Prologue

Crowburn.

 The town is said to have been built right above hell itself. 

"There is a myth about this town that every 100 years on Halloween night, demons from the very pits of hell come up to the earth and roam the streets, blending into the disguised populous searching for the perfect bride for their Prince. The Prince of Darkness himself. It is believed that the women die as they are never seen again, and every year, the demons return for more women." the woman speaking, my grandma pursed, taking a sip of water before continuing.

 

"However, about 3000 years ago, the town elders came together to find a solution to the large number of women that are taken each century. After careful consideration and deliberations, they agreed that a virgin maiden is selected every century from the young ladies of the town. Then they are sacrificed to the demons to save the other women in the town. They are taken to the town square, where the demons are believed to come up from, tied to a post, and left for the demons to take. The maiden is never seen again. By anyone," Grandma told this story to my sister, Stacy, and me on Halloween night when I was eight. Stacy was scared, while I, on the other hand, was merely amused by it.

"Ya right, as if," I thought as my grandma finished her story. I wasn't supposed to be there listening, but I had nothing else to do.

  

'' But as I said, it's just a myth," Grandma concluded 

‘’Which means its not real’’ I muttered to myself 

"Has it been a hundred years since the last sacrifice? I don't wanna die," Stacy said, her voice quaking. 

"No, little one, it's not been a hundred years yet, and besides, we both know your mother would never part with you for anything," Grandma said. 

I had heard enough, so I got up from my hiding spot, went to my basement room, and locked the door behind me.

Grandma's story replayed in my eight-year-old mind over and over again. I was imagining the possibility of such a thing being true. Everyone knew Crowburn was not a natural place, but no one ever paid enough attention to find out why. I pondered this until I fell into a deep sleep.

 

Looking back to that day, 15 years later, I now see how right I was and how blind the world is to the things around them. I'm Roseline Moore, a 23-year-old from Crowburn; I live here with my Mother, stepfather, stepsister, and grandma. My Mother, Susan Simon, had me out of wedlock, so I never got to know who my father was, but he is someone my Mother despised because she despises me, and she made no secret of it.

She married my stepfather, Davis Simon when I was 3. My Mother was already pregnant with Stacy when she got married since she was born six months after their marriage.

My grandma, mom's Mother, is another story altogether. Davis refers to her as a 'crazy old bat' and has tried to convince Mother to send her away from him to a nursing home. Still, Mother refuses every time because she believes that it's her responsibility to take care of her Mother, and that is precisely what she does, but regardless Grandma is no better than the rest of them.

My stepsister, Stacy, sees me as less than an enslaved person, Mother hates me, Grandma doesn't care, and Davis…. I don't even want to talk about him.

However, I know you're not here to listen to me complain about my family or this hellish town but to talk about me, Rosaline Moore. Mother allowed me to keep my fathers name because Davis refused to let me take his name or call him 'dad,' and I was completely fine with it.