Thirteen Read online

  Table of Contents

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  EPILOGUE

  Liked THIRTEEN?

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  AUTHOR INFO

  THIRTEEN

  ABBY GALE

  &

  NINA AURIL

  THIRTEEN by ABBY GALE & NINA AURIL

  Copyright ©2017 by Abby Gale & Nina Auril

  | All Rights Reserved |

  Cover illustration by PopKitty Design

  Book design by PopKitty Design

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except the brief quotations for reviews. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any similarities were surely not intentional.

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  EPILOGUE

  Liked THIRTEEN?

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  AUTHOR INFO

  DEDICATION

  To all the tortured souls who still believe in magic.

  Then - Twenty days before Halloween

  “Get in the closet, Avy.” My dad pushes me toward the dark cupboard. There is loud knocking coming from our front door, sounds of screams and laughter fill the air.

  It’s dark.

  It’s scary.

  It’s haunting.

  “Daddy, please come with me. Don’t open the door.” I sob. I can feel familiar hands around me, haunting me, suffocating me like they do every year when Halloween gets closer.

  My dad cradles my face in his palms. “Stay hidden, baby girl. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, stay inside and be silent.” He closes the cupboard door, but I can see through a crack in it.

  “Daddy,” I whisper, but quickly cover my mouth when our door crashes open.

  “Welcome to the Doors of Avalon. Come, sit down so I can tell you your future,” my dad greets them with his usual speech, but something is wrong. I can feel it. I can see it.

  He used to need my help with his clients after mom died, and I used to share the things I saw, but now my dad has forbidden me to say them aloud. He says I’m too old now, and the things I saw would start to take up too much space in my head. Just like they did with mom.

  I hear screams in my mind. My body starts to shake. I want to give in to the violent voices inside my head, but I fight them like my daddy told me to.

  Two men in black cloaks and white masks come into view. The masks are frozen with their mouths gaping open in a silent scream and, even though I can’t see their eyes behind it, I can feel the darkness seep into me. The hands around my neck become rougher, squeezing my airpipe harder. I fight back the tears. A force is trying to get me out of the closet, but I hold my ground.

  I shake my head, trying to ignore the itching in my hands, the hunger inside me.

  “Time to pay your debt, Arthur,” One of the men says to my dad.

  “I don't have enough money. If you give me just a few more days…”

  The other man laughs. “You’re being stupid, Arthur.”

  The next thing I feel is the warmth of blood on my face as my dad falls in front of the cupboard and the laughter that surrounds me as the words reach to my ears:

  “There will be no more time, Arthur.”

  And that's when my dad tells me to kill for the first time. He hasn't left me:

  Kill. Kill. Kill.

  Now - Twenty days before Halloween

  It’s 3.15 AM when I hear my door open.

  I jolt up in my bed. My heart is beating fast. A guy in black clothes is coming closer to me. He is wearing the same mask that haunts me in my dreams. I sit up, holding my head between my hands out of fear and confusion as the guy stumbles and murmurs to himself. One second I can see his face clearly, but the next his face is hidden behind that terrible mask.

  “Leave me alone,” I whisper into the darkness, but even I can’t hear my own voice.

  The stench of alcohol reaches my nose and I gag. I rock back and forth on my bed, trying to clear the fog from my mind to understand what is real and what’s not.

  Then I hear him. His voice is hoarse and slurries behind the white plastic. “Here you are.”

  Kill, Avy. Kill him.

  Blood. Make him bleed.

  My dad’s voice is cold and commanding. I start to shake again. The familiar cold hands wrap around my throat just like I remember.

  He keeps coming closer.

  I get out of my bed, taking quick steps backward.

  Kill him, Avy.

  I shake my head.

  The darkness is swallowing me. I’m trying to ignore it, but it’s so strong this time. I feel the same hunger I felt in that closet years ago. It’s more like a craving, a need. It’s haunting me and I’m tired of fighting back.

  I hear my own growl, the hands around my throat loosen and I can feel a triumph in my bones. I laugh when my hands become slick with the warmth of blood, I lick the sweet taste of it.

  I miss it.

  I hear him groan and scream, but my laughter is louder. When his struggling finally stops I find the lighter in my nightstand.

  I’m a new woman as I leave the room behind, on fire.

  I did it, Daddy.

  Flint

  “It’s Friday the 13th, Freaks. Isn’t it like a holiday for you?” One of the guards laughs like he’s just said the funniest thing.

  Stupid fuckers.

  Ten, eleven, twelve…

  I grit my teeth and go back to the beginning. Taking smaller steps, I start counting my steps again until I reach my seat.

  Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.

  I did it. I try and hold onto the feeling of calm.

  “One of these days I’m going to drag you on your ass, you psycho. I can’t deal with your stupid ritual every fucking day.” Another guard sneers at me, but I’ve already fixated on something else. The newspaper in front of me.

  The headline has my attention:

  College prank turns bloody.

  I read the short article.

  Last night at Washington State University a terrible incident occurred. Student Lucas Banks was found dead in one of the dorms. Police are still investigating the case, but according to reports Lucas Banks planned a prank on another student, Avalon Stone when it turned fatal. It is still unclear whether the incident is believed to be murder or an accident. Answers will be provided once the police concluded their investigation. The suspect is currently being held under psychiatric care until further notice.

  My breath catches when I see her picture next to the article. Her features are hard to make out but her hair has my attention. Like fire. My hand finds the lighter in my pocket and I run my thumb over the striker wheel.

  One, two, three, four…

  Those red strands are wild around her face. Wild like her eyes.

  …five, six, seven, eight…

  Her lips are plump. My eyes dra
g over her delicate neck.

  …nine, ten, eleven, twelve…

  I follow those red strands down to her collarbone and fixate on the tattoo on her neck.

  …thirteen.

  “A..A-Avalon.” I murmured her name to myself. I say it thirteen times as my thumb finds the metal striker again. I smile.

  I turn the page to see if there is any more information on her but I’m distracted by the sounds of yelling and crashing from the hallway. I take my thirteen steps to the cafeteria door when I see it. Flaming red hair.

  “Great. A new freak.” The guard mumbles under his breath. He pushes me aside to go and help the other two guards trying to restrain her. She crumples to the floor when she gets a baton to the stomach. These guards, they call us freaks, animals. But they’re no better than us.

  My fist clenches when one of the guards digs a knee into her back and pulls her hands behind her back to attach the handcuffs. She lets out a scream of pain but they don’t care. She’s tugged up by one arm and frog-marched down the hallway. Towards me.

  “Let me go! Let me go!” She screams and tries to tug free but the guards are too strong for her. Instead, she’s pushed forward and loses her balance. Her feet trip under her and she falls to the floor before she’s tugged up again. Her hair covers her face but she flips it back over one shoulder with a swing of her head just as she passes me. There’s a look of defiance on her face.

  Then her eyes meet mine and the entire world goes quiet. I count my heartbeats as we stare at each other.

  One, two…three, four…five, six…

  Then she’s shoved down the hallway again, but our eyes still hold. They hold until she’s pushed into an elevator at the end of the hall.

  ...seven, eight… nine,ten…eleven,twelve…thirteen.

  She’s here.

  My Avalon.

  My Thirteen.

  Avalon

  “Do you have nightmares, Avalon?” the doctor asks me.

  I look at her and the only thing I can think of is how ordinary she looks. She’s so boring. Who wears a suit? Especially, a beige one?

  Is beige even a color? It doesn’t have any characteristic, like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a white or brown or maybe even yellow.

  Doctor Brown. I snort. Even her last name is boring.

  She has dull brown eyes, straight brown hair in a boring ponytail, and a soulless face.

  “Avalon?” she tries to get my attention, like she deserves to get it.

  I sigh.

  “What?”

  “Do you have nightmares?”

  I look around her room. Wooden desk, wooden bookshelf, and wooden chairs. Uncomfortable, tasteless, colorless… boring. Just like her.

  “Yes,” I finally answer, hoping maybe my time in here will be shorter if I just answer her stupid questions.

  “What are they about?”

  “Do you have nightmares, Doctor Brown?” I ask.

  She frowns. “Yes. Sometimes.”

  “What are they about?” I mimic her lifeless voice.

  She clears her throat, maybe noticing how stupid her question sounds. “They change. The things I’m afraid of or the things that upset me,” she answers. “Are yours about the things that upset you Avalon? Like your friend's death?”

  Is that a cruel glint in her eyes?

  She hates me.

  She wants to kill you, Avy. My dad whispers in my head.

  Stupid boring bitch.

  I glare at her.

  “Do you want to talk about what happened that night, Avalon? Maybe we can start from that point?”

  I look at her neck. She has a thin neck. It would be easy to wrap my hands around it and strangle her. I wonder if her tedious face will show any hint of liveliness then.

  “He’s not my friend,” I murmur, still focused on her neck. “He came to kill me.”

  “Why do you think he would do such thing, Avalon?”

  I glare at her again before focusing back on the faint thumping under her ear. “My daddy told me.”

  She takes a breath like she’s trying to say something, but exhales slowly, changing her mind.

  “Does your dad talk to you often?” she asks.

  “Of course. My daddy protects me.”

  She frowns for a moment. “Is your dad the only one who talks to you?”

  I snort. “Of course, who else should I be talking to?”

  “What about your mom?”

  My foot starts tapping nervously on the floor. “My mom doesn’t speak to me. She left us the day she killed herself.”

  “What does your dad say to you? How do you know it’s him?”

  “He calls me Avy.” I smile to myself, remembering the nickname he always called me.

  Her beady eyes look at me like I’m ridiculous before asking, “Do you see your dad, Avalon? Or does he only speak to you? Is there any vision of him?”

  I bow my head and look at my hands. “No. I don’t see him. I only hear his voice.”

  “According to the report your dad is dead, Avalon,” she says. Right now I want to stab her because of that accusing tone of hers.

  “What are you trying to say?” I grit out.

  “I'm saying maybe you're confused?”

  I stand up. Hitting her desk with all my strength. “My dad isn't dead. He talks to me. And he hates you. I hate you too, you stupid, boring bitch” I yell at her.

  I lean over to grab her so I can hit her ridiculous face on her desk, but before I can do anything guards hold me down.

  Kill them, Avy. Kill all of them.

  “I'll kill you. I'll kill all of you!”

  “Crazy bitch,” one of the guards laughs like I'm putting on a show for his sick pleasure as they haul me toward my room.

  I hit, I yell, but these fuckers are strong.

  One of them throws me onto my bed and the other puts a syringe to my arm.

  “I’m not sick,” I murmur my protest against numbness that takes control of my body.

  I know what everyone thinks about my mental situation very well. They think I’m a damn schizophrenic. My dad was telling me the same thing before he died. He said it was a curse I got from my mother.

  Like mother, like daughter it seems.

  But -when a guard spreads my legs, to touch me there, I know these people are the real monsters, these are the ones who should be damned.

  I search my mind to hear my dad’s voice. There's a soft whisper, telling me to kill him, but whatever they have given me takes my strength.

  I'm sleepy.

  He keeps touching me. But I don't feel a thing.

  I'll kill him later.

  Right now, I just want to sleep.

  I promise, I'll kill him later, Daddy.

  Flint

  I turn the small metallic wheel under my thumb and look out on the garden. I’m looking for her. I can’t be sure that she wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. The medicine they give me makes it hard to tell sometimes.

  “Hey, F..F-Flint. Having a nice day, f…f-freak?” I close my eyes at the guard mocking my stutter. Always mocking, always teasing, always beating. I close my fist around the lighter in my pocket and let it comfort me. If they knew I had it they would take it from me. They would lock me in that room again. The one where the silence burrows into your brain. I open my eyes and then I see her.

  Avalon. My Avalon.

  She’s sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree, staring down at her feet. I clutch the book under my arm and walk over to her.

  “H..h-hi. I’m F..f-f-ffflint.” Nothing. No response from her aside from the soft humming escaping her lips. She’s swaying to the tune of a song only she knows. “C…c-can I sit here?” Humming. Swaying.

  I sit down beside her and look down on the book in my lap. I look at her from the corner of my eye. At all those glorious strands of fiery red hair. My fingers ache to touch it. To twirl it around my fingers and find out if it’s as soft as it looks. I reach out to touch but stop
when her body freezes. I drop my hand back in my lap and she starts her humming again.

  “H..h-h-how d..d-d-did…” I close my eyes in frustration, clenching my fist I try again. “W..w-what s..s-song a-aa-a-are..” This is impossible. My stutter never really bothered me. Apart from the teasing and abuse, people tend to leave you alone when you can’t speak properly, and that was fine by me. Only now, when I’ve finally found someone I want to talk to, I can’t.

  “Y..y-your hair, i..i-it’s p-p-ph,” I pinch my thigh. “Pretty.” There. Sometimes a distraction helps.

  I look at her again. Still humming, still swaying.

  I wonder what kind of meds they gave her. If that’s what is making her this way or if she is just this way. No. The girl who fought those guards in the hallway is not the one sitting beside me. What did they do to her?

  Avalon. Like the island King Arthur was taken to, to be healed from his wounds.

  I sigh and open my book. The Legend of King Arthur. I find the page about the Island of Avalon and tear it out. I listen to her soft humming as I carefully fold the page into the shape I want. I smile as the last fold reveals my paper hummingbird and I hold it out to her. Her eyes flicker to the bird but then they’re trained back on the grass again.

  I turn the bird around in my hands and put it down on the open book in my lap. I dig out the lighter from my pocket and turn the wheel thirteen times. Her eyes flicker to my hands and this time I find a spark of interest in those empty depths.

  “Do you l…l-like my lighter?” A single nod, her eyes fixated on the white plastic in my hand. I strike it again and watch the flame flicker to life. Her humming has stopped. She must like fire too. I hold the lighter to the bird still lying on the open pages of my book and watch as the flames turn the edges black.

  She giggles. A wonderfully melodic sound.

  I can’t stop the smile on my face as the bird lights the rest of the pages on the book. Flames licking over the pages, turning everything to ash. She looks at me and the look of happiness on her face steals my breath. She’s laughing now. But not at me like everyone else. She’s laughing with me.