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TITLE: Monsters Under the Bed (This title might change.)

The cover for this book is just a temporary cover.
The attached character photos are purely for inspiration. I do not own them.
This is a work in progress, so no purchase links.

GENRE: Paranormal

BLURB: 

One child at a time … they were made safe … and able to begin down a path of healing with the true monster gone from their lives for good. 

That was what mattered. That was why they did this. For them. For the innocent ones who couldn’t save themselves.

Do you believe in monsters under the bed? Well, whether you believe in them or not … they’re real. And they’re here. But not for the reasons you might think.

The Secret Society of Monsters — or TSM — is compiled of ten monsters and run by a powerful demon. Their purpose is to protect those who cannot protect themselves. And they do their job very well. 

Summoned by children’s prayers, they appear under the beds of those who call to them and exterminate those true monsters who would cause those precious children harm. The dark souls of the humans are collected upon completion of their mission and brought back to their boss — Rusalka, a thousands-year-old demon who hides her true form beneath a pretty face and a pair of vicious horns that adorn her head like a crown. 

But Rusalka has ulterior motives for these invaluable treasures she consumes. She has plans for the monsters in her employ. And she has a great many secrets. Ones that could bring the TSM to its knees. And leave a path of immense devastation in its wake.

EXCERPT: 

His name was Alexander Stone. And today he would take his last breath. The Society of Monsters, or TSM, had been watching him from afar for months, just waiting to be called upon. Of course, he was far from the only one. They watched millions all across the globe. There were less than a dozen TSM members left. Against millions. Their small group was contracted to protect children who couldn’t protect themselves. Whose voices weren’t loud enough to tell what was happening. In many of the cases, authorities had come and gone, finding nothing out of the ordinary upon closer inspection.

No one to help those poor souls escape the rape, abuse, torture, and torment they suffered daily. 

No one. 

Except for those select few who worked in the dark.

But there was a catch. They could only be summoned by the children’s prayers. Only that would allow those of the TSM to act. 

Sasha’s prayers had finally come. The head of TSM—a demon named Rusalka—had sent Myra to do the job. Myra had been hoping to go on another job tonight, but they had to go where they were sent. They had to trust that Rusalka knew what she was doing—something Myra had a bit of trouble with. Some days, a lot of trouble with. The two had even argued about Myra’s assignment before she left her boss’s office. But, bottom line, Myra’s apprehensiveness wasn’t the important thing right now.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was Sasha.

The human girl had just turned thirteen a few weeks ago. She had beautiful brunette hair and piercing blue eyes. She loved to read, sing, and dance. She wanted to be a famous actress one day. But Sasha wasn’t even sure she’d make it to her next birthday. Her uncle had been abusing her for years. Every weekend, like clockwork, while her parents were at work. 

It ended today.

From beneath Sasha’s bed, Myra watched Alexander enter the room. Her eyes began to glow bright orange, like flickering flames had sparked beneath the bed. Not today, motherfucker. 

Let the real fun begin.

Before Sasha could move an inch, Myra extended the mental tendrils of her mind and whispered, “Somnum.” To her, it sounded like a whisper. To a human, all they would hear at most would be something along the lines of a gentle breeze. The girl immediately fell into a deep sleep filled with sweet and comforting dreams. She wouldn’t hear a single thing that occurred in the next few minutes. She would dream about a sea of daffodils, complete with swarms of brightly colored butterflies and the fresh scent of baked apple pie. To give the gift of pleasant dreams was an ability everyone in their society possessed. And it was the best way. Without any knowledge of what had occurred, they could reveal nothing about the monster who aided them. They wouldn’t be called crazy or a liar for saying a monster did the deed. They would have no nightmares or bad thoughts about what had been done in their room to their attacker, or the monster who lay beneath their bed. No remembrance of the seemingly horrible act that was about to take place. They would just sleep peacefully throughout the entire thing.

This way was best all around, for everyone involved. 

As soon as Alexander noticed the glow from beneath the bed, he stopped dead in his tracks about halfway across the room. A slow smirk spread across Myra’s face as she allowed her glimmering teeth to show. “Tenebris,” she whispered. The room was instantly flooded with darkness. While she saw better in the dark, the human—if he could be called that—would see only what she wanted him to. While those who belonged to TSM could give beautiful dreams to the children, they could also give horrible nightmares to the barbarians who thought of nothing and no one but themselves. Who took whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and showed no mercy to those they did everything they could to ruin. Alexander was at her mercy now. And Sasha would never be at his again.

Reaching out across the wood flooring, Myra allowed her two-inch-long nails to scrape ever-so-slowly across the floor back toward her. The noise it created was like music to her ears, and like nails on a chalkboard to his. She filled his head with every crime he had ever committed, both to Sasha and to other poor souls. He didn’t see himself hurting those children right now, though. To him, in this moment, it would seem as if the acts were being committed against him by the most terrifying beast her mind could create. And he would be feeling every ounce of the pain along with it. 

The ability to inflict hallucinations really was a beautiful thing when used on the right people. But it could be a noisy one. Alexander’s eyes squeezed shut and he gripped the sides of his head. “Silentium,” Myra whispered. And just in time, too. The spoken word immediately created a bubble, so to speak, around the room. Any noises, yells, or screams uttered inside the bubble wouldn’t be heard by anyone or anything outside the barrier she’d erected. And with Sasha’s mind consumed by the pleasant dreams Myra had created, the young female wouldn’t hear any of it either.

Alexander’s fingernails dug so deep into his flesh that they drew blood. Myra’s smirk widened into a fanged grin. Scream for me, podex. She increased the hallucinations and intensified the pain roaring through him. More and more, bit by bit, until it would feel like liquid fire ran through his veins. 

Eventually … everything stopped. 

Alexander’s hands dropped to his sides. His eyes took on a glazed appearance before he turned toward the bedroom door. Myra slipped from beneath the bed, nothing but a shadow that Alexander would never see. She followed him from the room, gliding silently across the floor behind him, the bubble of silence traveling along with them. They went down the hallway and into the guest bedroom.

Myra hovered by the entrance as Alexander closed the door and walked over to the bed. He knelt and pulled a suitcase out from beneath it. After placing the suitcase on top of the bedding, he opened it and pulled out a gun. Myra didn’t have to inspect it to know it was loaded. He kept it loaded always. The piece was what he frequently showed Sasha to ensure she complied with his demands without making any noise. And being a pharmacist allowed him to give her a morning-after pill every time he abused her as well. If she got pregnant, how would he hide what he was doing to her? Sasha would never tell. Evidence would be the only way to reveal the atrocities she endured.

Evidence that Myra was about to force him to deliver.

With the gun still clasped in his hand, she used her influence over his mind to lead him to a small desk in the corner of the room. He sat in the comfortable chair, then retrieved a pad of paper and a pen from one of the drawers. On top of the desk they went before Alexander picked up the pen and put ink to paper. She forced him to write a suicide note, describing enough of what he’d done without adding too many details. Sasha would be mortified enough. But her embarrassment would be clouded with relief that the nightmare was finally over. 

I’m writing this note to say goodbye. I know that after you read this, none of you will think of me as family anymore. But I’m writing it anyway so you can understand why I’ve done what I’ve done. Why I’ve committed suicide. 

Every weekend while Steven and Maureen are at work, I’ve taken my loaded gun into Sasha’s room, placed it against her temple, and told her to be a good girl or I’d shoot her. Then I’ve molested her. I’ve been doing this since she was nine years old. Since she developed breasts and began to look more like a young woman than a little girl. I’ve tried to stop hurting her, but I just can’t. She trusted me, her Uncle Alex, and I broke that trust. Five years ago, I broke that trust, and took something from her she can never get back. 

I can’t take the guilt anymore. My urges are impossible to fight, but I can’t hurt her again. She’s too sweet. Just a sweet child, and I took her innocence. She doesn’t deserve what I’ve done to her. I could turn myself in to the police, but no one is stupid enough to believe they won’t eventually let me out. I know that I’d find a way to hurt her again. This is the only way for Sasha to always know that she’ll be safe.

Please forgive me for what I’ve done.

— Alex

Alexander Stone died on Saturday, August 21st, at 2:42 PM. Three of the neighbors that were home at the time heard the shot. Two of them called 911. Sasha heard the shot too. She bolted upright in bed as she was startled out of sleep. Myra didn’t have much time.

Pulling a glass jar out of the black trench coat she wore, she whispered the words, “Veni ad me.” The male’s soul oozed up and out of his chest. It seemed to take a great effort, as did pushing off of the body and hovering slightly above it. Alexander’s soul wasn’t translucent and white like the soul of a good person would be. Like Sasha’s soul would be. It was opaque and black, thick like slime-congealed blood. “Veni ad me,” Myra whispered again. The soul floated through the air until it hovered right in front of her. Unscrewing the lid, she offered the opening of the jar to it. The soul obediently floated inside and Myra screwed the lid back on. 

Tucking the jar back inside her trench coat, she allowed her shadowy form to dissipate into nothing but invisible vapor. She listened to the footsteps that shuffled hesitantly down the hallway. The doorknob turned. Slowly, the bedroom door was pushed open. While she hated that a horrified expression covered Sasha’s face and that she began to scream, Myra’s fanged grin never left her face. Because the fact that the male was dead on the bed meant that Sasha’s nightmare was over. He would never lay hands on her again. Never abuse her again. Never molest her again.

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