Chapter 7

She knew it was the end. The end of her short life.

Diana knew she had died. Or maybe she didn't. But the shadow of the gloaming forest and the howls of the wild, unknown beasts screeched from the distance were enough for the fragile-hearted to turn back to its trails and never come back. But she let her hands caress the forest bushes as she passed, feeling their gracious spirits calm her own. What the hell was she doing in here? Was this hell? Heaven?

She frowned even though the darkness was everywhere, but she knew not to be intimidated by the darkness and its powerful forces. However, some primitive tensions lurked in her psyche, and finally, she opened up her other senses to the noise, to the scent, and headed to her every intuition, to her instinct, and to her fate.

Nothing, she saw nothing but darkness.

Oh, my bloody fuck! Why the hell am I here anyway?

I'm dead, right? Jezz, is this hell? Why is it so cold in here?

Hell was supposed to be very hot, right? She thought to herself.

Yeah, this was hell. She might as well look for famous faces here, like US presidents, perhaps? Singer? Famous painters and actors? But she saw nothing.

Wait. Surely she's dead, right?

The narrow trail, which was made unsafe by the twisted roots, was spread at intervals. There was no map to follow, but even if there was, the immense darkness would hinder her from using it.

Okay, now she was scared. This was definitely creepy and scary at the same time.

Wait a fucking second. She thought.

Diana recognised this place. She knew this place. This was the mountain leading to his grandfather's cabin. This was her dream when she was attacked by the demon, and Andrew, her neighbour, saved her.

Yeah! This was it!

But now it was nothing but darkness. It was like the same place in her nightmare—that stupid mountain! What the fuck was she doing here?

So she was not dead?

Moving forward, there were only small disturbances from crinkling forest creatures and the wail of the unforgiving gale. The trails that were filled with little sunshine passed through the canopies just hours before becoming so lost in the darkness that even the late afternoon sunset could not help. Before she acknowledged her fear, Diana's feet commenced stepping forward, body and mind both on autopilot.

“If this is my nightmare, does it mean this is not hell? If so, then this hell is bloody boring. I was expecting something more, though. Some sort of rock star? MJ? Maybe Tesla himself, some actors and singers, or even the devil himself, or maybe the handsome Grim Reaper?” she grumbled to herself.

The next thing she saw was just mountains and mist and the frigid winds and the semi-darkness that had to hurl those identical glints of light into sepia colours, and the fug became the most dramatic of portraits. She knew she had been strolling for an hour, and it seemed like she was walking in circles.

She halted as she realised. Wow! She's been walking for what seems like forever, yet she was not at all tired. However, it was creepy and amazing at the same time. Under different circumstances, she should be screaming for air now and for a rest, but she wasn't. She felt perfectly fine.

Then Diana saw the trunks of fallen trees on display longer than her hand, no two of them the same—more enchanting than any work of man. "Oh, creepy!" She murmured and cringed to herself. "Okay! This is hell, I guess."

This time, she knew this was hell.

So where are the politicians? Lawyers?

After another hour of wandering through the dark forests, she saw the mountain's path far in the distance. It looked like a pale, unhealthy brown highland, almost dried in each clearing, and unmistakably sick on either side.

weird, and yes, she was aware of its evilness! And just like in horror movies, where the background music will get you to the edge of your seat, bam! Some silly, surprising sounds, and you end up screaming.

But, dammit, this is not a movie. She thought.

Seconds later, she felt grateful that she was now outside of the dark forests. She surveyed her surroundings. On her left, the landscape felt like it was her comfort reward—a beautiful, lush grassland through which she sauntered on an isolated path. On her right, she saw wild goats and wild sheep scraping on either surface, consuming their meals and unaware of her. Moreover, the cold, raw air was beating them from the left, and no one seemed to mind. After all, their fur protected them from the elements.

Wait! A sheep in hell? You've got to be kidding me! Sheep were not hell's creatures; they were from heaven.

So this is heaven?

Disappointed. “I'm expecting some kind of white castle and white, cloudy surroundings. Not mountains and sheep! ”

Nevertheless, there was no trace of people on this trail, apart from a worn-out track that curled through the snow blanket of grass on her right.

Oh, really, Diana? Do you expect people in your nightmares? Really? What is this Stephen King novel?

Suddenly, the cold air replenished Diana's lungs, and they were now bursting with fresh air as she observed the orange sunset cascading down a rift of clouds into a blue, distant lake. The reflection of the sunset glimmers in its beauty.

First, she awakened in a dark forest, to the misty path, then to this mountain, then a sunset, and now snowy, cold air? What is this? A joke?

She sighed and watched as the path began fading. Down the cliff, the icy bushes were thick with mist and compared to an ocean waving in the breeze.

“Diana?”

That voice. She knew that voice.

“Diana?”

She leaned her head up, and she heard him again. She recognised the manly voice and knew she'd heard it before.

Is that you, Grim Reaper? If so, why the hell did you expect me to answer when you bloody took my soul away from my body? Are you seriously out of your mind? I'm already wearing Grandma's pantyhose, and now this? Fuck you!

Okay, she was overreacting, but really, a voice?

“Diana…dont stop!”

Another call.

“Don't stop what?” She responded, waited for about a minute but received no response, then started to shiver, attempting to breathe as she felt the tension building in her chest. It started in the middle, right under her rib cage, and quickly crammed her whole chest. A painful pressure lifted her inward from all sides, contracting her lungs. Within a second, it went to her neck—a hot, choking tightness—and Diana opened her mouth, gasping for air. She shuddered, tried to hold her breath, then gasped for air, in primitive self-defence, like she was drowning.

No! I can't die here. She thought. I can't die here again!

Wait, she was already dead, right?

"No, young mortal, you aren't dead." The voice echoed.

Diana's eyes ached, her stomach wobbled, and each breath was a painful gasp. "Who the hell are you?" She whispered back as she struggled to look around. She saw nothing but darkness again.

Then she stood still, steadying her breathing when the pain subsided, her eyes fading, and she saw only the shadow of someone who dared lurk in her mind. She heard his soothing voice, telling her to follow his voice. “Follow me, Diana. Don't stop walking. Follow me!” There it was again.

The voice warned her not to wander around, as if it were a command and not just a word, making her feet follow and making her feel good, content, and aroused at the same time.

What? Diana, you are in pain, and you feel aroused.

What the fuck is wrong with you now?

But it was as if the sound lifted a veil from Diana's eyes and allowed her to see the world more clearly. It was funny how soothing commands can do that—those honest words that tell her to follow—but she knew they were stronger, magical, and powerful. She needs to follow that command. Because the voice was her saviour and her doom. “Don't stop. Follow my voice. I'm here. I'm not going to leave you alone.”

Andrew?

What the hell? She knew she was getting crazy. She had been crushing on her neighbour since a few months ago, when he took Mrs. Adella’s apartment next door, but seriously, even in her dream. He was here?

But she was lost in his voice. His command. Her entire body shivered for a second, and there it was again: the pain was unbearable wherever anything touched her skin, and her eyesight was low contrast and grey. "Wake up, little mortal; follow my voice."

“Stop screaming at me! I can hear you, you know!”

For a few minutes, the voice was gone.

“Voice, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. This really hurts, you know. I can't; it's too painful.”

“I know; that's why you need to follow me.”

"Okay, but wait, you can see me?''

“No! I'm inside your mind.”

“Okay. So what the hell is wrong with me? I thought I had died. What happened? "

“I'll explain later. Just follow me." The affectionate command of pure concern was the gift she didn't know she wanted. It was fresher than windchimes and just as wild, just as she needed. Then it stopped. “Where are you now? I can sense you. You are fading,” she panicked. “Wait for me! Don't go! Don't leave me alone here! Please!”

The voice was gone, but she knew someone was looking at her with a flicker of curiosity. Evil. It was darkness. It was a sin. Evil. Her whole being could sense who it was. It was darkness. Her awaiting death.

Panicking, shefelt a sudden shiver of premonition that shuddered down her spine.

Then there it was again. Andrew’s voice. "Run, little mortal. Now! Faster, no time to wander. You should wake up now. WAKE UP!" She felt the urgency in his voice. A command she can't ignore.

"I don't know how—”

“You can—”

Since she was a child, she had always feared the thought of the Grim Reaper. Their frayed cloaks and skeleton bodies, which she had imagined must have smelled of death and wreckage, dragged the innocent soul to the afterlife. Most of her life, she regrets to say, was loaded with fear, as if these hideous creatures lurked behind every corner.

"Are you the Grim Reaper, the Korean version?" she added absentmindedly.

Seriously Diana? You're asking that? Death is coming. You can sense it. Darkness behind you. Why are you asking Andrew if he is the Grim Reaper? This is not a joke! He is not Lee Dong-wook of Goblin. Andrew is urging you and helping you out of here, and you ask silly questions? Are you out of your mind?

"No! I am Andrew Law, and we met in the woods, so now I want you to remember everything and wake up. Follow my voice."

Ohhh!

Diana felt a sudden rush of headaches and buzzing, painful electricity, like she was pulled from the valley of death, and everything came back to her at that moment.

Dammit! The vial of the blood of her grandpappy and the attack, the rain; the cave, Andrew, the dream of him licking her and tasting her! Making her cum! Holy F*CK! She allowed that to happen?

"You filthy arshole, you make me drink those vials," she remembered now, and her face lit up with anger. "Andrew, I'm going to kill you! I'm going to cut the hell out of your penis and make you swallow it whole! I'm going to—arrgh! Jezz! You son of—I'm going to kill you! Fuck you!” she growled, breathed in and out, then added, “But for now, help me, okay? I don't know how to wake up," she whispered, her voice pleading, "Please..."

Then suddenly, she felt it. The pull. The power.

She felt like someone had slapped her inside out and made her pull herself up!

Like there was a stake being thrust into Diana's chest, the attack radiating pain in a way that destroyed her brain—or at least that's what it feels like. She lay so still, breathing heavily. She felt it. A bed underneath her. Soft pillow under her head, warm skin under her nape, small kisses on her neck—warm, delicious. "Diana, wake up, baby girl!”

Damn it…365? Call me that again, and I swear I'm going to—

“There you are, finally back from the dead,” Andrew's voice echoed.

She attempted to pull herself up off of the soft, silky bed, but her body didn't want to hold her weight. They stumbled and plunged around her, as she had never wielded them before.

"Andrew? I'm alive?" she asked as reality began to sink in. The knowledge that she was only dreaming clenched her heart and drenched her soul, yet she was thankful. Did it happen? Did she die? It felt like it did, though she wondered. Where the hell am I, then?

"Good, you are awake, little mortal. Are you okay?" Andrew asked from the side of the bed, looking intently into her eyes. Small drops of blood lingered in his lips as he licked it like it was so natural to do.

Was it blood? Ew! She remembered the taste of his grandfather's vials. It was disgusting, but she doesn't have the strength to throw it all out.

Wait! Did he just ask her if she was okay?

Of course not, Dickhead! How could he ask her that? It was a war. She had been at war with death. And she felt like she had run through fire, ice, and all that. Okay, maybe she was just overreacting and being exaggerated, but how could he ask her if she was okay? Of course, she was not okay. She was so worried about dying while wearing her grandma's panties. 

Seriously, it was scary!

Andrew's voice echoed the room as she watched him with awe. "Now, how's one week of sleep?" The corner of his mouth quirked up. He inquired with such a deep, genuine voice. His voice—the voice that made her awake and made her feel sad—made her even think about kicking his balls and eating his penis.

“One week!” she exclaimed.

He winced, “Jesus, Diana, that voice reaches my brain with enough decibels to destroy my ear.”