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

warning.   It’s how my vessel reacts to stress overload when I cannot cope with what I know to be true.  And when I can’t cope—the Amodgians come.  T hey always come.  Sure enough, the shadow figures sift in like fog phantoms to rescue me from remembering, disappointment and hurt. They are not scary to look at, not at all.  Just phantoms of smoke in swirls of black, gray and white with black eyes like peas appearing in and out of the mist, with snatching fingers, always wanting, grabbing and trying to take what isn’t theirs.  It’s not their appearance although it is creepy, it is more so their bad energy, as if they were made from the fear of every living thing, combined into one misty cloud and when that cloud touches human skin—it reacts in the only way it knows how.  Fear.  Terrible fears are brought to life.  But since I have interacted with them for so long, they know I will not fight them anymore.  I gave up a long time ago.  They know me now.  I close my eyes and let them take me to the only place that allows me to exist as I am.  We end up in front of the wooden black door inside the long dreadful hallway.  I read the bold black lettering on t he gold nameplate in the center.  NUMBING.  The coping room. The leave-it-be room. It never happened room. The don’t-go-back-there room.   The denial room. The silent room .
     
    Just when I thought I was safely there to erase all I know, the girl, the woman, the past— I wasn’t there at all.   When I opened my eyes, I was still in my bedroom, leaning out the window and clutching the man pillow.  What was that all about? Was it a vision? Did I fall asleep?  I glance around the room.  The shadow Amodgians are here but they are distant as if something is keeping them at bay, guarded and away from me.  This has never happened before and then I understand why.  Riding in on the edge of their darkness was a lesser light and attached to it was a voice. It was Maw Sue.  What is happening? She's dead or I thought she was dead. Hell, I might be dead as well.  How else can I explain the voices, the visions, all of this strange madness?  Yes, I must be dead.
    “Use the gift honey.” She said as she landed at the foot of my bed like some fairy godmother.  Her voice was tangled up in this world and the one she came from.  I smelled the waft of camel cigarettes, moth balls and old lady powder from her powder puff box s he always kept above the toilet.  Yep. It's Maw Sue alright.  
    “And you aren’t dead neither, Willodean. Still stinking thinking, I see. You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Stop it.” Her finger scolded me. “You are greatly loved. Greatly gifted. You need to get it together hon.” Her voice was the same as I remember, crushed leaves, snapping and popping. “And don’t forget to look for the crumbs.” She nods and gives me the eye as if I’d forgotten. “Simply be. Reach—reach—reach.” A great gulf of wind trailed her words and funneled inside the window. My arms lifted upwards automatically as if the words commanded them without my consent. What is happening?  I forcefully jerked them down underneath my hips with pressure. 
    “Why are you here?” I yelled.  Is that the first question you ask a dead woman?  I don’t know, it’s never happened to me before.  I am not prepared to speak with the dead.  I am freaking out.  I couldn’t contain my restless arms any longer so I grabbed my man pillow, snuggling it up against my chest as a shield.  The whole time I’m wrestling with an energy shield that generates my arms upwards, a kinetic vibration of the otherworldly intersecting with the earthly causing a shift.  I feel like my arms want to lift and fly or worship some deity.  I could not stop wrestling on the mattress.  I fought to keep my hands down, secured under the man pillow, when I realized my parents may hear me talking— and that cannot be good. I’ve caused them enough