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and the mantel above the fire lit up as if a spotlight in the ceiling had been turned on.  
    There…on a pedestal in the center…sat that damn dragon statue. Nona called it a Soul Cage. He called it cheap ceramic.  
    But…why was it here when he could also remember it in pieces on the floor of a basement of a house in north Georgia?  
    Eyes narrowed, he moved slowly to it. The fire wasn't warm. It didn't make a sound, either. No crack or pop of the wood, not even a hiss. In fact, as he stood in front of it, looking up at the ceramic statue, the fire went out. The only thing shining in the room was the dragon….
    …it turned its head from the side and stared down at Joe.  
    His eyes widened. "What the—"  
    "Time to die," the thing said, just before it opened its maw and swallowed him whole—

    "Sonofafuckingjesusbitchgodallmighty!" Joe sat up in bed, his hands flat against the sheets. His heart pounded against his chest. He reached up and wiped at his face, his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. After taking in a few gulps of air he turned and put his feet on the floor.  
    What the fucking hell was that? He sat forward, elbows on this knees and ran his hands through his hair a few times. Three more deep slow breaths before he stood and went to the bathroom. There he splashed cold water onto his face and avoided looking at the mirror.  
    He was pretty sure he'd see a haunted image staring back at him.  
    The same nightmare. For most of his childhood he'd suffered that damn hallway, never really knowing if it was real, or his imagination. And now it was back? Three times now he'd woke up yelling something, unable to breathe, panicked and shaken. But this was the first time he'd been able to get to the botanica and see what the light was.  
    And why…why that damned ugly statue?  
    Why did it try and take his soul?  
    Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck … He shut off the light and shuffled into the kitchen. There he turned on the one-cup coffee maker and grabbed a mug while the water heated up. Two packets of sweetener, milk from the fridge and the machine was ready. He chose a dark roast this time, popped the packet in and pushed the button.  
    As it finished he reached above the fridge and pulled down a bottle of Bailey's Irish Creme. When the coffee was done and stirred he poured in a healthy amount and took the mug to the sliding glass door. Tim's rock sat on the desk next to the glass door, but the ghost didn't appear. Maybe he was sleeping. Either way, Joe wasn't much up for company.
    The cold December air chilled the dampness on his body as he stepped out. He was dressed in a pair of loungers and no shirt. The coffee was good and burned his throat. And even though he shivered, the cold cleared his head.  
    He listened to the Atlanta night…the hiss of traffic nearby on Moreland Avenue. And beyond that was Ponce de Leon. But those weren't the sounds he was listening for.  
    Joe wanted to hear Zoë moving in her apartment above him. She was up a lot at night, out on her own terrace just above his. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes he joined her, or she him.  
    But not tonight. Not for a while.  
    Zoë'd gone to Canada with Daniel.  
    Always…with Daniel.  
    Or Dags.  
    But never with Joe. He knew something, like the voice said. He knew he loved her. And from the moment his lips touched hers, he'd never be able to love another. And that knowledge…well…  
    He sipped his coffee and leaned his elbows on the railing. "I know a thing…" He said to the voice he remembered in his dreams. The voice of his grandmother. "And it consumes me."  

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    Read SOUL CAGE, available at all ebook retailers!  

About The Author

    Phaedra Weldon starting writing as child re-imagining the endings and plots for some of her favorite television shows. The show she concentrated on the most was Scooby Doo yearned for the day when there wasn't a mask to be ripped off or a plot to be foiled by those nasty kids.