Deceased Dora Read online

  DEDICATIONS

  I dedicate this book to JJ for being the inspiration for many of the characters, most importantly Lucian. The world really did move!

  I'd like to thank my wonderful friends for keeping me laughing over the years. Without you, I wouldn't see the world in the same way.

  But mostly, I'd like to thank all my amazing fans. Without you, these books would not exist. Thank you for continuing to read my stories, thank you for patiently waiting for the next one, thank you for voting for my books and thank you for making me smile every time you leave a comment or a review.

  www.claire-chilton.co.uk

  Dora Carridine fidgeted in her coffin. She had been staring into the darkness for what seemed like forever. She tried to stretch her legs, but the casket left little room for movement, so she attempted to rub some feeling back into her numb ass instead. She moved her hand towards her hip, and her elbow collided with the side of the coffin causing her to yelp in pain.

  Oww! Not the funny bone.

  She tried to sit up in a reflexive motion and smacked her forehead against the coffin lid, which caused her to slump back onto the not-so-soft burial pillow.

  She lay on her back and stared up into the darkness while exhaling a sigh.

  Perfect! What the hell am I supposed to do about this nightmare?

  She didn’t know how long she’d been in here for, but it seemed like a long time, and it was bloody boring.

  She’d tried everything she could think of to deal with the situation, but there weren’t any guidelines for being thrown out of Hell and into a grave.

  As a wave of panic washed over her, she banged her fists against the inside of the casket. The air was stale, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Surrounded by suffocating darkness and confined in such a small space, she feared she would never get out of here.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been alone in the darkness, but it felt like a long time. She called for help, but no one had heard her. If they had, they’d ignored it.

  She slammed another fist into the wooden lid, trying to break through it.

  What happens if I die here? Will I be stuck here forever?

  It had only recently dawned on her that being exiled from Hell didn’t leave her many options after death.

  Is this my punishment for being thrown out of Hell and for choosing to go there in the first place? Am I doomed to die and be stuck in this coffin forever?

  “No!” She shouted as she drove her fist into the wood again with as much force as she could muster. The lid finally splintered under the pressure, and moist earth fell through the cracks onto her body.

  She rubbed her arms to brush away the dirt, and then frowned. She paused and felt her arms. They were fluffy.

  What the hell am I wearing?

  It was pitch black inside the coffin. It didn’t feel as if anything existed but her.

  Her muscles ached after prolonged confinement. She could feel the wooden casket surrounding her, and she could smell the earth surrounding the burial box. However, without being able to see anything, not even her own hand in front of her face, she wondered if she was imagining it all.

  One thing was certain, she didn’t feel normal. She didn’t feel human.

  She brushed her fingers down her body to try to work out what she was wearing. It was some kind of silky dress that she didn’t recognise. The sound of her fingers rustling the material seemed so loud in the cloying silence, but then all of her senses seemed to be extra alert in the dark.

  The soil was still sifting through the splintered wood of the casket lid and landing on the material covering her arms and body. She could feel every grain, and she was sure she could hear them landing on her too.

  Is that normal?

  She exhaled slowly. The air seemed thinner.

  I have to get out of here. I promised Kieron I would find him.

  She frowned again. If she was in a coffin, where had Kieron and Pooey been exiled to? Were they suffocating in graves too?

  The last thing she remembered before landing here was being sucked into a portal here from the arena in Hell. They had been sucked in with her, but a force had pulled them away from her, and she had landed here alone.

  I have to find them. Two demons on Earth are bound to get into trouble.

  Visions of Kieron flying across the major cities with his newly found angel wings, and being shot down by local authorities filled her mind.

  A demon-angel probably won’t fly under the radar here.

  With renewed vigour, she clawed at the splinters of wood, ripping them apart and creating a hole in the coffin lid. Mud poured through the gap, rapidly filling the casket.

  She tightly closed her mouth and eyes while pushing herself upwards through the broken lid and into the loose soil. She clawed and forced herself through the earth, determined to get up to ground level.

  Cold dirt pressed against her face and body, chilling her to the bone. She struggled for air as her last breath slowly escaped her lungs. Using her arms and legs, she punched and kicked her way through the soil, desperately trying to escape her own grave.

  If I die like this, I’ll be a unique archaeological discovery in a few thousand years.

  She frowned as she found herself standing in a superhero pose with one fist punching through the soil above her, and her body encased in a muddy cage.

  Her lungs ached for air, and her throat burned. She began to panic.

  No! Come on, this can’t be how I die.

  She tensed every muscle in her body and punched up through the earth again, willing her body to rise from her grave.

  Theodore Carridine stared at his daughter’s grave. He frowned at the wilting roses around the newly laid headstone.

  She had been doomed from the start. Even at an early age, she had chosen the wrong path. It had been heart breaking and a relief at the same time when she had died.

  He loved his Dora. Regardless of the path she had chosen in life, she would always be his little girl, but he’d known he couldn’t save her.

  She had been on life support in Berkville General Hospital for months before they had finally made the decision to disconnect her last week.

  The funeral had been respectable. He didn’t know what he would have done without the support of his congregation.

  He still hadn’t come to terms with her death. Watching her body being lowered into the ground had made him question his faith, but he was a man of God.

  He raised his chin and stood proud. Above all else, he had his faith, faith that she was in a better place, faith that everything happened for a reason and faith that he had done the right thing by exorcising out her demons.

  He leaned over her grave and laid a single white rose on it for his little girl.

  “Rest now, Dora. Nothing can hurt you anymore.”

  A dirtied hand shot through the earth and gripped his wrist. He stared at the mud-caked nails in horror as the pale, cold fingers tightened around his wrist in an iron grip.

  He let out a high-pitched scream, which would have made any little girl proud. He tried to dislodge the hand by pulling away from it, but the grip was solid.

  As he backed away in terror, he unwillingly dragged the deathly pale body attached to it with him. First an arm, and then a shoulder until finally a face he knew all too well popped up through the earth and stared at him with her soulful dark eyes.

  “Dad, what the fuck? You buried me?” Dora said.

  “No!” Dora heard her father shriek. She squinted, trying to make her eyes focus on him as he scrambled backwards.

  “Stay back demon!” her father cried.

  Her vision was still a bit fuzzy, but she could see him fumble for the crucifix hanging around his neck before he
fell backwards over the gravestone behind him in a failed attempt to ward her off.

  She shook her head.

  My dad, the hero.

  She struggled to pull herself out of her grave. She clawed at the earth around her and hauled her body out of the muddy hole.

  Once free of the earth, she stood up and took a deep breath of fresh air. Her lungs didn’t seem to ache for it any more. They didn’t seem to do anything at all. She slowly exhaled. Air whooshed out, but she didn’t feel the need to inhale again afterwards.

  What the hell?

  She frowned and stood completely still, not breathing or moving. Something weird was going on. Her lungs should be burning by now, shouldn’t they?

  She stared around the graveyard and winced. It seemed so bright outside of her grave. It was night time. She could tell because the moon was high in the sky.

  Why is it so bright?

  She covered her eyes with her hands.

  What the fuck? Is Dad using floodlights in here now?

  She rubbed her eyes, and then slowly opened them again, trying to focus on her own feet. It was hazy at first, and then her focus seemed to sharpen. She could see a pair of cute white slippers on her feet. They were made of silk, but tarnished with streaks of mud. On her legs, she wore white tights that were ripped and muddy after her escape from her final resting place.

  She groaned as she peered at her dress. A white high-necked dress ended at her knees. It would have been the perfect outfit for little girl.

  She plucked some of the skirt material between her fingers and stared at it in distaste.

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

  Then she stared at her wrist and nearly flipped out when she saw a pearl bracelet hanging around it, and worse—the sleeve of a fluffy white cardigan!

  “Back demon!”

  She glanced up to see her father standing before her. He was trembling and cowering behind his crucifix.

  “Pearls?” She angrily shook her wrist at him, “A fucking cardigan and pearls! What did you do to me? I swear to Sata—” She paused as she felt something brush against her face.

  “Oh no, you didn’t.” She cautiously ran her fingers over her hair, encountering an array of ringlets and bows. “Fucking ringlets!” she shouted while pulling bows out of her hair.

  “Agh! B-back, get back d-demon.” Her father backed away from her, his body trembling.

  She purposefully strode towards him. She was fuming with anger. It was bad enough being buried alive, but being dressed like a China doll in her final hours—that was the limit.

  “No.” He squeaked as she neared him, and he stumbled backwards.

  “Demon!” he cried before he turned and fled.

  “Yeah, so what?” she shouted as she ran after him.

  He stumbled and fell as he ran from her, quickly scrambling to his feet before taking off running again.

  For some reason the more he ran, the more she wanted to chase him.

  “Rawrrr!” she cried and raised her hands in the air as she ran after him.

  He flung himself over the perimeter fence and fell face-forward into the adjoining field, which unfortunately for him was farmland that smelled as if it had been recently fertilised with manure.

  “Brainsssss!” she cried. She didn’t really want his brains. She just wanted to make him shit his pants.

  “Ohmigod!” She heard her father cry out in panic when he glanced back and realised she was still chasing him. He turned and sprinted across the field.

  She finally stopped following her father and bent over laughing as he scrambled through horse shit to get away from her. When the laughter subsided, she wiped a stray tear from her eye.

  That was just great!

  Once her father was gone, her laughter subsided. She sat on the fence that bordered the graveyard, staring up at the moon and trying to figure out what to do next.

  As she scanned the rows of gravestones and the ancient family crypts behind them, she realised that Kieron and Pooey could be anywhere, but this was as good a place as any to start looking.

  She eyed the graves.

  How am I going to find Kieron and Pooey if they are buried here?

  “Grave robber!” Dora heard someone shout behind her, and she paused trying to dig up the grave.

  Shit!

  She glanced back, overcome with a strange feeling of déjà vu when she saw a group of angry townsfolk glaring at her. Some were carrying torches, others halogen lanterns. Most were wearing their nightwear. A small cluster from the rambler’s club were kitted out in outdoor wear, breathable jackets and fleeces.

  She released the clump of mud she held in her hands.

  “I can explain this.” She told them.

  “Zombie!” one woman cried, and she waved her Maglite in outrage.

  “Are you calling me brain dead?” Dora scowled at her.

  “Kill the vampire bitch.” An angry farmer shook his pitchfork at her.

  “Do I look fucking sparkly to you?” she snapped. She knew she looked a mess. She’d been wandering around the graveyard for hours trying to figure out if Kieron or Pooey were there. She’d called their names over and over again and even listened to the ground to try and hear them. But in the end, the only option had been to start digging up graves.

  She’d only managed to start on one and hadn’t gotten very far by using her hands to dig it up.

  I’m sure I heard a sound coming from this one though.

  “Only the good and sexy vampires are sparkly.” A pre-pubescent girl interrupted her thoughts.

  “And they call me a bitch,” Dora muttered.

  “Kill the vampire!” The group of ramblers cried in unison.

  “I’m not a bloody vampire.”

  “Bloodless fiend!” She recognised the old lady who had shouted that. It was Alice Wainwright from her mother’s sewing circle.

  “Hey Alice, have you seen my mom?”

  “Out damn demon!”

  Dora groaned as she recognised her father’s voice. “I’m not a fucki—”

  Someone threw a Molotov cocktail into the hole she was standing in, and she stared down at the burning bottle.

  “What the he—” The material wick burned into the bottle of gasoline, and then the bottle exploded in a burst of fire. Hot air whooshed past her face, and she panicked before she realised she couldn’t feel anything burning.

  She shrugged and climbed out of the fiery hole, untouched by the flames and brushing soil off her dress.

  “What the hell was that for?”

  “Oh my God, she won’t burn!” one of the ramblers cried. He dropped his torch and spun on his heel before fleeing towards the gates of the graveyard.

  She wondered why she hadn’t burned, but it didn’t seem as important as dealing with the angry mob in front of her, so she put the thought to the back of her mind.

  “Cut her head off,” a voice cried.

  She blinked.

  They wouldn’t really try to cut my head off would they?

  But given her past experiences with the stupidity of the townspeople of Berkville, she realised that they probably would try cutting her head off.

  She held up her hands as two men rushed towards her, both carrying axes.

  “Wait!”

  They paused and stared at her with blank expressions.

  Okay, stupid I can handle. This is good.

  “Have those been certified?” She nodded at the axes.

  “Huh?” One of them managed, displaying a blank expression.

  “Well, what I mean to say is that cutting something’s head off is listed as inhumane under the farming regulations isn’t it?”

  The first man, who was a farmer judging by his rather unattractive dungarees and the straw hat he was wearing, peered at his axe in contemplation.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded.

  “So has that axe been certified as a humane culling implement?” She knew she was spewing out bullshit, but whatever ke
pt her head attached to her neck was good in her book.

  “Er?” The farmer blankly stared at the axe again, appearing to contemplate the question.

  “Well Doug, has it been certified?” She heard Police Chief Dawson ask.

  Doug shook his head. “No, Sir. We have to shoot the pigs with a stunner for them there humane laws.”

  He turned to face Dora. “Although I think the pigs don’t much give a shit. Dead is dead, right?” he said in a confidential tone.

  She nodded with as much fake sympathy as she could muster towards Doug. “It’s a shame everything is so regulated these days.”

  “I know, right?” he replied. “If you want happy pigs, don’t kill ‘em. I dunno why everything has to be so complicated.”

  “I totally agree with you, Doug. Just save yourself the hassle and don’t kill any pigs,” she said.

  “But then who’s going to bring home the bacon?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “You ever tried Quorn?”

  Doug seemed to consider her suggestion before nodding. “You know, you might be right. I’ll look into having one of them there Quorn farms, instead.”

  “I’m sure the pigs will be much happier if you do.” She smiled at him.

  “Let’s shoot her then.” Police Chief Dawson suggested as he pulled his gun out of the holster at his hip.

  Aww shit.

  “I’ll have to go get my bolt gun, Chief. You can’t just shoot her with any old gun. It’s in the regulations,” Doug said before he turned to Dora with sympathetic smile. “You won’t feel a thing, honey.”

  She smiled brightly and nodded at him.

  Too fucking right I won’t. I won’t be here when you get back, idiot!

  She watched Doug sprint off towards the gates of the graveyard to get his bolt gun while she considered her options.

  Who else was stupid enough to go and get something? If she could thin the group, she could probably make a run for it.

  While thinking about graveyard regulations, she heard a weird noise coming from the nearby grave.

  “What’s that noise?” Chief Dawson asked.

  “You can hear it too?” She glanced down at the grave.

  “Yeah, it’s like …” He paused as he holstered his gun, and then scratched his head. “Is that singing?”