The manuscript to this excerpt is in final edits. There will be a few changes. Read chapter 1 here. For a 3-chapter excerpt, scroll to the bottom and click a link.
More than Human the Sans Monte Curse
Journal Entry 1
An account by the hand of the healer to Midrean
One would think I’d have the good sense to seek a place to hide. Alas, I fear I can no longer bear the narrowed stares or the harsh whispers that follow me along the village roads. The healing work I once offered has long since been terminated by the very elders who now condemn me. Midrean has become a den of vipers, spreading its venom of evil words, casting false witness against the innocent. There is no redemption in the eyes of those who have set themselves above the lowly. The Lord God, who once ruled the hearts of men, no longer holds sway over the Christians who claim to be His vessels. My life is in His hands, and unto Him, I bequeath my soul. The sharp edge of death presses against my door, demanding payment for a fate unjustly laid at my feet. I am not to blame. And yet, how can I convince those who seek my blood that I would never harm the ones I vowed to help? I mourn the loss of the vicar’s wife and her unborn daughter. They were the first in a long chain of sorrowful, unexplainable deaths, each one twisted into proof of guilt. And now the roar of judgment draws near. I hear it in the distance; the cry rising like thunder through the trees: “Blood for blood, ye witch of Midrean!” Outside, a procession of torches floods the forest path like a thousand fireflies set loose in the heat of summer. The cry for my blood draws nearer. I will not plead for mercy where none will be given, where words fall on hearts hardened by fear and pride. With a heavy spirit, I stand at the door, awaiting what must come. The pain of loss has stripped the fight from me; my heart is no longer in it. My weary soul longs only for peace. And with peace, I will accept my fate; not with bitterness, but with quiet resolve. Still, I hold on to one final hope, that one day, my words will be found. That they will be read, and the truth set free. And when that day comes, all shall be made right. Guinevere Sans Monte
Chapter 1
“Amanda,” came the familiar tone of Mr. Burns, the history teacher at Midrean High. His voice carried a blend of frustration and bemused patience. “Amanda, do wake up.” He stepped in front of my desk and tapped the top of my head with his teacher’s wand. Mr. Burns caught me hunched over my desk, my head resting on my arms. I raised it with a groan, blinking tired eyes at the most eccentric teacher in our school. He reminded me of a cross between Professor Snape and a quirky fashion designer. He wore a flowing black robe, the hem swishing around his ankles as he walked. Underneath, a bright checkered vest peeked out, clashing boldly with a long-sleeved striped shirt that somehow made the whole ensemble seem deliberate. And then there were the pants that were ‘to die for’, polyester gray. His ensemble wasn’t complete without his signature tennis shoes. They came in five eye-catching colors: royal blue, lime green, marigold orange, barn red, and classic black. On days when he aimed to appear distinguished, he chose the black pair. Today, he wore barn red. The highlight of his appearance was undoubtedly his frazzled, ash-gray, long-layered haircut. It framed his long face and drew attention to his sharp, hooked nose and the striking horseshoe mustache and goatee. Mr. Burns was a walking fashion statement, blending elements of whimsy and academia. His unique style was one aspect of what made him the most memorable teacher at our school. Once you got past his eccentric appearance, you realized Mr. Burns was an exceptional history teacher who reveled in the Revolutionary War era. His contagious passion for the subject brought history to life through his lively and engaging storytelling. Even more intriguing, he was an amateur paranormal investigator with the most bizarre stories to share, ranging from haunted houses to mysterious sightings that left us spellbound. His classes were always in high demand when students chose their courses at the beginning of the year. Mr. Burns leaned over my desk. “Miss Sans Monte,” he called out loud enough for the entire class to hear, “if you wish to sleep, I suggest you do it elsewhere and not in the middle of my class. My time is valuable, and I will not have it wasted. Next time, I’ll not hesitate to give out extra homework for the entire class. It would be a shame for you to lose points in the hierarchy of teenage popularity.” Laughter erupted throughout the room, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment, a bloom of crimson spreading across my face. “Sorry, Mr. Burns,” I muttered. I glanced sideways at my best friend, Beth Darby, who raised her eyebrows in a silent question, her eyes alight with intrigue at my lapse in attentiveness. Mr. Burns straightened up, the folds of his black robe swirling around him like a sorcerer casting a spell. He resumed his lecture, leaving me to shake off my embarrassment and refocus on the lesson. The bell rang twenty minutes later. I grabbed my books and sprang from the chair, pushing my way through the crowd of students, eager to escape the stifling confines of the room. “Hey,” Beth said, grabbing my arm to halt my hasty retreat. “What’s up with nap time? Watching online videos all night will eat your brain,” she teased. The eye roll I gave her was unavoidable. “I couldn’t sleep last night,” I said, my admission followed by a deep yawn. Beth and I have been best friends since we shared Mr. Banning’s class in third grade. I used to be taller than her, but one day she shot up past me, and a few years later, that hasn’t changed. She’s now a full four inches taller, with blonde hair cut into a long, stylish bob. We’re opposites in both looks and style. Where Beth is blonde, my hair is light brown and falls in long waves down my back. But we share the same sense of humor and taste in just about everything, which is probably why we’ve stayed inseparable all these years. “Bravo, Amanda. Seriously impressive. Falling asleep in class is very unlike you.” Regina stepped before me, her presence as commanding as a queen. “Mr. Burns should follow through with his threat, but he shouldn’t punish the entire class.” One hand held the strap of her book bag while the other rested delicately on her hip. She tipped her head sideways, her eyes raking over me with contempt. “It would be good for you to lose points with the popular group. But tell me, should I be worried? Will something happen to me if I’m the last one you’ve seen?” “What are you talking about, Regina?” I said. Regina smirked. “Three names. Josie, Ellie, and Tara. You were the last one seen with them. Then…” She let the accusation hang in silence, eyes bright, lips pressed in a smug grin. She spun on her toes and glided down the hall, her jet-black hair cascading off her shoulders like silk. “I hate her sometimes. What if it had been you, or one of the others? They weren’t part of our friend group, but they were my friends. And it’s all a coincidence, anyway.” “Don’t give her another thought. Hey, Josie is okay,” Beth said, the uplift of her voice sounding positive. “She doesn’t talk to me, just looks past me when I try to say anything to her.” “You can’t help what happened to them. They were freakish accidents. Seriously, don’t let Regina get under your skin. The girl is jealous,” Beth said, snorting in distaste at Regina’s behavior. “Jealous? Of what?” I asked, exasperated. “She’s in the same so-called popular crowd as us, and she’s dating Tim.” “Tim’s infatuated with Regina,” Beth said. “But that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten his crush on you two years ago. Even if you didn’t crush on him back, she doesn’t care. And it doesn’t help that you and Ryan have been best friends since you were toddlers. You two have an unbreakable thing, and she’s jealous that she and Tim don’t have it. Anyway, school’s out. Forget about our once-upon-a-time friend. Let’s get out of here. Meet me at my car,” Beth ordered, twirling back toward the history room, missing the glare I sent her. “Ryan Dupree and I don’t have a thing,” I grumbled. I continued down the hall to my locker while Beth returned to hers across from Mr. Burns’s history class. Beth has always watched out for me. My birthday falls on July 12th, which means that at seventeen, in our senior year, I’m the youngest of our group. But having a group of friends doesn’t mean you can’t be friends with others. Josie, Ellie, and Tara were a year below me, but we were friends—maybe because we all lived in the same neighborhood. We rode the bus to school together. Played outside until dark. When Josie had her accident, I didn’t give it much thought. But then Ellie… and then Tara. Three accidents within weeks of each other? Only Josie survived. Ellie and Tara didn’t. I started having strange dreams after I turned sixteen. Dreams that teetered between fantasy and reality. The kind that were too strange to believe, yet too detailed to dismiss. In the weeks following the accidents, my dreams fixated on my friends, becoming darker with distorted visions hinting toward murder and not an accident. My dreams worry me. They shouldn’t. Everyone dreams. But does everyone wake up from their dream in a cold sweat? Do they see the same faces, the same horrors, the same shadows that hide just enough to keep the truth out of reach? My dreams terrify me. They aren’t ordinary. They’re filled with images that make no sense, and yet, somehow, they are all the same. What if it’s the Sans Monte curse bearing down to claim me? The Sans Monte curse. It’s part of Midrean’s rich history. But does it exist? Or is it more folktale than real? For my family, it’s one of those quiet secrets we don’t discuss. I wish I could say it just worries me. The curse has always targeted the daughters of the Sans Monte line, on or after their fifteenth birthday. If no daughter is born, the family breathes a temporary sigh of relief, a brief reprieve from the curse’s shadow, until the next generation inevitably produces a daughter to inherit the dark legacy. This grim reality gives pause to anyone considering marriage into the Sans Monte family. The idea of a daughter’s inevitable descent into madness is a heavy burden to bear. People regard the birth of a son as a blessing. My parents didn’t receive that blessing. They had me. Even a son wouldn’t have spared them. The curse would simply wait, slipping through to touch the next child. Sons live to carry it forward. Daughters have their lives stolen, cut short before they turn seventeen. Curse or no curse, I can’t explain the madness and ultimate death that every daughter faces. None have survived. Even my father lost his sister, Lindsay, at sixteen. No one ever spoke of finding her hanging from a rope. And while the curse only affects the Sans Monte daughters, what explanation was there for my mother? My mother was almost insane on her best days and completely gone on her worst. It began with small things: forgetting names, misplacing objects, or losing track of time or place. At first, we suspected early Alzheimer’s. But then she started talking to imaginary people. Her mood swung violently. She could be cruel and abusive one moment, then sweet and endearing the next. My father went from full of life, standing tall and laughing, to hunched over, eyes dimmed by trying to take care of my mom and her affliction. He was out of his depth, and so was I. Then, one day, the gradual descent into madness took a plunge, and my mother was gone. I see my mother daily, but it’s rare to see my mom. After I was born, my parents decided not to have any more children. Before my mother started to lose her mind, I remember as a little girl standing outside my parents’ bedroom door, overhearing my father speaking to my mother in hushed tones. I shouldn’t have listened, but like any curious child, I pressed my ear against the door, trying to catch every word without being caught eavesdropping. My father, his voice shaking with a blend of anger and fear, declared, “I won’t bring another child into this. I won’t be responsible for adding more madness to our bloodline. At least Amanda will be safe.” I’d laugh if it weren’t so absurd. My friends joke about it, calling it ridiculous to believe in such things in this day and age. Shouldn’t science be able to explain why it is happening or what causes it? The truth was my family’s legacy. But that didn’t explain why my mom had gone crazy. The curse seems unsatisfied with only the daughters. “Amanda.” My name rang out. I looked up to see my second-best friend smiling down at me. Or was he my first? Ryan Dupree is… well, Ryan. Confident, a sports enthusiast, and Midrean High’s golden boy. At 5’11” with dark blond hair that falls effortlessly into place and eyes like a stormy sea, he’s the guy who catches everyone’s attention without even trying. He’s the son of a wealthy family, and it shows. He drives a sleek two-seater Audi and lives in one of those homes with too many windows and a driveway that probably costs more than my parents’ cars put together. But he’s grounded. Somehow, he is all of that and still kind and loyal. “Ryan,” I replied, a smile tugging at my lips. I shut my locker and walked down the hall with him towards the door leading to Beth’s parked car. Ryan took my arm, matching my pace. “Are you headed for Beth’s car? Of course you are. How about I tag along? Tacos, my treat.” “You’re in a good mood,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Who am I to turn down free tacos?” “Who indeed?” “Aren’t you supposed to be in the locker room waiting for the game?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. “Yes, I should be. Grandson responsibilities. Dad asked me to stop by. Gramps refuses to let anyone help him, so I’m forcing my way in. Mister, I’m still thirty-four going on ninety, is hard of hearing when it suits him. He got it in his head he should drive himself to the senior citizens’ center at four, which is a no. We already took his keys away. He claims he has a meeting.” Ryan winked and said, “A meeting with Bingo and Mrs. Wagner.” “Do you have enough time to eat and do all that and make it back in time for the game?” “I have a little over an hour before I have to get him. Plenty of time for tacos,” he said, shrugging. “Then grab Gramps and drop him off so he can flirt with the ladies. Uncle Blake will pick him up and get him home in time for bed.” The smile that spread across his face was infectious. We pushed through the school’s double doors. The parking lot emptied quickly. Groups of friends gathered around cars, chatting and laughing, while others were already driving off or getting into their vehicles. Fridays were always early release days. “Hey, Beth,” Ryan’s voice echoed across the parking lot. “It’s taco time, and you’re driving.” Leaning against her cherry-red 1965 Volkswagen Beetle, Beth waved back. Her father had restored the car, giving it a robust roar that turned heads as she drove it through town. Beth’s eyes sparkled with teasing and affection as she opened the driver’s side door to enter her vehicle. “Your car out of service again, Dupree? When will you give up on that piece of junk and have your dad buy you a real lady catcher?” Ryan winked, his mouth curling into a grin. “Ah, Beth, you know I love my car. She’s got character. Besides, impressing the right lady takes more than a flashy car.” Beth’s smirk deepened. “You might think so, but you can’t deny the advantages of a classic like mine.” “Always,” Ryan said, opening the passenger side with a flourish, and I climbed in. Beth drove past his car as we left the school lot. Ryan’s gleaming blue Audi sparkled in the sunlight as if it had just rolled off the set of a high-end car commercial. The sleek lines and polished exterior reflected his pride and joy, a passion he defended whenever Beth teased him about it. Their banter was a charming spectacle; to an outsider, it might seem implausible that such a meticulously maintained vehicle could be the subject of any jest. Yet, the humor lay in the contrast between Beth’s playful jabs and Ryan’s unwavering devotion to his car. “You always make fun of my car, Beth. She’s a beauty. You are insensitive to the fact that she has room for only two people.” Beth snorted and rolled her eyes. “Boohoo, my two-seater Audi is lonely.” I couldn’t help but grin at Ryan and Beth’s banter. “Destroy my heart. You should be honored I’m devoted to you, two beauties. There is no one else I want hanging on my arms. Check these babies out.” Ryan lifted his arms and pumped his biceps. “I’ve been working hard on these. These are machines that are unstoppable on the football field. Speaking of, you are coming to the game to watch me, right?” he asked Beth, pointing his finger at her. “I can’t,” Beth said, grimacing. “I have to work at Maib’s.” Maib’s was the local, like home cooking restaurant started by Maib Cox when she was twenty-five, trying to raise two girls. At sixty-six, Maib ran a packed restaurant, and she was Beth’s grandma. Ryan frowned, then twisted in his seat, turning to me. “I don’t want excuses from you. I’m picking you up at five-fifteen. Be ready and don’t make me late.” I scrunched my face, rolling my eyes. “Fine, I’ll be there to cheer the beefcake on to victory,” I replied, my voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “You never know; I might even bring pom-poms and a banner,” I added with a grin, fully embracing the absurdity. “Good girl,” he said, redirecting his gaze to the front. “Hop on it, Beth. Drive us to the nearest taco joint. I’m ordering at least ten, no, make that twenty tacos. I’m starving.” I sat in the back while Ryan grumbled about the lack of legroom in the front seat. Beth retorted with a comment about him being an inconsiderate freeloader. We rolled down the windows, and the wind whipped my hair into my face. I had no complaints. I was with my two favorite people. I smiled when Ryan turned and looked back at me, his eyes bright and cheerful. “Let’s eat inside,” Ryan said when Beth pulled into the parking lot. “Grab as many sauce packets as you can.” They walked inside, and Ryan waved to the group in the corner. “Regina’s here. Over in the corner, surrounded by her loyal followers,” Beth muttered. “She’s not bad,” Ryan said, shrugging his shoulders. “You only say that because you want to get in her pants,” Beth scoffed. “You are vulgar, Beth Darby. Besides, I only have eyes for the beautiful Amanda Sans Monte.” His eyes narrowed at me. “And don’t think I’m kidding; I’m not.” Five minutes later, the three of us had our order and settled at the table next to Regina and her entourage, who were, ironically, also our friends. “I heard you dozed off in front of Mr. Burns, Amanda,” Jaimie Jones teased. His infectious laughter became a moment of shared joy among the group. “Regina told us Mr. Burns threatened extra homework,” his twin sister, Jenny, added. “Wow,” said Melissa Roche. “Would he? It must have been embarrassing.” “A-Plus honor student. What got into you, Miss Amanda Sans Monte?” Keith Edwards teased me, leaning over and giving me a gentle shove. “Tired,” I replied, shaking my head as if it were of no consequence. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” I couldn’t hold back an escaping yawn. “It’s so good to see the loyal support we all have for Amanda,” Regina said with sarcastic praise. “Grow a happy heart,” Tim Landers warned. “There’s no reason to be snide.” Regina’s gaze locked onto mine, a knowing smirk on her lips. “I overheard what Mr. Burns is planning for his end-of-semester essay.” A cold knot of dread twisted in my stomach. Regina had the smug expression of a satisfied cat, which told me our essay had something to do with me. “Regina,” Beth warned, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. “That is not nice. Don’t even think about it.” Regina’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I can’t help it if it isn’t nice. It’s true. You were there with me. We overheard Mr. Burns and Mrs. Carter discussing his class project. He wants his classes to research the history of Midrean. And since your family has a history with the town, you have the upper hand.” “Someone must have written a book or two about your family’s history,” Keith said. “People like to write about weird stuff all the time. The weirder it is, the more it sells.” “I’ll bet your dad even has copies if there are any,” Jenny added. “By the way,” Regina said, dipping her head to take a drink of her soda. “How soon before the crazy overtakes you and you die?” “Regina!” Jenny gasped, her mouth hanging open in shock. “We’re out of here.” Tim grabbed Regina’s arm and dragged her from the booth. “If you can’t be nice to our friends, you don’t need to be around them. Sorry, Amanda. See you guys later at the game.” “Don’t bring Regina,” Beth shouted over her shoulder. No one said goodbye to them. “Has anyone else noticed how spiteful she has become?” Melissa asked, her voice tinged with bewilderment. “You mean more than usual?” Keith agreed, his mouth full of burrito. “What does he see in her?” Jaimie Jones asked. “She’s nothing but a mean harpy.” “What do you think?” Jenny said, giving him a playful punch on the arm. “I don’t care,” Jaimie said. “I wouldn’t touch the most beautiful girl in the world if she had a viperous tongue like hers.” “Not even the most beautiful girl in the world? Dude, that is unbelievable,” Ryan laughed, shaking his head. “Nope, not worth it.” Jaimie leaned back and defiantly folded his arms behind his head. Beth leaned in close to me. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.” I sat, mulling over Regina’s shocking revelation. In a way, it was expected. Last year, Mr. Burns had hinted at his fascination with the Sans Monte tragedy. He’d called it a mystery worth unraveling, especially the deaths. He’d even mentioned knowing my father’s sister. It wouldn’t surprise me if he wanted to conduct a seance. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a mystery to solve. The curse always followed the same pattern. The daughters lost their minds—every single one—and then they died. Why Ryan continued to pursue me, knowing this, was beyond my comprehension. How long before the curse finds me? “Madam,” Ryan said, lifting my hand to his lips for a courtly kiss. “What?” My eyes lifted to his, startled. “Off to yon chariot, it awaits.” He raised his eyebrows at Beth. “Oh, I don’t suppose we can persuade you to rein the horse?” he asked with exaggerated innocence. Beth shook her head as she stood and collected her trash. “You spend way too much time in drama,” she said, puckering her lips. “I will give you a ride back to your car.” He threw his arms over her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “You are rotten to the core, Ryan Dupree,” she said, grinning and pushing him from her. He shrugged, undeterred, and pulled me toward the door. “I know. But you still love me,” he hollered over his shoulder. An hour later, I sat on the floor staring at the girl staring back at me from the mirror. Who was she? What did others see in her? Especially Ryan? He knew about the curse. They all did. It was impossible to ignore my mother as she wandered about, muttering to herself. My face crumpled into my hands, and I dragged my eyelids down with my fingers. The girl in the mirror looked tired, perhaps even a little pale. “Find the book,” a soft voice said. “You must find the book.” I twitched, my heart sinking. I couldn’t deny it any longer. I haven’t been honest with myself. I’ve heard her before, demanding I look for a book. She was another reason for my restless nights. But how do you fight something invisible? How do you pretend not to see things when you do? At this rate, I would soon lose my sanity, just like my mother. My poor father. We’d probably drive him to an early grave. The girl in the mirror stared back at me, a tear slipping down her cheek. I lifted my fingers to wipe it away, but my face was dry. I had been expecting this for a long time. I’m seventeen, well past fifteen, the cursed age when most Sans Monte women succumb to madness. I knew this day would come. I’ve been expecting it for a long time. Everyone in Midrean is familiar with the tale of my great-great-grandfather’s sister, Molly. At sixteen, the authorities declared she had gone mad and taken her own life. Yet, many believed Molly had been murdered, suspecting that something far more sinister hid behind her tragic end. For two days, fear and wild speculation swept through the town while Molly was missing. Then her lifeless, broken body was discovered on the jagged rocks of Taylor’s Creek, right at the bend beyond Midrean Falls. Despite the investigation and the swirling rumors, there was no clear proof as to what happened to her. Ever since, everyone has called the place Molly’s Rapids. There’s a wooden bridge there now. People stop as they cross, tossing coins into the water and murmuring their wishes. It’s said the water remembers. My phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts. “H-hello?” I answered, dazed as if I’d been asleep. “Are you ready to go?” the voice asked. “Who is this?” I demanded, irritation creeping into my voice. “It’s Ryan, you crazy girl. Don’t you look at your screen before you answer? You should at least recognize my voice. It’s ten after five. We gotta go.” “Oh, sorry. I was distracted. And I’m not crazy… yet. Give me a few more minutes. I’ll be right down,” I said, flustered. “The door is unlocked.” “I know; I already let myself in. I didn’t want to yell up the stairs. Hurry, I’ve got to get to the field.” “Right.” I ended the call and tossed my phone onto the bed. I rushed to my closet and threw the doors open. I selected an outfit perfect for the warm weather: a red and black t-shirt with the school wolf mascot and denim shorts that hit mid-thigh. The shorts had a casual, worn-in vibe, with slight fraying along the hems and a few artfully placed rips. I smiled at my reflection after a quick brush of my blonde hair. The girl staring at me smiled in return. Everything seemed back to normal. I tugged on my black tennis shoes and grabbed my favorite necklace, slipping it over my head before grabbing my phone. I checked my reflection one more time, ensuring everything was perfect. I smiled and released a shaky breath. “The book, you must find it.” I jumped; my gaze snapped to the mirror, where a ghostly figure stood behind me. My heart pounded as I spun around to face her, but the room was empty. I turned back to the mirror, hoping it was my imagination. Relief flooded through me as I was the only one who stared back. “I’m not ready to lose myself,” I murmured. My mom poked her head in the door, her eyes clear. “You look beautiful, dear. Are you going somewhere?” “Yes, Mom. It’s the first football game of the season. Ryan is waiting for me at the front door.” My mother nodded and frowned, and I knew the lucid moment had passed. I walked up to the frail woman and kissed her on the cheek. “I will be safe and hurry right home. Mrs. Pettiford is here. She will take care of you.” Mrs. Pettiford was an older woman my father had hired to help my mother during the day and most weekends. My mother’s smile was faint. She lifted her hand to my cheek and gazed at me with eyes glittering with love before clouding with confusion. “You were a beautiful little girl. You were never afraid, even when you first saw us. Your father and I couldn’t have children, not with the risk they might, well. But you were an angel placed at our feet. How could we not take you in? And somehow, no one questioned.” She kissed my cheek and turned to leave. “Mom?” I said, frowning in confusion. “Yes, dear?” Her expression was one of innocence. “What do you mean, take me in?” I asked. “Whatever do you mean, dear? Have fun at the game.” I watched her walk back to her room. Mrs. Pettiford stood by, ready to help. She smiled at me and took my mom’s hand. Mom didn’t seem to realize. I must have worn that confused look that most people had when they met my mom at her worst. “Go on, dear; I will take care of her. Pay no attention to what she said. She isn’t all in order up here,” Mrs. Pettiford said, tapping her temple. She was right. Mom, at her worst, could say the strangest things that made no sense. I paused at Mom’s door, watching as Mrs. Pettiford helped her to bed. “Go on, child,” she waved me away. “There’s nothing you can do for her now. She’s already slipped away. Enjoy yourself with that young man and tell him I wish him luck with his game.” I wiped a tear from my eye. “Thanks, Mrs. Pettiford,” I said, before heading downstairs to meet Ryan.
