Godwake

The basement was huge, at least the size of the house's main floor. Two stainless steel tables and a workbench lined one wall, the overhead fluorescent lights buzzing. Dozens of screens showed x-rays and charts of what appeared to be a child. Large red circles on the skeleton highlighted the joints and a scribbled word with a question mark and arrow pointing to the neck said "extra?" On the ceiling, a series of plumbing pipes were taped and caulked and showed signs of needing professional repair.



She saw a room made of reinforced glass walls, and standing on the other side of it was a thin, pale child. Bald headed, big blue eyed and couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old. The child wore a man's white shirt like a dress, it hung loosely on her thin frame. Long, straggling red lines ran down her neck, and were on her arms and bare legs. On closer inspection, they looked like fine cuts, sewn shut with tiny stitches.



"He'll kill you," the child said, her soft voice was level and cold. She pointed upwards and across the room. Hidden in the corner with a flashing red light as its only identification was a security camera. "He's already coming."



About the Author

Stephanie Hale grew up in Gainesville, Fl., where she found her love of writing and literature in the library. She enjoys crafting stories, both in the form of novels and campaigns for tabletop role-playing games. Her hobbies include art in many mediums, as well as video games. She lives in the northwest with her husband and children. This is her first publication.