Yeah.
Knew it.
I’d heard the stories.
He could look like anyone he wanted. It was how he’d lured so many to sin and straight into Hell.
“Did I scare you?” the little boy asked, giggling as he gripped the bars.
He looked like he’d crawled out of a nightmare. Sunken skin beneath wide, unblinking eyes. Grayish complexion. Lips the color of bruises. His clothes were nothing but dirty rags hanging off his skinny frame.
I forced a deep breath, steadying my voice. “What did you do to end up down here?”
His head tilted—slowly, unnaturally.
“I killed my parents and little sister.”
My mouth dropped open.
The temperature plummeted, the chill cutting through my skin like ice water.
Classic.
The Devil was either messing with my head. Or he’d actually unleashed a child murderer on me.
I had never been tasked with descending a wicked child to Hell, but I knew it happened. Sebastian told me horror stories when I was younger. Probably because he knew I was a sucker for creepy movies.
Evil kids? Dolls coming to life?
Top-tier nightmare fuel.
The little boy grabbed the lock. It clicked. The door opened.
A spike of fear clawed its way into my throat. I threw my arms out, catching the bars before the entrance could swing any farther. Slamming it shut, I forced a bright, fake smile. “Let’s keep that closed, yeah?”
The boy pouted, lips curving into an exaggerated frown. “Don’t you want to play?”
“I’m a prisoner,” I said flatly. “Not really in the mood. Now shoo.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” He stepped back, letting go of the bars. “I know where some food is…”
The skin on my arms crawled like I’d been dropped into a cluster of spiders. My stomach twisted into a pit of quicksand.
“All right, game’s over,” I said, glancing toward the ceiling—because I was sure he was watching. “Stop with the creepy kid routine.”
The boy just blinked at me. Too still. Too blank. Was he real? Or just another puppet of the Devil? I hated not knowing.
“Hey!” I yelled louder, spinning in a slow circle as I scanned the room. “One of your Children of the Corn got loose!”
Naturally, only I would get that reference. Typical.
A cold hand latched onto mine through the bars.
I jumped but didn’t let go. I’d die before I released that door.
“Back off,” I muttered, smacking the kid’s hand away and shifting my grip to a different spot on the bars.
The boy darted left, eyes bright with mischief. “Come on. I’ll show you the food. Aren’t you hungry?”
