with my hair stuck to my back with sweat, yet again. My eyes flit around the pitch black room expecting to see something. Maybe their eyes, glazed and evil, staring me down, boring into my soul. Or their long fingers reaching out to me rooting out from thin, bony wrists. But the images that torture my dreams aren't there. Just the familiar darkness that greets me when my brain can't take it and wakes me up. I begin the exercise the shrink told me to do when I wake up from a dream. I breathe in once, twice, three times, each one is a little less ragged than the one before. One by one, I wiggle my toes. Then my fingers. Making sure each and every joint in my body will move. I finish by trying to wiggle my ears. I never can, it has never bothered me, but it apparently makes me focus on something besides the horror that woke me up. There's a creak echoing to my ears from my wooden floor. “Who's there,” I call out in a husky whisper. No answer, another creak. I gulp and fumble for the pocket knife under my pillow. The one with the penlight. I slide the switch up and I can see the shadowy outlines of my dresser and the gaping doorway. I never leave my door open in fear that one of my dogs will get in and turn something into a chew toy. I roll over so I can see what's on the other side of my bed. Great, big, pale eyes glow in the light. I can see the features of it's face, sharp cheekbones and tight skin. It's cracked, papery lips let out a grating sigh. I choke on a scream again and again. Almost unable to breathe as the sharp nails graze my skin. They feel like their digging furrows into my flesh. Silent tears manage to run down my face, this is it. My nightmare, has come to life and is hungry. I just hope they find my body in time. The Dead Her fear is delicious and tempting. Oh so tempting. Almost like that Radly girl four years ago. My fingers tap her temples with a beat, she knows this is the end and it makes her soul that much sweeter. A shame too, she's so pretty, like one of those China dolls. I make my lips form words, an unnecessary thing that requires an abnormal amount of effort, “I'm so hungry." It comes out as a dry moan, sounding similar to someone dry heaving. Tears run down her face and my eyes narrow, concentrating on her soul. The glowing, radiating, sign of life. The sign that will soon deplete. Slowly maybe, for I am weak with hunger, but surely she will die. Chapter one: 2000 Officer Steel's Notes: Location: Old Radly Place Name: Ace Gibson Rose Age: 16, according to birth records Looks before death: black hair, green eyes, 104.6 pounds, about five foot five Condition found in: Almost frozen, her hand was gripping a small pen light in the air, four broken ribs right around the heart Notes: Strange occurrence, third in the house, all women, same room, similar looks and build. Possibilities: • Serial Killer? Too far apart, someone who murdered Grace Anderson in '62 cannot possibly be young and able enough to kill someone else now • Suicide? Unlikely, consult conditions.... Ace The life had leaked out of me as the man had approached just an hour ago. His face was kind and his belly round, a name was rolling on the tip of my tongue. Just out of reach. It began with an "s". Was it Stale? Sterol? No and no, I can't recall. However, I know I talked to him the day I moved into the house alone. He warned me about the strange things, and drinking underage in his city. Not that it would matter now, I can't even move I'm so weak. The thing that killed me looks human now and I can understand his moans clearly. He told me his name, Winston, and that we were supposed to kill. Or we'd die, forever, not temporarily like we are now. It takes a lot of effort to talk to him, so I mostly nod, a motion that sends streams of pain into my brain. I still have a brain? Right....? I mean, I have to. Don't I? The closet is cramped with several souls including me. They all promise I will eat soon, but I don't want to eat! I don't want to kill some innocent person so I can remain in this horrid state. I resemble a goblin, skin stretched tight across my bones, my eyes reflect light, and every time I move my skin feels like its tearing. Sunday I lost her, forever. How could I be so careless? The only girl.... "Ace," I mutter name softly over and over. My eyes flicker across the contents of my table. Rat poison, Drain-O, Advil; anything that can cause death for a mortal. Oh, and a blender. A death smoothie..., what a bitter laugh! My hands move ably for my age, crushing pills and mixing things. Soon the blender is full and I cram the lid on tightly. Churning fills the air, like a monster crushing bones between their sharp teeth. But it was no monster with sharp teeth that killed my beloved. The blender whirls to a stop. "Death awaits," I say out loud to myself. I don't bother pouring the drink into a cup. I throw my head back to down it, the liquid slimy and lumpy in my mouth. The taste is rancid, my nose curling as I swallow. I don't know what I expect, maybe to fall onto my coffee table with a thump. Nothing happens, no acid eating my stomach or tightening in my chest. "Screw immortality, who wants it if you can't share • it!" I yell at the wall, I sweep my arm across the table in a wave of fury. The glass from the blender cuts my hand as it shatters. I curl in a ball on my fancy couch, my hand outstretched. I watch the blood drip off it onto my black cherry floors. In the dim lighting it is almost as dark as the floor. Even though it's my own blood it smells tempting. Oh so tempting. I find myself salivating at the thought of human blood. Or any blood for that matter. Going for years without blood isn't smart for an Everlifer, but I do it anyways. Hoping it will weaken me into a mortal state so I can die soon and not out live everyone I've ever know. And I know it's completely pointless, I'm humoring myself. Chapter Two: The Girl Who Moved In Luna I have to shield my eyes from the sun that's beating down despite the fact I'm wearing a sunhat. The summers here are scorching it seems regardless of the fact I'm in the north. I guess I expected cooler weather, I'm sweating in my black shorts with my red hair resting on my back. The house comes into view, it's large. The for sale sign is still in the front yard and the grass is over grown. Officer Steel wasn't kidding about what he told me, the locals fear this place. Say it's haunted. He warned me about the attic room, said he didn't care if Goldia got mad because he scared off a potential buyer. My car sputters as I put it in park. I sit for a moment staring down the house, it looks like a normal forgotten house. Just overgrown and uncared for, not haunted by some creature that petrifies people with fright. In my mind, it was perfect for what I’m using it for, writing a novel. Renting it for six months then maybe buying it with the publishing money when there’s enough. Maybe the town will just give it to me if they don’t burn it with me first. One of the old, old men called me a witch. Says only red heads are witches, like his ex-wife. I thought he was joking and for a second I considered laughing before realizing I’d be the only one laughing. Maybe he really thought his ex was a witch. The again, maybe she was a witch. I unfold myself and get out of my ancient Volkswagen. Flakes of rust fall off as I slam the door. “Maybe you should paint it,” a man’s voice suggests from behind me. I turn around ready to swear I’m not a witch to yet another old man. Instead a young face greets me. Sun streaked blonde hair and sea eyes with a coy grin. “Maybe I like the rust color,” I banter. “You know they make paint that color, right?” “Duh, I’m Luna by the way.” “And I’m Sunday.”