Chapter 10
I have a plan.
Well, I have a second plan, since the first plan isn’t really reasonable, I suppose. My first plan involved never going to another haunt again, not posting on my blog, and playing opossum for the rest of the season.
Unfortunately, due to the demands of being an adult with bills and a house to pay off, I cannot stick my head in the sand. Tragic, really, to have to give in to the demands of capitalism and the need to eat.
So, my second plan is…
Well, I’ll come up with something.
I sigh, sitting back on my couch. My laptop is on the cushion beside me, and with my legs curled up under me, I can easily reach my little snack buffet on the coffee table.
My tumbler of flavored water sits mostly untouched, while the coffee I had delivered is half-drained already, even though it’s only been in my grubby hands for ten minutes.
But having the water near me is what counts, I tell myself, not for the first time. Grabbing a bag of gummy orange slices coated in sugar, I look at my laptop again, thinking about what I can do.
I have to do my job, obviously.
I can’t not go to the haunts I’ve signed up for. I can’t just play dead.
But also I can’t trust that he won’t show up again. Or worse, that he won’t escalate. My biggest fear is that part—that he’ll do more than spread fake blood on my face or…
Or kiss me like his life depends on it.
Stupidly, I reach up to trace my lips, the pads of my fingers soft against my skin. My phone ringing jars me out of my little daydream, and I guiltily glance at it on the table before sneaking another gummy orange and picking it up.
“Fuck,” I mumble, sighing and leaning back against the sofa.
“You pick the worst times to call.” My brother is not who I ever really want to talk to, and today is certainly no exception.
But if I don’t answer, I know he’ll tell Mom, who will chew me out for ignoring calls and ‘distancing myself’ from the family.
“Hey, little brother.” I keep my voice polite, even a little friendly, as I drag my knees up to my chest and yank my comforter over myself.
My eyes go to the TV, where Halloween Wars plays with a low volume that serves as white noise in my ears.
“It’s before noon. Isn’t this a little early for you to be up?
” I try to keep my words teasing, while hoping this is going to be the shortest call imaginable.
“Hilarious.” Evan’s voice is just as unamused as I feel. “Mom wants to know if you’re coming home for your birthday next month.”
“And Mom can’t call me herself?” I can’t help snapping back. “Are you her messenger boy now?” God, I really just can’t stop myself from needling him, even though I know it won’t make this call any more pleasant to sit through.
Evan lets out a sharp sigh. “God, you’re insufferable today, you know?” he grumbles. “Are you coming home for your birthday or not? She’s going to get you a cake and try to do a whole thing for you, if you are.”
“And are you going to take the time out of your busy schedule to be there too? Or will you be with your gaming bros upstairs, gracing us only with the sounds of your victory or, more likely, defeat?” I successfully make it sound like I’m joking, at least. Even though I’m not.
He really is insufferable, and a gaming addict who will probably never move out of my parent’s house. At this point, I’m pretty sure he’s going to be a permanent fixture there, and definitely will be inheriting the house.
Good for him. I have my own.
“Fuck off, Persy.” His snarl is a bit more vehement than I expect, and it causes the small smile to melt off of my lips.
God, he reminds me so much of our dad it’s unreal.
He gets more and more like him every year, I’ve noticed, and I miss the little boy who used to joke around with me as we explored and hiked together.
But Evan hasn’t been that brother in a long, long time.
“I don’t think so.” Truthfully, I don’t have anything planned for my birthday.
I never do. But the idea of going home and sitting through a birthday party with my family as the guests, knowing they’ll just harp on my job, my house, my choices, and anything else they can find to get at me with, sounds like absolute torture. “Madison and Brynn are—”
“Whatever.” The way he cuts me off makes my throat burn with the urge to snap at him.
“Look, Mom just wanted me to ask. I don’t know why she couldn’t ask you herself or whatever.
Guess you pissed her off last time you came home, so she’s holding a grudge.
” He speaks so candidly about our mom’s narcissism, but I suppose that’s the benefit of being the favorite child.
He rarely has to deal with her tantrums or her outbursts.
Maybe that’s why he hasn’t had the urge to move out, even though he’s only two years younger than me and, having finished high school, is doing absolutely nothing with his days.
“Okay, well, this has been…something special.” I bite my lip, worrying it under my teeth. “Have you done anything cool lately? Anything like—”
“I gotta go. I have a tournament today. Even though I’m just a substitute, I’m pretty sure they’ll let me play a round. Anyway…” I hear him get up from his gaming chair that’s seen better days, and distantly I wonder when Mom and Dad will buy him a new one.
It’s not like he has a job to pay for one on his own, after all. Only the money he sometimes wins from e-sports tournaments.
“Yeah. Okay, uh…Good luck? You’ll have to tell me—” He cuts me off by hanging up, and my stomach twists unpleasantly.
God, I miss the little boy who gripped my hand with his chubby fingers and followed me into the woods for an adventure. I miss his sweetness, and the way we used to be best friends.
I miss the brother I used to have.
Staring at the phone does nothing for my mood, and I let out a soft sigh before tossing it back onto the coffee table and grabbing my laptop.
My blog started out as an escape from the real world, from my family, and from how distant I felt from them for years.
But now with it being my job, my full-time career, and my source of income… it feels a little less like an escape.
“Do what you love,” I mumble, running my fingers through my hair. “Or whatever.” I know if my mom were here, she’d leap at my moment of weakness to lecture me about this not being a real career, and how it won’t last forever.
In my post, I left out the details about my unwelcome encounter at Dusk House, seeing as it felt like something that wasn’t a part of the show, and as I scroll through the comments on my post, I barely read them.
Haunts like this one always get less traffic—especially from my audience—but I still know I have some parents in the Chicago area who follow my blog looking for somewhere to take their kids or the less-horror-inclined members of their families.
They still have the witch’s workshop?
I heard their fog machines were on the fritz last night.
How did my blood taste—
I blink and stare up at my ceiling, not reading the rest of the comment.
Don’t I already know who it’s from? Aren’t I fully aware that I have a stalker who apparently has a fixation with seeing me afraid?
Taking a breath, I tell myself that I’m not going to freak out, no matter what the rest of this comment says.
I doubt it’ll be friendly. I know that last night I was almost afraid of him, and he’s definitely bragging in my comments along with insulting me for it.
“You’re fine,” I murmur. No matter how he insults me, I can handle it. Slowly, I drag my gaze back down to my screen, hating the way my stomach twists in unwelcome anticipation.
I never do well with mean comments, even though I like to think I hide my delicate feelings pretty well.
How did my blood taste on those perfect lips, Scaredy Cat?
That’s…not what I’m expecting. I even read it again before noticing the replies to the comment, which I click on before I can stop myself.
You met her?
Holy shit—this is so romantic.
@Scaredy.Cat do you know him???
Those also aren’t what I’m expecting. Romantic? Really?
…Yeah, okay, I can see it. But I’m definitely a problem, and I don’t need convincing to find romance where there isn’t any. This is just a guy wanting to prove a point, trying to get his name on my blog and to be different. Or to be a jerk, I don’t know.
It can’t be anything more.
For a few moments I just sit there, tapping my fingers on the edges of my laptop. My black and orange nails desperately need to be repainted, and I worry my bottom lip between my teeth while I watch a few seconds of Halloween Wars instead of forming replies to these comments.
It occurs to me I don’t even know where to start. But I know I have to address it. I can’t just let it go, probably, so I take the easy one first.
No, I don’t know him.
Romantic? Have you talked to a licensed therapist about this?
Though reading that one over makes me snort. I’m not really one to talk, since I will go to my grave with the opinion that Scream is a romance between two men who weren’t allowed to follow their hearts and could only express their love with murder.
I read the man’s comment again, and again. It really is flirty, if not outright romantic, but I don’t know what to say to him. I’m certainly not about to remark about the taste of his blood on my lips, or how it took me forever to get the taste of it out of my mouth, even in the shower.
I definitely won’t be remarking on how I found myself running my tongue over my bottom lip where his thumb spread his blood across my skin on my entire drive home.
“Talk about needing therapy,” I sigh, crossing my legs a bit more tightly underneath me. Finally, I type out a reply, though there are a lot of other things I’d rather say, things that aren’t so surface level humorous.
How long were you waiting up there? What if I went bowling or something before visiting Dusk House? Were you just going to hang out with the plastic body parts for company all night?
There. That works, I suppose. I don’t mention anything about his blood, his kiss, or the stroke of the blade on my skin that had me shivering later that night, after I crawled into bed.
That’s definitely something I’m going to take to my grave, even under threat of torture.
No one except me needs to know how fucked up I am.
But it’s over now, I tell myself. He got what he wanted, and that was to see me scared.
Now I just have to focus on getting through the rest of spooky season while creating worthwhile content and getting my name out there so I still have a brand after the excitement of Halloween is over and everyone goes back to their usual, non-spooky lives.