Back The Chosen One Save as PDF
Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. CHAPTER ONE
  5. CHAPTER TWO
  6. CHAPTER THREE
  7. CHAPTER FOUR
  8. CHAPTER FIVE
  9. CHAPTER SIX
  10. CHAPTER SEVEN
  11. CHAPTER EIGHT
  12. CHAPTER NINE
  13. CHAPTER TEN
  14. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  15. PART II
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. PART III
  21. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  22. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  23. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  24. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. AFTERWORD
  34. DISCUSSION GUIDE QUESTIONS
  35. A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
  36. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  37. Discover More
  38. About the Author
  39. Praise for

Another portal—iridescent and mesmerizing—appears in my dorm room the night of the show. It spins counterclockwise on the wall next to my desk, just like Hypnotist Jerry’s eyes. I stand in front of it staring for an hour—maybe longer—until a faint image begins to materialize: me, throwing up on a dinner table while everyone watches in shock. Red wine that looks like blood runs down the sides of the table. Bright flashes light up the sky outside the windows.

I don’t know what it means. I squint my eyes, trying to see more clearly, but when I hear my roommate’s keys jingling outside the door, I quickly hang my mother’s Jesus, which she gave to me before I left home, over the portal and try to look normal. When I realize it’s my neighbor going into the room next door, I exhale with relief. I grab Manda Panda’s Polaroid camera from the bottom of her closet and snap a picture of the portal. After the picture develops, only the blank wall appears. How is this happening? I take another picture. Still no portal, but this time I see the word “He.” Not on the wall, but in the fibers of the picture, as if someone took their finger and smeared the ink.

“This is nuts,” I say out loud to no one. “Is this some hypnotic poltergeist?” I take more pictures. Four additional words emerge before the camera begins shooting blanks again. I arrange and rearrange the pictures until a coherent sentence is formed: “He Rises, Brace for Impact.” I’m trying to figure out what it means when I hear Manda Panda’s keys, for real this time. I quickly return her camera, toss the pictures in my drawer, and hang my mother’s Jesus back over the portal. I shriek when the door swings open, hitting the wall. Manda Panda comes prancing in, as usual, like the whole world is her stage. I, on the other hand, tiptoe everywhere like an uninvited houseguest.

“What are you doing?” she says. “Why are you standing there awkwardly like Pennywise the clown or something?”

“No reason,” I say unconvincingly, afraid to move and praying the picture of Jesus does not fall off the wall.