Page 30 of Don’t Let Him In

Everything else blurs into a flash of silver, then a stagger of teal, before a scream bursts out, sharp enough to split the air in two.

In Blair’s hands is an axe.

Dax recoils, throwing himself backward.

But he’s too late.

The blunt edge slams into the side of his face with a wet splat.

Dax’s first shriek tears through the house, driving me backward before I even realize I’m moving. The pitch is deafening, too high and raw to sound like it came from a human throat.

Nausea spews bile against the roof of my mouth.

Blair doesn’t move. Rooted in the doorway, she stares at him, both hands still clamped around the axe handle, her eyes blown wide into glassy, unblinking spheres.

“Oh, God,” she chokes, her complexion draining of color. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

Her chin sags, on the verge of fainting, until Dax’s ear-shattering scream sharpens into a coherent demand. “Get it off! Get it fucking off!”

Saliva floods beneath my tongue, spilling between my teeth as I retch, slapping both hands over my mouth to smother the sound. I can’t see the full extent of the damage. But I don’t need to. The wooden handle still juts from his face, the metallic tang thickening in the air, mixing with the vile rot already ingrained in the warped floorboards and threadbare carpet.

Her sobs mount, breaking into frantic wails as she nods with weak conviction. Unable to say anything besides panicked prayers, she jerks the axe back, dragging another skin-curdling cry from Dax, his voice shredded by pain.

My stomach lurches as she tries again, her pleas to God growing louder. “Oh, God, oh, God!” Hands shaking, her knuckles blanch as she yanks the serrated edge back, dragging him out of the doorway along with it. Tugging with all her might, it finally releases his mutilated flesh with a gush-filled thwack. Animalistic screams tear out of him again, ringing in my ears. That sound will stay forever ingrained inside me. Chunks of skin and flesh peel before us, sticking to the axe. A pungent, foul smell accompanies them, dispersing through the stale air.

His shoulders hunch, his hands hovering blindly in front of him as he stumbles sideways, unable to hear or see anything past the shooting pain and Blair’s desperate cries. He careens toward the staircase, loses his footing on the edge, and plummets below.

Each hard impact echoes through the house, tangling with his ragged screams until a final thud silences everything.

Staggering forward, Blair drops the axe and rushes down the stairs, leaning on the bannister for support. Still stumbling, she chokes on her tears, her shoulders hitching and heaving as she reaches the bottom. “Dax? Dax, are you okay?”

Pressure forms in the pit of my stomach, jarring me out of my dazed terror enough to hurl me forward and dash straight down the stairs, never once looking back over my shoulder for Manson. I need to get away from him.

But the moment I reach the last step, I solidify in place, standing shoulder to shoulder with Blair, who’s turned inconsolable. Beneath us, Dax lies motionless. A horrifying pool of blood halos his head, creeping around his shoulders.

And his face.

His face⁠—

My stomach sours.

The knot in my throat tightens as my eyes meet the scarred, gaping hole in the side of his face. Everything screeches to an agonizing crawl, and my ears feel like they’ve been stuffed full of cotton, muffling Blair’s grief-stricken cries as her knees buckle, arms reaching toward Dax before freezing mid-air, afraid to touch him.

I can’t rip my eyes away from the ragged tear in his face, watching the maggots return to my vision, writhing their way back into my stomach.

Blood runs in uneven rivulets, winding haphazardly down the sides of his face and onto his neck, where the muscles flex and strain. His left eye is gone. The other is glossed and unfocused, red veins bursting around what used to be crystalline blue, now muted and lifeless.

He moans again, sound returning to his throat in a pathetic croak that reminds me of a clogged drain. I can almost feel his suffering in my own body. The ache too heavy, the tender skin, the god-awful throbbing behind his eyes.

Guilt stirs low and rampant inside of me.

I did this.

I was angry—furious with him, but this was never what I wanted. This is a mistake. A horrific, monstrous, unforgivable mistake. And it’s my fault.

Another convulsion seizes him. My gaze drops to the jagged shards of glass embedded along his sides, dozens more scattered across the room. Foam bubbles at the corners of his mouth before dribbling over.

This spurs Blair to sob harder before swallowing the sound long enough to force herself into motion, scooting closer on her knees. Her complexion has gone ashen. Even the color on her lips has worn away, leaving only their chapped, paling edges quivering. “Stay with me, Dax. You hear me, s-stay with me. I’m calling for help."