Chapter 13
The fact I almost don’t want Brynn and Madison to drag me to their place to spend the night makes me feel guilty.
Too much of me would rather go home, curl up under my blankets, and relieve the ache between my thighs that I would never admit to—even under threat of torture and death.
But I know they’re right, that I should stay here instead of driving back home to go to bed alone.
At least the strange man won’t bother me while I’m with them, since he doesn’t seem to want to confront me when I’m not alone.
“I’m telling you guys,” I sigh, not for the first time as I stretch out over Madison and Brynn while they sit on either end of their couch.
“I have no idea what his name is. He posts anonymously on my blog. See?” I hold my phone up, though neither of them look over.
They don’t need to. They’ve read and re-read what the man wrote, and his threats about scaring me.
“He’s a stalker,” Madison tells me flatly.
They’re mid-game in a tense Overwatch round, and while it isn’t my favorite game by any means, I can still appreciate their teamwork as they drag their team towards a win in ranked.
Brynn is the better gamer of the two of them when it comes to carrying the team, and as I watch, I think to myself that Madison has really perfected the art of being a great support player for Brynn.
Unfortunately, I’m not competitive enough with video games to care much for Overwatch, or Fortnite, or Apex Legends like they do. I’d rather curl up with a horror game, even if I’m not streaming, or at least something cozy with cute, 2D graphics and animal taming.
“Stalker implies he does more than show up at the haunts that I’ve…
” I trail off as it hits me—the only way he knows where to show up is by reading my blog.
“Yeah, okay. You’re right. He’s a level-one stalker.
Like I don’t think he’s stalking me through the streets.
And he’s definitely not standing outside your window. ”
God, I hope he’s not standing outside their window.
“But I get it.”
“We should go to the cops this time.” Brynn wanted to drive me there straight from Park Scream, but I convinced them not to.
Of course, that meant giving in to staying here instead of going home, without a change of clothes to sleep in or my toothbrush.
Instead, I’m slung over the two of them, tired as hell and wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt Brynn had thrown my way.
“They have to believe you when you tell them you did not sign up for that.”
“Oh, yeah?” The idea of going to the cops has crossed my mind more than once, but I curl onto my side with my phone in hand as I scroll through my social media feed.
“And what do I tell them this time? That, again, a guy in a mask at a haunt grabbed me—when I paid to be grabbed—then dragged me into a side room like they do? How do you think that’ll go over? ”
“Poorly,” Madison mumbles, hissing in frustration when her character dies and she’s put back at the respawn screen.
Brynn, holding her laptop so they can play together, manages not to fall to the same fate, though I have no idea how she can play so well with a mouse that’s balanced precariously on a small lap desk.
“So poorly. Sorry, Brynn, but she has a point.” She frowns at her girlfriend, who ignores the two of us.
After a few more minutes, I slither to my bare feet, stretching up to the balls of my feet once I’m out of the way of the television for Madison.
“I’m going to head to bed,” I tell them, ignoring Madison’s glance of concern.
“This will shock you both, but I’m actually exhausted.
There’s probably a science to explain it, but I didn’t go to school for that like one of you did. ”
Brynn also looks my way at the comment, her smile quick and teasing. “Just don’t do anything weird in the guest room,” she requests. At my quizzical look, I can see her roll her eyes before she adds, “Mads’ mom and dad are coming to visit next weekend.”
“What could I possibly do in there that would require a week to clean?” I demand.
Both of them look at me, and I raise my hands in surrender.
“Yeah, okay, you’re right. I don’t want to know what you guys think I do in my spare time.
I’ll try not to get ectoplasm or pea soup vomit all over the bed.
” When neither of them responds or laughs, I roll my eyes hard enough it’s a wonder they don’t stay like that.
“Classic horror movie references are lost on you both. I deserve better.”
“Clearly,” Madison agrees. “You deserve a guy in a mask who follows you from haunt to haunt, trying to scare the hell out of you with a knife?” When she looks up at me, her smile is sweet and teasing. “Too soon?” she asks when I dramatically press a hand to my chest like she’s wounded me.
“Significantly,” I tell her, almost bent double in my act. “I’m going to bed now, before either of you can drive the stake through my heart any deeper. That’s a—”
“We’re not horror fans, but we’re not stupid, Dracula,” Brynn interrupts. She flicks her fingers at me. “Go on then, drama queen. Go sleep on our nice Egyptian cotton sheets instead of your messy bed full of pillows and Laffy Taffy wrappers.”
I don’t answer her jibe this time. I turn and head into the guest room, closing the door behind me once I’m inside.
While I’d never tell them this, I don’t love sleeping over.
Their guest room is too clean. Too…nice.
I’d rather sleep on the couch—though that would horrify the two of them—so I could feel like this is a sleepover, not a business trip.
The sheets even smell too clean. When I bury my face in the pillows, the scent of expensive laundry detergent slaps me in the face, prompting me to sigh into them.
There’s nothing homey about the room, from the sage green sheets to the turned down comforter that feels as stiff as a hotel’s.
But they’re my best friends, and I would never tell them that.
Though I know I won’t sleep as well tonight as I would’ve at home.
And I definitely won’t be relieving the ache between my thighs that’s persisted through the night ever since the masked stranger licked a line up my throat for the first time.
“I'm going home after this, Mother Madison.” My words are clumsy in my mouth, and I barely manage to mumble them as I shove another wad of Belgian waffle between my lips.
Madison takes a much smaller bite of her waffles, which, unlike mine, are not drenched in two kinds of chocolate.
Instead, strawberries decorate her plate, and her waffles are adorned with a few pats of butter and classic maple syrup.
Boring.
She snorts when I slump back on the bench, groaning and pressing my face to my hands. “Still got a headache?” As usual, she can read me easily, though right now I’m not being very subtle.
“I think I live with it now,” I reply. My fingers find the stiff knots in the back of my neck, and I wince at the pain of the pent-up tension there. “God, I hate being an adult. I’m basically a senior citizen at this point.”
“Have you considered that your posture sucks, you spend too much time in front of a computer, and you do literally no stretching?”
I don’t deign to answer her, since I know the question is rhetorical.
While all of that might be true, I don’t intend to admit any of it.
Instead, I stuff another bite of waffle into my mouth, nearly having to unhinge my jaw to chew it enough to swallow thickly.
I chase it with a mouthful of skim milk, the only kind I can drink, and lick chocolate off my thumb before touching the screen of my phone again.
“Putting this off won’t make it any better,” I point out, feeling Madison’s disapproval.
I know there has to be something from my masked stalker, but I’ve been dreading seeing how he’s taunted me online.
With my luck, he posted the picture he took last night to show everyone on my blog that he can scare me and I’m not as confident as I claim.
I can only imagine how embarrassing the photo is, with the flash probably illuminating a stupid expression and my worst features.
While I managed to post a write-up early this morning about Park Scream, I completely left out my stalker.
I talked about the scare actors, the vibes, the setting, and the overall production value as I always do.
I’d raved about the pizza, citing that they now have my favorite kind, and touched on the immersive atmosphere of the open-air carnival side of the haunt.
I didn’t talk about the warnings.
Or how more than one of the scare actors were in on what my stalker had planned. Part of it comes, I hope, from self-preservation. I don’t want any of them getting pissed off and hunting me down for smearing their names online. But the other part of it is…
Well, I don’t know why I keep it to myself, bottled up like a treasure or a prize.
He isn’t that, I tell myself absently, scrolling to my notifications.
A stalker isn’t something to be proud of. Especially at Halloween.
For a few seconds, my mind conjures up the image of him at my door, holding an old-school orange pumpkin basket made of cheap plastic. I can see his mask in my mind, and my brain creates the sound of him rattling the candy, murmuring ‘trick-or-treat,’ in that low, rough voice of his.
God, I have problems.
The first few comments are what I expect, though there are a couple I have to re-read more than once.
You’re really just doing the same thing you always do, huh? You should’ve been nicer on Squad Ghouls. At least their content is entertaining.
You’re not pretty enough to be a bitch on a livestream.
My mood plummets, and it takes too long for me to move past those two comments that are now going to live in my head for the rest of my life. Madison snags my phone when she sees my face, and her eyes narrow when she reads them as well.