But I’m starting to think unstitching my mouth might not be the best idea. The amount of times I’ve wanted to scream since we washed up on this island is insane. I’m not sure I’ll be able to control it once the threads are gone.
What if I start and can’t stop?
Something catches my eye in the far-right corner. A surveillance camera mounted high on the wall, its lens angled directly toward us.
I stop dead in my tracks, my gaze immediately locking onto it, while for some reason, a shiver scatters beneath my skin.
The camera looks old like everything else on this island. The tiny red light beneath the lens is dark, but that does little to reassure me it’s actually turned off.
So far, nothing about this place has behaved the way it should. I’ve already seen enough to know that dead things don’t necessarily stay dead here.
Mattie stops beside me, following my line of sight.
“I doubt it’s even functioning,” she mutters dryly. “This place doesn’t seem to have electricity anymore.”
Maybe she’s right, but as I continue staring into the black lens, I can’t shake the feeling that it isn’t as lifeless as it appears.
It hangs there in the corner like a patient observer, silent and waiting, as though it has witnessed every terrible thing that’s happened within these walls and still wants more.
What if it is on? What if sickos are watching us right now, laughing at how we run, hide and fucking bleed? What if this whole thing really is just a game for them?
As we keep moving, my gaze tracks the food on the shelves, scanning the packaging. But the brands look very outdated, like stuff from the 90s, maybe even older. It’s as if the entire store had stopped in time the moment something dreadful occurred.
“Here’s the medical stuff,” Mattie says, turning left.
I follow her into a small pharmacy section, the shelves still stocked with medicines, bandages, scissors, and everything we could need.
Sliding down the nearest wall, my legs giving out, and I sit on the dirty floor, the cold seeping through my thin, silk dress.
Mattie starts gathering supplies, moving quick but cautious. I watch her, yet my eyes keep darting back toward the dark corners of the store, waiting for something to move or the next piece of my past to come tiptoeing out of the shadows wearing a new shape.
When she crouches in front of me, my gaze flicks to hers, and at first she starts with unpacking cleansing whips, dousing them in raw alcohol.
As soon as she presses it to my face, I hold my breath, knowing the smell of it will only send me into turmoil.
She wipes the sore stitches, and my brows pinch hard from the fire shooting through my face, like the wounds are being inflicted all over again.
My watery eyes, stinging with unshed tears and the sharp bite of exhaustion, drift to the wall just beyond Mattie’s head. And there, in the dim light, I spot crude markings and nightmarish drawings gouged deep into the disintegrating plaster, etched with what can only be bloodied scratches.
Dominating the center is a tree, its branches twisted like mangled limbs, and from those skeletal boughs hang small, limp bodies.
On the far left, separated from the strange tree, words have been engraved with jagged, trembling strokes. My eyes drag over them, heart hammering against my ribs as I silently read in my head.
Here, your terror will wake,
Here, your mind will break.
Here, your fears creep,
Here, your soul they keep.
Here, your horror's lie,
Here, your cries die.
My hand finds my lower arm, nails digging in, ready to pinch hard enough to draw blood and prove I’m still here.
But before I can, something crashes to the ground.
