Chapter 2 #2
I collapse into hysterical laughter, clutching my tits, nearly falling off him myself. “Oh shit. My bad. I probably should have turned those off,” I wheeze, tears in my eyes. “But aren’t they adorable?”
Henry is not laughing. His hands swat at the spider, but three more descend around his head, swinging like fuzzy little nooses. The fog machine hisses like it’s egging them on.
He lets out another high-pitched yell, scrambling backwards, almost face-planting into Boa Gary as more spiders squeak and hiss. I reach up and pluck one lovingly from its string, stroking its fuzzy body like a kitten. “Don’t be rude. They’re just saying hi.”
That’s it. The spell shatters.
Henry bolts like the hounds of hell just broke in, shoving me off of his legs completely, nearly breaking his ankle on his own half-undone pants as he stumbles for the door.
The front door slams behind him with such force my glitter-bone chandelier rattles overhead, raining pink dust down onto the couch.
Silence.
I flop back against the cushions, grinning at the red-eyed spiders still swaying above me like Christmas ornaments from hell. “Men,” I sigh. “Always finish early.”
One of the spiders twitches, its mechanical legs jerking stiffly.
“Exactly,” I say, patting its fuzzy head. My smile cracks sideways but doesn’t fall. “Men are basically haunted house customers: they scream, they run, and they never tip.”
Dusty the mummy creaks, one eye bulb flickering, like he agrees.
“Thank you, Dusty. At least someone’s on my side.” I pluck one of the dangling spiders from its string and cradle it like a hamster. “Don’t take it personally, guys. You did great. Honestly, you stole the show. Maybe I should let you handle foreplay next time.”
The spider’s voice box crackles as he screeches.
“I agree.”
I set him gently on the coffee table, near where Boa Gary lounges like he’s listening. “What do you think, Gary?” His jaw clatters open on cue. I gasp dramatically. “Don’t be rude! He was cute! Bland, yes, but cute. The kind of guy who probably moisturizes his elbows.”
Boa Gary stares silently. I nod solemnly. “Yeah. You’re right. Elbow lotion isn’t a personality.”
I stretch, yawning like a kitten who just hosted an orgy, then peel myself off the couch. My dress clings in all the wrong places, still bunched up around my waist.
I pour myself a glass of water—except the glass is a skull mug, and I add three candy corns for flavor—but really it’s just my commitment to the theme. I kiss the neon Rest in Pieces sign goodnight.
As I pass the hallway to my front door, I blow out a pumpkin-scented candle and whisper apologies to Gus, Petunia, and Harold—the menage matriarch and patriarchs of my pumpkin family—for not introducing them to Henry.
“He wasn’t ready for you,” I say seriously, tucking Harold into a blanket like a baby.
“Besides, I need someone who’ll appreciate you properly. Someone who’ll carve with respect.”
With the pumpkins tucked in, I pivot straight into my nightly bathroom ritual. The second I flick the light on, the mirror starts screaming, a ghostly figure lunging out with black eyes and clawed fingers.
“Be honest, Tiffany,” I sigh, tugging my dress over my head and kicking off my heels. Both land in the blood-bag laundry hamper with a satisfying thud. “Was it too much too soon?”
Tiffany shrieks, cackles, claws at the glass. I tilt my head, nodding like she’s saying something really insightful.
“Mmhm. Yeah. Spacing. That’s fair.” I point at her with a serious little frown, then grab my toothbrush. “You smelled it too, didn’t you? Jumpy. The kind of guy who screams at microwave popcorn when it goes off early.”
I squeeze a spiral of cinnamon toothpaste onto the brush, shove it into my mouth, and start scrubbing like it’s an exorcism.
Foam froths red around my lips, splattering the sink like crime scene evidence.
I hum my nursery rhyme through the bristles, words muffled but clear enough for Tiffany to understand.
“No sugar or sweet goodbyes…just scaredy men with frightened eyes. The door goes bang and they run away…just another ghost who couldn’t stay.”
I spit, wipe my mouth, and grin at my reflection. “Perfect.”
Tiffany only hisses in reply.
“Ugh, I know,” I say, tugging a Dracula sheet mask from its packaging. The wet fabric slaps cold against my face. “But moisturize or fossilize, babe. It’s non-negotiable.”
The mirror doesn’t scream this time. The ghost doesn’t even twitch. Tiffany just stares back at me, quiet now, her black eyes reflecting mine. I tap the mask into place, smiling at her. “You’re right. He was never final-boy material anyway.”
Tiffany only hisses again, low and glitchy. That’s as close to agreement as I’ll ever get.
“Good talk,” I say brightly, flicking off the bathroom light.
The hallway greets me in an orange-and-purple glow from the jack-o’-lantern string lights. My bare feet pad across the carpet runner patterned with chalk outlines, and I hum my nursery rhyme under my breath as I go. By the time I push open the door to my bedroom, I’m already smiling again.
Home base.
The room is a shrine to cozy horror, my very own crypt of comfort.
Black satin sheets with glow-in-the-dark ghosts.
A four-poster bed draped in spiderweb lace, the canopy layered with sheer silver webs that catch the fairy lights.
Velvet blankets piled high like a monster hoard.
Mismatched pillows: one with a Ouija board printed on it, one shaped like a coffin, one that declares Resting Witch Face in glitter script.
The nightstand holds a jack-o’-lantern lamp, a half-melted skull candle, and a stack of true crime paperbacks stabbed through with candy corn bookmarks.
Then the plushies. So many plushies. Sure, there’s a twelve-foot skeleton in the living room, but here?
This is the cuddle squad: a stuffed bat with glitter fangs, a pumpkin with googly eyes, a plush black cat missing an ear, three Beanie Babies that may or may not be cursed, and a Build-A-Bear zombie in a tutu.
They’re piled high at the foot of my bed, arranged like tiny witnesses.
I peel the Dracula sheet mask off with a flourish and toss it onto the nightstand, where a plastic cauldron sits half-full of candy corn and Advil.
“Nightcap,” I announce, popping three candy corns into my mouth.
Then I climb into bed, burrowing until I disappear under the pile of blankets and plushies.
“Much better,” I sigh, tugging the weighted pillow shaped like a body bag over next to me. It’s like being hugged by death himself. Cozy.
The Dracula mask stares back at me from the nightstand, saggy and accusing. Tiffany’s quiet now, but I know she’s listening. They all are—the spiders, the mummy, Boa Gary in the living room. My whole house hums at night like it’s alive.
“See?” I tell the plush bat, tucking it under my chin. “Tomorrow will be better. Final-boy material’s still out there. Somebody who won’t run screaming before Act Two.”
I grab the remote and click on my projector. Flickering shadows splash across the ceiling as vintage seventies horror trailers loop: grainy voiceovers about blood-curdling screams and taglines like You’ll wish you were never born! fill the room as white noise.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Spam email. Definitely not a text from Henry. That’s fine. Men never last long in this house. But pumpkins? Plushies? Animatronic spiders with social anxiety? They never leave me.
I snuggle deeper, grinning at the neon green glow-in-the-dark stars I stuck to the walls and never took down. Half of them are bats. Some are spiders. One is definitely shaped like a dick.
I smile, close my eyes, and let the fog machine hiss me to sleep.