Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) by Audrey Godwin Page B

carving out name after name with a wrinkled. trembling hand. She had to get out and looked around, but deep in this jungle of bones came one more stone that must have been older than the rest. The elements had almost destroyed it, and she could just barely make out— Buster May—not enuf meet on his po’ ol’ bones. The words caused an insane kind of laughter bubbling up out of her throat. All of this—this decay, this human carnage would have been almost funny if it were simply words on a page, but looking at it, she felt her stomach roiling.
    “Oh, God,” she muttered, pressing her hand to her mouth. As she turned to quickly make her way out of the graveyard, she saw Andy Walker—Wynn Keaton—Bessie Philpot—all with reasons why they couldn't be eaten. A surge of shock and horror flooded her. This is too much, she thought. I’ve got to get out of here. In her haste to leave s he tripped and fell down, her eyes looking into an old, dried out wallet of someone by the name of Willie Dunbar. God, she thought. That’s where he got the names, why he got them so exact when his own spelling was typical backwoods.
    She frantically pushed herself up and began stumbling out, holding her mouth and her stomach as if she was going to be sick. Finally making it back to the road, she dropped to her knees heaving. Although the smell of rotting flesh from the graveyard was overwhelming, she knew her sickness came not only from the smell, but from the sheer horror of what she’d seen. As she knelt there, trying to settle her stomach, the wind blew harder, the gloom became deeper, and the screeching of the birds and cicadas seemed to swirl around her.
    She was about to turn back when she lifted her eyes and saw a turn—a bend in the road. She couldn’t help wondering what was beyond it. She looked again toward the graveyard, remembering her decision to turn back, but couldn’t resist the tug she felt inside to go just a little further. She got to her feet and continued walking. After taking several floundering steps, her breathing had become heavy, but she kept her eyes on the bend, strangely excited, obsessed. Her stomach, and what had upset it, was forgotten.
    She walked—stumbled—fell—but kept going. taking one anxious step at a time.
    Finally something appeared slowly as she continued down the path.
    She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like water.
    She winced, pain shooting through one leg, but stood, weaving and trudging along the rutted, uneven dirt road.
    She kept her eyes riveted to the bend as it came closer and closer.
    She was tired.
    Her feet were burning.
    And then she was there.
    Rounding the bend.
    She watched as a heavy mist parted, and she stopped.
    “Oh, my God,” Chyna murmured, feeling as if she had just stepped back in time. She fought her way through the haze, catching a nightmarish view of a towering old mansion looming up out of obscurity. The shape was dark, almost in silhouette against the moving ocean, and was surrounded by weeping willows, giving it a sinister look in the gloom. There were four very large columns in front, being devoured, it seemed, by climbing vines. The mansion was ash-colored in the murky fog, and the coiling mist that stretched across it was distorted, the ghost-like shapes, making it look abandoned.
    In the distance she saw a small rise.
    "I've been here before," she whispered as her eyes traveled all the way up the rise to the summit. Suddenly a picture flashed through her mind. She saw herself standing up there being buffeted by the wind, and someone coming up behind her, putting his cape around her arms.
    It can’t be, she told herself as she slowly climbed. As she neared the top, somehow she knew what she would see and looked down at the familiar sight of the choppy ocean, and the lighthouse with the pulsating flame in the window. Then without warning she saw a familiar dark figure walking along the sandy strip of beach.
    She gasped when the man stopped and looked