I turned and ran for the door. Grabbing the handle I flung it open and pounded down the old wooden porch steps.
Not caring where I was going, I flew down block after block. Heart pounding, legs burning fom exertion, I stopped.
This can't be happening. This can't be real, demons and vampires don't exist. They cannot possibly exist! I fell down to my knees, taking a moment to observe my surroundings as my legs sank into the cold grass.
Crumbling tombstones covered in moss, large oak trees making the now night sky look even more menacing, and the big ivy encased church sitting in the middle high above everything else.
Pulling myself back up, with the help of the tombstone angel next to me. I stumbled towards the one grave here that actually had any meaning to me, Dad's.
"Bernael Allmark, born August 11th, 1979, died September 3, 2012. Loving husband, father, and friend." the tombstone read. I honestly felt safer here than anywhere else, it was the closest I could ever get to being with my dad again. He always kept me safe from stuff like this, he'd take care of all the monsters for me.
I sobbed, for only god knows how long. After a while, when my eyes were dry, no more tears able to escape them. My throat felt dry and cracked.
A hand clamped over my mouth and I was suddenly being hauled up from off the ground. I kicked backwards trying to strike my captor. He grunted as my foot connected with his shin.
"Stop fucking fighting me Is!" a voice harshly whispered from behind me.
I knew that voice from anywhere, and that voice belonged to the only person who ever called me Is besides dad. Jase. Tearing his hand from my mouth I turned to face him and asked. "Jase, what the hell are you doing here!?"
Only when I turned around, it wasn't Jase standing there. This hideous beast with sharp pointed teeth grinned at me as it's menacing voice growled "Guess again sweetie."
Something slammed up against the side of my head, I began to get a little dizzy, swaying a bit on my feet. It hit me again, and this time everything went black.
