The tips of Hell’s flames called to me, singeing me with the sting of failure. The searing sizzle of fear. The twisting pain of the unknown, of what would happen when I let go. I felt a warm tear burn down my face. What was at the other end of that hole? It looked innocent enough: just a hole with a warm, yellow light shining from it. But… the smell, the screams of the damned, and the unbearable heat. It was far from innocent, and I didn’t want to take the slide to the bottom.
I’m so scared. Oh shit, my fingers are slipping. No, no, no. Not yet. I’m not ready. Not yet.
Small pieces of earth broke under my fingers and fell to my face. I tried to adjust my hands to get a better grip, but I slipped closer to the edge. More earth rained down on me. I turned my face from it. I heard scuffling and grunting. Someone’s head peeked over just as my fingers gave way and I started sliding down the side of the crater.
“Grab my arm, Milayna,” I heard someone shout above me. They lay on their stomach and reached down to me. Two things happened simultaneously—I grabbed the arm reaching out to me, and a demonic hand wrapped around my ankle. I winced when its unnaturally hot flesh touched my skin. The person above me tried to pull me up. The demon below jerked me down. It became a very deadly game of tug-o-war, and I was the rope.
I gritted my teeth against the pain of being pulled in two directions, hanging in midair for what seemed like an eternity. I didn’t know how the person above me was going to pull me to safety. I knew the demon wasn’t going to let go, and no one could climb down into the crater to help me or they’d slide into the pit. For a brief second, I thought about letting go before the person helping me was pulled down with me. I couldn’t damn someone to eternity in Hell because they were trying to help me. I had to let go. I was just about to release my grip when I saw a body hurl over the mound of dirt and into the hole, taking the demon down with it. It lost its grip on my leg, and I slammed against the side of the crater with a grunt.
The dirt started to cave in quickly. I kicked my feet, freeing them from the falling dirt. I used the person above me as leverage to climb up the curved and crumbling sides. When I finally reached the top of the mound, I looked up into the face of my rescuer. I expected to see Chay or my dad.
“Uncle Stewart?”
“Yeah, I figured since you helped me so much with the ice cream truck today, the least I could do was give you a hand in return.” He helped me up and away from the earth moving to fill in the remaining gap. The pudgy hobgoblins jumped into the hole just before it was swallowed up by the last of the dirt
I turned to Uncle Stewart and buried my head in his soft, red flannel shirt. “It’s okay, Milayna, it’s okay,” he soothed, patting my back awkwardly. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Well, not really.”
“Well, your jaw looks a little bruised, and I imagine your ankle is burning up right ‘bout now. Those suckers have hellfire for skin, ya know. Well, yeah, I guess you do know, don’t ya?”
“Is it over?” My words were muffled against his chest. He was warm and solid, and I felt so cold. So, so cold.
“Yeah. All but a few stragglers. Your group’s none the worse for wear. Those kids can hold their own in a fight.”
I pulled back to look at him. “My dad?” I fisted my hands in the front of his shirt.
“Fine, fine. A little dazed, but nothing serious.”
“Thank you. I…” I bit my lip, new tears forming. My throat was so tight with them that it was hard to swallow.
“Sure thing. Come by the shop tomorrow, and we’ll have ourselves a celebratory milkshake.” He smiled down at me.
I felt a hand on the small of my back and turned. Chay’s eyes searched mine. “Milayna,” he murmured.
I turned from his uncle and walked into Chay’s arms. He was sweaty and there was blood on his face and shirt, but I didn’t care. I stood on my tiptoes so I could wrap my arms around his neck. He wound his hand through my hair and held my head against him while I cried. He didn’t say anything—there really wasn’t anything to say. He just held me until my tears faded. And there wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be. He didn’t make me feel weak for crying. He just held me and let me soak up his comfort. It was a part of himself he didn’t offer often, and I was overwhelmed he gave it to me. I lifted my head from his shoulder and looked at him.
“You’re hurt!” I reached out to touch a cut just under his eye, but curled my fingers and let my hand fall away, still unsure of where the lines of our relationship were drawn. His gaze held mine.
“Nah, just scratches mostly. The other guy looks much worse.” His fingers moved in circular motions over the small of my back.
“That wouldn’t have been the guy that went crashing down on the demon’s head, would it?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” The corner of his lips tipped up.
Four weeks, three days until my birthday.
I sat at the kitchen table with my parents the next morning. It was Saturday, our weekly family breakfast. My dad made blueberry waffles, or at least, he tried to. All he actually made was a mess, so I took pity on him—and us because we had to eat them—and made the waffles.
“The waffles are good, Milayna.” He winked at me. Or tried to. His eyes were swollen and looked like a patchwork quilt of blues and purples.