Letters from the Dead pt. 31

We still had some records from the school before it was Wheaton Prep. 

I led Bobby down into the small basement underneath the main school building. 

The cement hallway was dark, and smelled of stagnant water and mold. 

The overhead lights were dim, and completely out in some places, but we were on a mission.

I was on a mission. 

I needed to end this.

I needed to end this while it was still contained.

I needed to end this before…

I saw her, Cherish, at the far end of the hall.

It was only for a brief flash of a moment, but she was there.

Bloated face.

Bruised and purple neck.

Her tongue hung limply from her smiling, swollen lips.

I shuddered, I froze.

Bobby could sense something was wrong.

He asked if we should turn around.

I told him no.

We were on a mission.