MARY MAY
The curse was no joke.
This is all there is, the voice in my head whispered. It was the voice of my doubt.
Usually, I was able to keep it at the edge of my thoughts by using the bright, hot light of my ambition and rage to hold at bay, but now it crept back into the forefront of my mind and settled in to stay.
This is all there is, and all there will ever be.
We’d made it to Chicago, and we were never going to make it out again. I lay supine on the filthy living room couch as the thoughts settled on me one by one, weighing me down until I didn’t have the strength to get up. Time had lost all meaning.
I forced my eyes open, expecting to see only the Cursèd Place’s derelict living room and found myself staring into the malevolent, black eye of a bad omen. The rooster was back;
