by Ginna Moran
A hopelessness so despairing rushes around me and I imagine everything that was taken from me. “Tell Agent Janie she better not show her face when I get back to my body.”
Jacqueline taps on the window and Agent Janie rolls it down. “Hunter wanted me to tell you that he forgives you and hopes to see you again one day.”
“Jackie!” Anger grips at me. My voice and emotions are the only things left that I have control over and they feel stronger than ever.
Jacqueline blinks a few times but doesn’t respond to me.
Agent Janie nods and puts the van in gear, leaving me stuck in Jacqueline’s head for who knows how long.
I sigh. “What now? How long do you think it’ll take?”
“I don’t have the answers. I don’t even know if I’ll be successful,” Jacqueline thinks. She strolls up to an automated, self-serve ticket kiosk and pulls out a few dollars from the wallet my mom returned to her before we left. She gets a train ticket to a town I’m unfamiliar with and grips it in her hand.
“Are you kidding me? You better be successful. I want my body back.”
She sits on a bench on the platform and thinks, “Well, I want my life back.”
“You have a life, Jackie. You have two since you stole mine.”
“I did what I had to do,” she says. The sound of her voice around me is level and calm. It annoys me and I want to push her buttons and get under her skin—make her regret ever taking me in the first place.
“I hate you,” I say.
Jacqueline stares at the tracks. “The feeling’s mutual, Hunter. Now, please, be quiet so I can think. I have to figure things out if you ever want to see your body again.”
I can’t hear Jacqueline’s personal thoughts, only the ones she thinks toward me, but she must be having them. She probably can conceal anything she wants from me.
“What happens if you don’t?”
“I will.”
“But if you—”
“Hunter!” Jacqueline’s voice echoes around me and she pushes me into the void in her mind. Darkness surrounds me and I lose access to her sight. Fear seeps into my soul as I hover in the black abyss feeling like nothing—like I don’t actually exist anymore. The only hope I have is that I know I once existed and maybe I’ll exist again. I hope I will, at least.
“Jackie, please! I’m sorry!”
“You promise to stay quiet now?”
“Yes.”
I don’t say anything else because I’m terrified she’ll send me back to the void. Instead, I lose myself in my memories. I think about my mom and how she cursed me to this horrible prison. I wonder if she regrets it. Only time will tell, because right now, it’s just me inside Jacqueline’s mind and an uncertain future. What if I don’t ever get one? What if this is it?
I push the morbid thoughts away. I have too much to fight for to just give up. I will get my body back. I’ll figure out a way.
It’s the hope of existing in my body again that keeps me from losing myself in a bout of hopelessness. Hope is what will get me through this. Besides my memories, hope is all I have left.
The train screeches to a stop at the station and Jacqueline gets up. “Get ready, Hunter. You’re going to see the world like you’ve never seen it before,” she thinks.
“Great. Just like I always wanted.”
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DESTINED FOR DREAMS.
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1. A TERRIBLE HOST
NADIA
The room spins and my stomach lurches. I feel so sick from hunger that I can barely stand. I grip the small wooden table in the hallway and blink until my vision restores.
My chest tightens and I drag my feet forward. The lobby to the dormitory is empty this time of night and the only light glows from a flat screen television that was accidentally left on.
I keep my feet moving. If I stay out here any longer, I won’t make it back to my room at all. I cross through the lobby and a glass door slides open into another hallway. The ceiling is much lower and the air is stuffy.
“Twenty more feet,” I say out loud. “Keep walking. You can make it. You’re not hungry. You’re not hungry. You’re not hungry.” I chant the words over and over like an anthem, but it doesn’t help.
I’m starving.
I stop at my closed door and touch my hand to the doorknob. I don’t twist to open it, but instead turn to face the closed door behind me. A small whiteboard is nailed to the wooden door. A red heart is drawn on the whiteboard and the name Alyssa is written across the heart in black block letters. Just go in quietly. Alyssa said you could use her anytime you needed.
I wish Alyssa never made the offer in the first place. She doesn’t understand what I’ll do to her. She’s going to despise me for it. I hate that I let my hunger get so out of control that I’m outside my best friend’s dorm, dying to give her nightmares. Creating nightmares is my sustenance.
I run my finger along the door and count to myself. I stare at my plaster white fingers. My long nails are tinted blue and dark purple veins pulse on my wrist. I haven’t been outside in daylight in weeks, and it shows. I’m bound to the night the longer I resist. But it’s okay; I love the night. You’re lying.
The door swings open.
A small nightlight shines from below her desk and casts shadows across the wall and her bed. She doesn’t stir when I click the door shut.
I swallow hard. Alyssa is hidden under her dark brown comforter. On her night table is a stack of books and a small reading lamp. Tacked to her walls are hundreds of sketches. They’re so full of detail and accuracy that the drawings could be mistaken for black and white photographs.
I glide across the room, my feet above the threadbare carpet, and run my fingers over a drawing of a moon setting on water. Below the glittering path of moonlight, a body lies in the sand and a giant fishtail cuts through the waves. It’s surreal and magical, and I’m not sure if it was a vision or her imagination.
I plant my boots on the carpet. I’d give anything to leave the Creature Council’s compound. If my father didn’t work here, I’d go somewhere else far from this place. But, he’d never let me leave. It’s his way of protecting me. He doesn’t want to lose me like he lost my mother. The images Alyssa sketches will always be of faraway places to me. Places I will only ever see in dreams.
I look away from the wall. I can’t torture myself anymore with ideas of the outside world. This, standing in Alyssa’s room while she sleeps, is my world. I just wish I didn’t hate it so much.
I kneel next to Alyssa’s bed and tuck my white hair behind my ears. It’s lost all its pigmentation during my failed attempt at a hunger strike. When I don’t create nightmares, it reveals me as the monster I am. I’m frightening enough at the moment that everyone in the compound is uneasy around me. Once I eat, I’ll look more human again.
I pull back the dark brown comforter just enough to see Alyssa’s gorgeous red hair sprawling over her pillow. Her creamy complexion is flawless and she looks as beautiful asleep as she does awake. She’s so alive and full of life compared to me, with my withered, stringy hair and gaunt figure. You’ll look less like a nightmare inflictor soon.
But I am a nightmare inflictor—just like my father.
I run my hands over Alyssa’s hair and press my thumbs to her temples and rest my fingers on her scalp. My vision fades despite my open eyes. My whole body trembles as I force my way into her head.
I’m overwhelmed by a falling sensation as I manifest myself into Alyssa’s dream world. Gray fog swirls around me and I wave my hand, blowing it away. As it clears, my eyes widen in wonder. Dreams are always so magnificent and breathtaking. I wish I could dream on my own.
I stand in the center of a vibrant valley speckled with red, yellow, and orange poppies. A crystalline waterfall rushes over a black rock cliff and into a translucent lake. I glide to the pebbly shoreline and peer at glittering silver fish swimming with a gracefulness I wish I had.
; Stop messing around.
I pull my hands from my pockets. This is the part I love and hate the most. It’s why I’m called a nightmare inflictor—because I ruin the best dreams. I destroy them and devour them.
I shift and force my feet to touch the ground. I’m no longer an observer to Alyssa’s dream, but a participant, and by the time I’m through, she’ll regret her offer. Even the toughest people can be frightened by their dreams.
My cracked lips curve into a smile. I taste the sweet chocolate flavor dripping onto my tongue just from breathing the air. Every dream tastes differently, but they’re all mouthwatering and fulfilling. The deep, insatiable hunger starts to subside the moment I run my hand over the crystal clear lake.
The water churns and darkens and the fish pop up to the surface. Their dead bodies smell rancid and I turn away toward the field of poppies.
Each step I take leaves an oily footprint that seeps into the vibrant green grass, killing it. I bend over and tap the blossoming flowers and they shrivel up and disintegrate. Everything I touch rots and decays, turning this beautiful paradise into a hellish place fit for monsters like me.
Laughter echoes through the air and I jerk my head in its direction. I crave the very noise I’m hearing and it cuts short, leaving me in deadening silence. I stomp up the hillside and smile as every plant dies around me. The azure sky darkens as gray clouds roll in. Thunder booms and I lick my lips, sensing a tinge of fear coursing through the air. I breathe deeply, sucking it into my soul.
“We have to run for cover, love,” a deep, masculine voice says.
I reach the top of the hill and peer into a forest of tall redwood trees. The trees are taller than the hill I’m standing on and yet I didn’t see them from the valley. Stop getting distracted. Find the dreamer and leave.
I follow the voices deep into the forest. My boots crunch on dried leaves, turning them to mush. I smack my hands against the reddish-brown tree trunks as I pass. They dry and crack, and dead leaves rain down as if I were standing amid a raging storm.
I pause, leaning against a dying tree trunk wider than a car, and stare through the thick greenery at a couple sitting on a red blanket. Between them lies a wooden picnic basket with a baguette protruding from it. The boy drops a green glass bottle and it clatters to the ground, shattering into a million sparkling green pieces. His mouth gapes open, but he doesn’t scream. Instead, he reaches over and picks up the neck of the broken bottle and points it at me.
I can’t help smiling at his bravery.
He jumps to his feet and steps in front of Alyssa who doesn’t move. She stares at me without emotion. In this dream world, I’m not Nadia Petrov. I’m Alyssa’s worst nightmare. I stop ten feet away and cock my head to the side.
Alyssa’s dream boy is perfect. His dark brown hair is cut short on the sides and is styled neatly with hair gel. His almond shaped, coffee brown eyes narrow as he glares at me and his jaw twitches as he twists his mouth into a scowl. He’s tall, over six feet, and tan from hours outside.
The veins in his muscular arms swell as he squeezes the broken bottle and he rolls his shoulders, preparing for a fight he can’t win. Alyssa stares between us and reaches out to touch the boy’s leg. He turns his head to glance over his shoulder, then turns back to me.
I don’t move.
Alyssa clears her throat. “You should leave, Lucas.” She stands and grabs his shoulder.
He tenses. “I’m not leaving you. Can’t you see you’re in danger?”
She smiles softly. “You’re mistaken, babe. It’s not me he’s after.”
Alyssa is afraid of someone—a man. Without mirrors to see myself in the dream world, I don’t know who I appear to be, but since they didn’t run away screaming, I’m guessing I’m not a hideous monster. Alyssa isn’t afraid of monsters—she’s terrified of a man. I wonder who...
Before he can question her, I glide over the dried leaves and cup his face in my hands. He explodes into a cloud of black dust and I suck in breath after breath of his essence.
My hunger dissipates and I’m left facing Alyssa. She doesn’t run, but just stands there with tears gleaming in her eyes. Her red hair blows in a breeze and she stares at the ground where remnants of her dream boy lie mixed with rotting leaves.
She covers her mouth with her hand. “You killed him.”
My mouth drops open. Things are clearer now that I’m not starving, and a horrible pit settles in my stomach. I can’t believe I’m standing here destroying Alyssa’s dream. I need to leave, and the only way out is to finish off the dreamer and consume the nightmare.
I cup her face.
Tears spill from her vibrant green eyes and her mouth falls open in a silent scream. Within seconds, she drops to her knees and falls over, pressing her face to the muddy ground. Shining light radiates from her and I inhale the rest of her nightmare as the dream world around me crumbles.
My stomach heaves and my eyes snap open. I’m back in Alyssa’s room and she tosses and turns under her comforter. Before she wakes up, I’m already gone and opening the door to my room.
I feel alive, full, and normal again. I stare at my hands. The color has returned and my skin is flushed. I sit on the edge of my bed and resist looking in the mirror on my vanity table because I don’t know how long I’ll look like myself. I don’t know when I’ll create another nightmare.
Soon. I never want to starve myself again.
HUNTER
“You’re a terrible host,” I say. “The least you can do is take me somewhere fun or hold something more interesting than your diary in front of your face.”
“Shut up,” Jacqueline thinks. She wouldn’t dare speak out loud. Not to me. It would make her look as crazy as she really is, and she wouldn’t stand for it.
“Oh, wouldn’t you just love it if I shut up and went away? Well, Jackie, guess what? You’re stuck with me until you release me back into my body.”
“Don’t call me Jackie. And, Hunter, you know what the deal was. I took you as collateral to make sure Dr. Sullivan holds up her end of the bargain. I want my freedom as much as you do. You’re lucky I let them keep your body.”
My mom agreed to spare this monster her life if she would conspire against her own kind and obtain information about a legendary council made up of supernatural creatures the Human Preservation Agency’s board members want to destroy. To prove to Jacqueline that she wouldn’t harm her, my mother let her take my soul as collateral so that Jacqueline would trust her. Funny though. I’d never trust a woman who traded her own son for some stupid information that may not even be helpful to her.
“Why did you, anyway?” I ask. I’m as good as dead without a body. Jacqueline could’ve just taken me whole as her prisoner. Instead, we’re forced to share space in her head.
Jacqueline stares at her pink fingernails. “It’s complicated. I expected you to be different, more like your mother. I didn’t expect you to be so...pure.”
If I had a body, I’d frown. “I’m insulted. What makes you think I’m pure?”
“Enough with the questions.”
I sigh. “I wouldn’t have so many if you’d tell me what you’re going to do with me.”
Jacqueline throws her journal at the wall and it clatters to the floor. “Hunter Sullivan! If you don’t shut up right now, I will make you.” Jacqueline’s melodious voice echoes through the small room.
She stands up and walks across the dirty carpet to a dusty mirror on the wall. She wipes it with the sleeve of her shirt and stares at herself. Her light purple eyes glow against the golden brown of her skin and the color of her irises shift for a split second and it’s like I can see myself in her eyes. They’re not the windows to her soul, but mine.
“Please, don’t send me away,” I say.
I regret aggravating her. When she doesn’t want me around, she shoves me into a dark void in her mind. It’s awful not knowing which way is up and being blind and deaf. I feel like I’m dying every time she does it and then i
t’s like I don’t exist at all.
Someone knocks on the door and she turns toward it. “I’m sorry, Hunter. You know the rules.”
“Please, I’ll be quiet.”
“The answer is no.”
“Jackie, don’t—”
She closes her eyes and I’m blind to the world again. I’m alone, in pitch blackness, and I want to die.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As always, thanks to my writing and critique partners Jamie Hall and Jan Moran. This story would’ve never reached my readers’ hands without you.
I’d also like to thank my family for their love, encouragement, and positivity.
Lastly, many thanks to the readers who love my stories as much as I enjoy writing them.
ABOUT GINNA MORAN
Ginna Moran is a writer living in San Diego, California. She started writing poetry as a teenager in a spiral notebook that she still has tucked away on her desk today. Her love of writing grew after she graduated high school and she completed her first unpublished manuscript at age eighteen.
When she realized her love of writing was her life’s passion, she studied literature at Mira Costa College in Northern San Diego. Besides writing novels, she was senior editor, content manager, and image coordinator for Crescent House Publishing Inc. for four years.
Ginna is now the Co-Founder of Silver Starlight Designs, where she took her passion of reading, writing, and design and co-created a company that provides design services for authors.
Aside from Ginna’s professional life, she enjoys binge watching television shows, playing pretend with her daughter, and cuddling with her dogs. Some of her favorite things include chocolate, anything that glitters, cheesy jokes, and organizing her bookshelf.
Ginna Moran loves to hear from readers so visit her online at www.GinnaMoran.com. You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest. If you loved Hunter’s Curse, leave a positive review online for fellow readers.
