Nesting (Demonic Games Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

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  Nesting

  Written by Sara Clancy

  Edited by Emma Salam

  Copyright © 2017 by ScareStreet.com

  All rights reserved.

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  To really show you my appreciation for downloading this book, I’ve included a bonus scene at the end of this book. I'd also love to send you the full length novel: Sherman’s Library Trilogy by Ron Ripley in 3 formats (MOBI, EPUB and PDF) absolutely free! This will surely make chills run down your spine!

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  Welcome,

  Sara Clancy

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  FREE Bonus Novel!

  Chapter 1

  The thick iron chains rumbled like a giant beast awakening from its slumber. The sound mixed with the clank of turning clogs and the whine of grinding rust as the old contraption struggled to lower the massive hunk of rotting wood. Mihail had known that his grandmother lived in a castle when he had agreed to help take care of her. He had actually been born here; so had his mother. But, having been sent to a boarding school when he was four, most of his memories had been shrouded in so much doubt that he couldn’t really trust them anymore. Vaguely, he could recall a lake, some hidden tunnels, and a door that opened into a forest. Somehow, he had forgotten that there was a drawbridge. And, perhaps more importantly, the castle itself was balanced upon a peak that rose out of a ravine like a rotted tooth. The only point of access was the drawbridge, but each broken lurch made his faith in the ancient structure fade a little more.

  Carefully, Mihail inched towards the edge of the sharp drop off. Small pebbles cracked under his feet and toppled down the cliff. He lost track of them before they had even fallen half the distance. What spoke more of the dizzying height was that he couldn’t even catch a hint of the rampaging river. The water rushed along the bottom of the ravine, consumed by rapids so that it appeared as a strip of white froth. There wasn’t a single glimpse of calm blue. Vertigo struck Mihail like a physical blow and he staggered back from the edge. How the hell did I forget about that? His heart ricocheted around his chest as the thought repeated.

  The nearer the bridge got to being flat, the louder the protests became. It drove into his head like spikes. Wincing, he took a few steps away from the edge and turned. The taxi was gone. The noise of the engine must have been lost amongst everything else. It hit him then that he was alone in a foreign land. Not alone, he corrected. Grandma is waiting inside. And this is your home. He would need some time to embrace that last thought, but he was determined that it would be true soon enough.

  For the first time, he wondered if he had made the right choice. It had seemed like a brilliant idea when it had first occurred to him. His estranged, aging grandmother needed help, his mother hated this place too much to return, and Mihail was hungry for adventure. Travelling to Romania to live in a castle had sounded amazing. A lot better than spending his final year of high school in the exact same boarding room he had lived in for years.

  Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  The driver had been nice enough to neatly stack his three suitcases in the middle of the small clearing, an equal distance from the precipice as from the surrounding forest. Fixing the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder, Mihail strode towards them and quickly got himself organized. Having lugged them around a few different airports, he was skilled at juggling them simultaneously even through some tricky situations. No one really gave way to a seventeen-year-old. He was still organizing the handles when he caught something moving from the corner of his eyes.

  Snapping his head up, he looked towards the thick undergrowth. This high up, the trees were tall but thin, with narrow branches that started at the bottom of the trunks. The numbers made it hard to see anything within them. Clustered tightly together, the foliage allowed things to hide, but made it easy to see that something was moving. He strained to hear anything, but all that existed was the sound of the drawbridge.

  Suddenly, something crashed along the undergrowth, making the bushes wave wildly. A rabbit? As hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember if Romania had rabbits. But the option was dismissed quickly. Whatever was out there was far bigger than a rabbit. A bear. Romania has bears.

  The moment the thought passed through his mind, Mihail started to slide his foot backward. Each rustle made him take another step. The heel of his foot met pliable ground and he glanced over his shoulder. One more step and he would topple over the edge of the cliff. His stomach churned as he snapped his face back around, trying to spot the movement again. Whatever was out there now prowled the edge, just out of view, pacing back and forth. He couldn’t retreat any further. Didn’t dare try and move forward. With growing impatience, his gaze flicked between the falling bridge and the tree line. There were only a few more feet to go and he would have his retreat.

  Shadows suddenly began to slip across his line of sight. They were huge and dark and moved too fast for him to be able to tell the real shape of them. Within seconds, dozens of them filled the area. The streaking smudges hovered by the very edge of the trees, but it didn’t help him see them any clearer. Visible or not, their presence made his skin crawl over his bones. He yearned to know what they were. At the same time, he was terrified for them to come any closer when he had nowhere to go.

  The drawbridge crashed down with the sound of thunder. Small stones flung out with a cloud of dust, both settling before the tremor the strike had created ebbed away. The rumble worked its way up his legs as he ran towards his only exit. His hands clutched at his suitcase handles as an afterthought, dragging them behind him as he scrambled up onto the bridge. It was longer and softer than he would have guessed. Splinters broke away under the soles of his shoes and the chipped edges caught the wheels of his suitcases, making them buck and snag.

  As he raced closer, he noticed the iron gate. Its spike-tipped edge dangled vicariously above his head, rattling with the promise that it would fall at any moment. The nearer he came, the more barbs he could see. They seemed to make up every place the metal slips joined, and were just as long and sharp as the points that threatened to fall onto his head. Better with a bridge than a bear, he thought as he pushed himself faster. The wood under his feet crumbled. And way better than plummeting to my death. Resolved, he hurled himself under the deadly barbs and leaped down onto the stones of the courtyard.

  Stumbling to keep upright, Mihail let his bags scatter as he whirled around. Ice sunk into his bones with every panted breath. It ravaged his heated skin, making him shiver as he scanned the small patch of forest he could still see through the entrance. Sunlight danced across the leaves as a small breeze stirred them.

  The shadows were gone. The sound probably scared them off, he reasoned.

  Still catching his breath, he finally looked at the castle around him. It was like seeing a dr
eam. Familiar, but strange. Something he could only recall when presented with it again. Like the little stone well that sat in the middle of the space. The pond was still there, pressed against the left wall, although it was far smaller than what he remembered. The walls, however, looked about the same. Like snow-capped mountains, they were high enough to block out all views of the outside world. Beyond the rusted blood colored tiles, all he could see was the sky.

  His brow furrowed when he noticed how dark it was. It was barely past noon but it already looked like it was approaching dusk. Glancing over his shoulder, he checked through the open gap of the drawbridge again. There, the sun was brighter. He could almost feel the heat that lingered amongst the trees. Must be the battlement walls, he decided as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Hard to get sun warmth when the sun can’t get in. Now that he thought about it, he remembered how it was always cold and dark within the castle walls. The place just held onto the chill like a grave.

  It took a little searching, but his gloved fingers found his lucky button. He had long since memorized the dimensions of the small brass disk; the loop in the back that would have once fastened it onto clothing, and the figure of an upright bear that was engraved into the front. Time had worn down the edges, and he was sure that his constant rubbing hadn’t helped the matter, but he could still trace every line perfectly. Pressing it into the palm of his hand, he continued to toy his thumb over it as he checked the slip of forest again. It was still beautiful and calm. Whatever had been out there hadn’t been interested enough to come back.

  Not sure what to do next, he rocked on his heels. Boredom wasn’t something he dealt with easily, but he was determined to be patient. After being separated for so long, it felt like he was meeting his grandma for the first time, and he wanted to make a good impression. After searching the area again, he finally lifted his gaze to where he remembered the wheelhouse being. That’s what his parents had always called it, at least. It was a walled-in area beside the trapdoor that held an elaborate contraption of wheels, spokes, and levers. It was what allowed opening and closing the drawbridge to be a one-person job.

  Rolling the button in his hand, he stared up at the wheelhouse window, waiting for his grandmother to pop her head out and greet him. She didn’t. Would she be able to work the drawbridge? From what he had been told, grandma Draciana was in quite an impressive shape for her age. Still, machine or not, moving that large hunk of wood had to be a physically grueling task. It was possible that she could have hurt herself letting him in.

  “Grandma?” he called out.

  An arctic breeze slipped over the battlement walls, bringing with it a small dusting of snow flurries. All of them were delicate enough to melt the moment they touched the stones. Perplexed, he lifted his hand and watched the tiny snowflakes gather against his leather-clad palm. Still, he couldn’t believe it was real. Beside the fact that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, it wasn’t nearly cold enough for snow to form.

  He was startled by the sudden squeal of metal. The iron gate plummeted down, hacking off bits of stone and creating a hail of sparks and dust. Mihail felt the breeze and the metal settle within arm’s reach. He staggered back, eyes widening as a sickly feeling crept into his stomach. It was all too easy for his imagination to take hold and fill his head with images of the damage that could have been done had he been standing only a few feet back. How easily the spikes would have driven through his skull. How narrowly he had missed the line of protruding barbs. But those thoughts disappeared when he realized what the sudden drop could mean. Perhaps the old chains simply gave way. But it was just as likely that his grandmother was hurt. He snapped his head back up to face the wheelhouse, but she still hadn’t come into view.

  Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted as loud as he could. “Grandma!”

  Beyond the soft sighs of the breeze and the odd groan of the settling structure, there was only silence.

  “Grandma! Are you up there?”

  Still nothing.

  Leaving his bags where they were, he raced along the battlement wall, searching for the entrance to the staircase. There had to be a way to get up there. A door, a passageway, or a staircase. But he couldn’t remember what or where it was. Once past the grand entrance, the courtyard quickly lost all sense of structure. None of the walls were even. They pushed out and dropped away and created little enclaves with no real reason why. The result was something that was both wide open yet still felt claustrophobic.

  Dozens of hidden doors came into sight, but he couldn’t recall where any of them led. So he grabbed the first one he approached and pushed his way inside. Instead of finding himself in a hallway, he stumbled onto a balcony and nearly tumbled right over the edge. Constructed from raw stone, the thin pathway had barely enough room for the door to completely open and nothing even resembling a railing. There was a flight of stairs leading up and one going down, but before him, after a sudden drop of a few floors, there was another courtyard. It was nearly identical to the one he had just left. Disorientated, he stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t go any further until he backed up and made sure this wasn’t some kind of illusion.

  Who cares about the strange architecture? a voice in his head snapped. You have a way up. Take it. Pushed into movement, he bolted up the thin stairs three at a time. Even here, there wasn’t a safety rail. Only the potential for a long drop onto cobblestones. Heart pounding and head spinning, he hugged the wall, keeping his shoulder firmly pressed against it until he was at the top.

  Once there, he was faced with three identical doors. In keeping with his pattern, he chose the closest one, yanked it open, and stepped through. His foot didn’t find a floor. The abrupt drop made his fingers clench around the door handle. At the same time, he buckled his knee and leaned back. The position drove his shin painfully down against the stone but kept him from toppling into the abyss.

  Barely about to suck down a breath past the lump forming in his throat, he wouldn’t have been able to pry his fingers off the door handle even if he had tried. Sweat had begun to bead against his palms. He could feel it, trapped between his skin and the gloves, making the lining damp. The sensation was hard to miss as he latched onto the doorframe with his free hand. Holding on for dear life, Mihail leaned forward just enough to sneak a glance over the edge. There wasn’t a floor. If there had ever been one, time and decay had destroyed every last trace of it. The same had happened to the next landing down. It left a gaping hole that dove down to the very foundations of the castle.

  Grandma lives here alone? he thought as vertigo once again made his stomach lurch. This wasn’t a safe place for a senior citizen. It wasn’t safe for anyone.

  Forcing down a sobering breath, he closed his eyes and started a to-do list in his head. He had no idea where to find someone who knew how to fix a drawbridge, but figuring out how to set up a door lock shouldn’t be that hard. Wanting to make sure that the door was securely in place before he tried to get up, he scooted back from the edge. One of his hands dropped out from under him. He flung himself forward, scrambling to regain his equilibrium before he recalled the lack of a safety rail. Who built this place? he thought wildly. It seemed to comprise mostly of deadly abrupt drops and stones that were far too smooth.

  Kicking the door closed, he scrambled back onto his feet and carefully opened the next door. A spiral staircase made of old wood filled the small room, looping in on itself like a giant serpent. Mihail hesitantly leaned in and glanced up the middle. There was another level. He remembered this place. It played like a dream in his mind’s eye. He could see himself as a child, running up those stairs, climbing higher and higher. It was a game. He had been chasing something, or following someone, but he couldn’t remember who or what.

  Spurred on by memory and comforted by the appearance of a handrail, Mihail took his first step onto the ancient staircase. It groaned under his weight like he was hurting it, but held firm enough for him to try the next stair.

  �
��Grandma?” he called again, hoping to finally get a response. Preferably one that would take away the need to go up any further.

  A whispered voice called to him, speaking his name. The single word wafted down from above him, too soft to fully determine just how far away the speaker was. His brow furrowed as he hesitantly tested the next stair. Leaning against the railing, he craned his neck trying to catch a glimpse of whoever was up there. It didn’t matter how hard he strained. All he could see were the spiraling stairs.

  “Grandma? Is that you?”

  He held his breath, trying to catch even the faintest trace of sound, but there was nothing. A few particles of dust drifted down from somewhere up above. They scattered, catching the minimal light that slipped through the thin slits serving as windows. He watched it fall as he heard the floorboards above him creak. It made a flash of fear pulse through him. Something was moving up there. And it was only now that he realized she might be too hurt to speak. Gripping the railing with one hand and pressing his other against the stonewall, he hurried up the stairs. Neither would save him if the wood gave way, but the illusion that they could made him feel a bit better.

  His distorted memory cleared as he went. Refining. Clarifying. Until he could almost hear his childhood laughter ringing in his ears. Almost see his imaginary friend as he had when he was a child. Was she a woman? He tried to recall, the distraction making him feel better about the plummet he might take. He could recall a woman. One that floated.

  With a loud crack, the next step crumbled under his foot. Impulse took over and Mihail rushed up the last few stairs, leaping up onto the next landing. It was a small space. Tiny enough that a single door ran the entire length of it. Before him, there was another line of stairs, coiling higher up. He hadn’t thought there was another floor up there. Even if there was, he had lost his will to follow. Just looking at it made his chest clench. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed his lucky button and rubbed his thumb over it again. Only then did he open the door, keeping well enough back that he didn’t run the risk of toppling into another hole. Mihail smiled when he found a nice, sturdy walkway before him. It was the top of the battlement. His father told him how, long ago, archers would use the pathway to protect the castle. His grandmother had always loved it up here. It had seemed that no matter where he was playing in the courtyard, all he had to do was look up and he’d spot her watching over him.