WILLODEAN (THE CUPITOR CHRONICLES Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

  It dragged me to another realm, out from my bedroom and into a dark passageway.  I kicked and screamed. My skin scraped and buckled in the hallways, passing room after room. I noticed the brass plate descriptions on each door of every room; tower, pity, numbing, shame, sexpot, namesake, seven. As I read each one, something in me broke, ragged glass cutting and slicing. 
    “LET ME GO!” I screamed at the invisib le force pulling me.  And then as if my mind had no choice, I remembered where I was.  No one could hear me.  I was inside my own house, the house inside me.  I knew there were more rooms, many rooms, secret and hidden but sud denly, whatever had me, stopped and left me still.  I sat dazed at the end of a familiar hallway. It was eerie as if seeing it with new eyes and my skin pricked. A gleam of gold peered down at me.  I looked up at the namepl ate on the door. I read the bold black letters on the square.  CRACKLE. Then in a flash, I saw the door knob rattle and turn and the heavy door swung open and without warning, I was shoved in by the same force that drug me here.  Before I could think straight, I heard the sound of the door s lam.  My heart bolted inside .  My flesh goosed out in a cold sweat and I felt clammy.  Everything was different. Everything was the same. Something was and something wasn’t.   I was me. I was her. Two people. It was odd, ethereal, a drifting in of two worlds. Lost but found. Here but there.  
    In one world, I was an adult, sitting on my cherry blossom bed, staring out the window, and clutching my man pillow.  B ut in the other world I was inside the house,  inside the CRACKLE room and she is here with me.  I can feel her presence in me, in the room, around me, of me, for me, against me.  She has to be the one who brought me here.  Why can't she just let things alone? Always stirring up trouble.   If I could find her, I’d swat her a good one.  I scan the room. The walls are brittle, sand beige in color and flakes peel off like dried skin. The floor is rough like sandpaper. It’s irritating on my skin and I can feel it through my thin white cotton gown.  The emptiness of the room begins to grow loud with voices and hollow reverberations that are haunting to my ears .  I stand to my feet wobbly and unsure.  I walk a few steps.  I hear a scruff noise, almost a drag as if someone is shuffling behind me. I turn around and a gust of wind like the rush of a train blows against my skin .  I struggle to stand straight.  I see her flushing through the walls like a torrential ghost. She is the same as I remember her. She is everything I used to be… used to be.   But no more.  Our eyes blend together, blue to blue, transferring our energy, one to another. She is making me see, hear and feel even though I don’t want to.  She  is a deeper part of me, the little girl I was, unknown and complex. A conflicting twin who knew things—disturbing awful things.  In fact, she knows too much. I must keep her hidden.  I must hide her from anyone that could hurt her, defile her, ruin her,  including myself . Yes. This is how it must be.  My mind spins with thoughts I can’t seem to put into action.  It’s her.  She is the reason I can’t do anything.  She is defiant, unruly and stares me down, controlling me somehow. She doesn’t like my thoughts, never has.  She calls it stinking thinking.
    "Accept me." She screams through swirling energy and light.  An aspect of her consciousness and mine seem to manifest themselves, denser than an aura but penetrating into a blue stream of mist.
    “No. No. No.”  I say shaking my head.  I refuse.  I want to forget. Bury it in the ocean. FORGET.   When I don’t respond the way she want s, she throws a temper tantrum and the house inside me, the house we are standing in, follows suit, repeating her anger, shaking and rumbling under our feet.  My second skin erupts in tiny flinches of fear.  This is my