Chapter 6
The Sigma Titans house is packed when I arrive, bodies pressed together in costumes ranging from elaborate to last-minute.
I pulled on the tight black jeans and dark button-down myself.
Then I added the finishing touch: a few quick strokes of black pen to paint subtle cat whiskers across my cheeks. That’s enough to qualify as a costume.
But as I push through the crowd, trying to find my friends in the chaos, I realize something is off.
The party isn’t just in the house. The back doors are open, and everyone is being funneled toward the adjacent park—the one that’s supposed to be closed after dark.
Except now it’s lit up with orange and red lights, fog machines creating an eerie mist between the trees, and elaborate Halloween decorations everywhere I look.
Fake gravestones. Hanging skeletons. Spider webs that look too real.
And above the park entrance, spelled out in what looks like dripping blood: BIG HUNT.
“What the hell?” I mutter, pulling out my phone to text Maya.
The signal flickers. One bar. Then none. Then two bars that disappear as soon as I try to send a message.
“Is your phone working?” a girl next to me asks. She’s dressed as a vampire, her face painted white, but there’s genuine concern in her eyes.
“No,” I say. “Yours?”
“Nothing. It’s like something’s jamming the signal.” She looks around nervously. “This is weird, right? This whole thing is weird?”
“Yeah,” I agree, my unease growing. “Really weird.”
More people are pushing toward the park now. Not walking—being herded. Guys in dark hoodies are at the doors, directing everyone outside, their faces hidden.
“Everyone to the park!” one of them shouts. “Party’s starting! Let’s go!”
The crowd surges forward, and I’m swept along with them. I try to fight against the tide, looking for Maya and Derek, but there are too many people. Too much noise and chaos and that artificial fog that’s making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead.
I make it to the park entrance. The gates—heavy iron gates that are usually locked—are wide open. But something about them makes my skin crawl. They look less like an invitation and more like a trap.
“This doesn’t feel right,” a guy near me says. He’s dressed as a zombie, but his nervousness is very real. “Why would they open the park for this?”
Before anyone can answer, the lights cut out.
Complete darkness. The only illumination comes from people’s phone flashlights—the ones that still have battery—and those eerie orange lights scattered throughout the park.
Then the sky explodes.
Fireworks. But not the celebratory kind. These are dark, gloomy bursts of red and black that illuminate the park in brief, horrifying flashes. They make everything look like a nightmare—twisted shadows, distorted faces, that fog rolling between the trees like something alive.
And then a voice booms through speakers hidden somewhere in the park. It’s distorted, mocking, wrong.
“Welcome to the Big Hunt, brothers.” The voice sounds gleeful, almost giddy. “The park is closed for the next two nights. No one in. No one out. Happy hunting.”
Silence. Complete silence as everyone processes what they just heard.
Then someone screams.
And all hell breaks loose.
People start running in every direction. Some toward the gates, trying to get out. Others deeper into the park, panicking, not knowing where to go. I hear crying, shouting, the sound of someone falling and others trampling over them.
“What the fuck!” the vampire girl shrieks. “This isn’t funny! Let us out!”
I pull out my phone again. Still no signal. I try to call 911, but it won’t connect. Try to text—nothing goes through.
Something is definitely jamming the signal. This isn’t just a prank. This is planned.
Strange noises echo through the park now. Howls that sound too human. Laughter that’s too close. The crash of something large moving through the underbrush.
“We need to get to the gates,” I say to no one in particular. “We need to check if they’re really locked.”
I start running toward the entrance, dodging panicking students and elaborate decorations that look more sinister now. In the flickering light from the fireworks, I see things that make my blood run cold.
A couple pressed against a tree, but something about their movements seems wrong, violent.
Someone on their knees, hands behind their head, while a masked figure stands over them.
A girl running past me, her costume torn, mascara streaming down her face.
This isn’t a party anymore. This is something else entirely.
I’m almost at the gates when I hear footsteps behind me. Heavy footsteps. Fast.
I don’t turn around. I just run faster.
The gates loom ahead, and I can see them now—chains wrapped around them, padlocked shut. Students are already there, pulling at them uselessly, screaming to be let out.
We’re trapped. We’re actually trapped in here.
The footsteps behind me get closer. I risk a glance back and see a tall figure cutting through the fog, moving with purpose. Heading straight for me.
He’s wearing a dark mask—something that covers his entire face, with eye holes that reflect the orange light like an animal’s. But it’s not the mask that makes my heart stop.
It’s the gait. The way he moves. The broad shoulders and confident stride that I’d recognize anywhere because I’ve spent hours in close proximity to that body, have felt it pressed against mine, have run from it before.
No. It can’t be.
I push myself to run faster, but my lungs are burning and the fog is everywhere and I can’t see where I’m going. I stumble over a tree root, barely catch myself, and that split second of hesitation is all it takes.
A hand grabs my arm, spinning me around. Another hand clamps over my mouth before I can scream, cutting off my air, my voice, my chance to call for help.
I’m pulled back against a solid chest, arms like steel bands holding me in place. I struggle, trying to kick, to bite, to do anything, but the grip is unbreakable.
“Shhh,” a voice whispers against my ear. Distorted by the mask, but underneath—underneath I can hear the familiar timbre. “Don’t fight, little bee. You’ll only make it worse.”
Little bee.
My blood turns to ice. The stalker. The stalker is here. Has been here all along. He is holding me right now.
I try to scream against the hand covering my mouth, but it’s useless. My heart is hammering so hard I think it might explode. This is it. This is how it ends.
But then the hand moves from my mouth to my throat—not choking, just resting there. A collar made of fingers. A reminder of how easily they could squeeze.
“I told you not to come to this party,” the distorted voice says, and there’s something almost disappointed in it. “I gave you so many warnings. But you came anyway, didn’t you? My stubborn, foolish little bee.”
I can’t speak. Can barely breathe. The hand on my throat tightens just slightly, and a small sound escapes me.
The masked figure pulls me deeper into the shadows, away from the other students, away from the lights.