Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Detective Clawson—plush skeleton, retired cop, professional tattletale—judges us from his new spot on the dresser. His beady eyes glitter with silent condemnation. I flick him off. “Don’t look at me like that, Detective. This is what self-care looks like.”
When we’re done prepping, we pile everything in the bedroom because the living room TV is good, but my bedroom one is better. And if you’re going to corrupt three undead boyfriends with Halloween cinema, you do it in the boudoir.
My bedroom looks like a Halloween slumber party got drunk and mated with a vending machine.
The bed—my beautiful, ridiculous, king-sized altar to bad decisions—is piled high with blankets, bat pillows, and every snack known to mankind.
Candy corn, gummy worms, chocolate bars, microwave popcorn that smells like melted plastic in the best way.
Bottles of wine, cheap vodka, and a six-pack Skully insists on balancing on his lap like a pet.
If you’re imagining restraint, please stop. Restraint is for funerals, and this is resurrection.
Bonehead sinks into the mattress like it’s swallowing him whole, clutching the popcorn bowl with both hands as though it’s a holy relic. He eats by the handful, dropping half down his shirt. Popcorn falls onto the sheets like snow from a buttery God. “Movie start?” he booms, eyes wide.
Skully already has the remote. Of course he does. He wiggles it at me like he’s hosting game night. “You really want to start with Paranormal Activity, October-Baby? That’s your classic?”
“Yes,” I hiss, snatching it from him and mashing play. “It’s cinema. It’s art. It’s domestic horror at its finest.”
“It’s two hours of security-cam footage and a guy named Micah who deserved to die in the first five minutes,” he shoots back, cracking a beer. He takes a long swallow, burps like punctuation, then adds, “Spoiler: the pool cleaner’s the only Final Girl in this one.”
Bonehead blinks. “Pool cleaner kill?”
“No, buddy.” I pat his arm. “Pool cleaner survives. Hero arc, ten out of ten. And that’s in Paranormal Activity 2, not the first one.”
I stick my tongue out at Skully, hoping for an eye-roll. Instead, his eyes flash wickedly, a grin splitting his face like a paper cut across the world. “Careful, Baby. I’ve got a better use for that tongue. Don’t tempt me.”
My lips part on instinct, dragging slowly across my teeth, gaze dripping down his body and back up again.
But then a thought sparks, and I snap my eyes to his.
“Wait. How the hell do you even know Paranormal Activity? You were already dead when that came out. Do you guys get streaming in the afterlife?”
He laughs, low and dangerous. “Ahhh. The first real question about what comes after. I’m touched.
” He leans back against the pillows, arms crossed behind his head, pure cocky lounge-lizard.
“And the answer? Sort of. This time of year, when the veil thins, we get to peek in. People love watching scary movies when the nights get cold. I made it my personal mission to binge every horror flick I could catch. Research.”
I nod solemnly like this is gospel truth. “Makes sense. Honestly? Same.”
Marrow reclines against the headboard, silk shirt unbuttoned to his sternum, wine glass catching the TV’s glow. He looks like a gothic priest presiding over this trashy sermon. When the opening credits roll, he murmurs, “May the hauntings begin.”
The room goes dark except for the flicker of the screen and the faint orange glow of the pumpkin string lights above my bed.
I sprawl in the middle, limbs draped over them all like a greedy spider.
Bonehead feeds me a fistful of popcorn without asking, Skully hooks his arm around my waist like a seatbelt, and Marrow’s thumb traces idle circles against my wrist where I’m holding my skull-shaped vodka mug.
Onscreen, a door creaks. Bonehead jumps so hard he spills half the bowl onto the floor. “Demon!” he yells, delighted.
“It’s a draft, you moron,” Skully mutters, though he’s gripping his beer tighter.
Marrow tips his head, eyes gleaming. “Or perhaps a lover returned.”
I cackle so loud the fog machine in the corner hisses in solidarity. “God, I love this already.”
The first jump scare lands—a loud bang in the middle of the night—and Bonehead yells, “Smash it!” He reaches for the nearest object—which just so happens to be the popcorn bowl—and prepares to do just that, but my hand on his thigh stops him just in time.
Skully doubles over laughing. Marrow intones, dead serious, “An omen of escalation.”
I’m howling, nearly dropping my drink. My eyeliner’s probably smearing into raccoon chic, and I don’t care. This is better than church. This is my liturgy.
“Shhh,” I hiss at them, even though I’m the loudest one here. “Respect the art.”
Skully leans down, his mouth brushing my ear. “If this is art, I’m Picasso. Crooked and drunk.”
“Hot,” I murmur back, not even pretending to be offended.
Meanwhile, Bonehead stuffs a gummy worm into my mouth like it’s communion. Marrow gently removes the vodka from my hand, takes a sip, and hums. “Tastes like sin.”
“Exactly,” I say, grinning sharp, vodka dripping down my chin. I lick it off my hand without shame.
The movie plays, but it’s already background noise. Their laughter, their touches, the heat of their bodies pressed into me—that’s the real show. And I can feel it building, like static before a storm.
Bonehead crunches down on something suspiciously hard. He spits it into his hand, blinks, and declares, “Kernel.” Then he pops it right back in his mouth and chews louder. I throw a gummy worm at him. He opens wide and catches it, grinning like a golden retriever who just swallowed a snake.
Skully groans. “I can’t believe I’m spending my afterlife watching October feed a caveman gummy worms.”
“You’re just jealous,” I sing-song, scooping melted chocolate from a candy bar with my finger. I smear it across Bonehead’s jawline like war paint. He looks startled, then ecstatic when I lean in and lick it clean.
The growl he makes shakes the popcorn bowl.
Skully mutters, “Jesus Christ,” but he’s already shifting closer, green eyes sharp as glass. His hand slides up my thigh like it’s an accident, until his fingers begin tracing the rip in my fishnets. “You’re a menace,” he says, voice low and hungry.
“Compliment accepted.” I sip vodka from my skull mug, then tip it to his mouth. He drinks without breaking eye contact, tongue darting against the rim where my lipstick smears.
Marrow makes a sound like a hymn sighing. He sets his wine aside, takes my free hand, and lifts it to his lips. He kisses each fingertip, slow, reverent, tasting the sugar stuck to me. “Even sugared, you are more intoxicating than any grape,” he whispers against my skin.
Oh, I’m fucked. Literally.
Onscreen, a character screams, and Bonehead barks back at the TV, “Too loud!” He slams the volume button down until it’s a whisper. “Better.” Then his enormous hands clamp around my waist, dragging me fully into his lap like I weigh less than a throw pillow.
The candy avalanche is immediate—M&Ms scatter like confetti, popcorn crunches under his knee, a bag of candy corn bursts across the sheets. I should mourn the snack carnage. Instead, I’m laughing so hard I choke, head tipped back, lipstick smearing at the corner of my mouth.
“Such a dirty little mess,” Skully drawls, though his hand hasn’t left my thigh. In fact, it’s higher now. Too high. Perfectly high.
“Chaos,” Marrow corrects softly, brushing his lips over my knuckles again. “A beautiful, necessary chaos.”
My heart’s thundering like a bassline in a slasher soundtrack. This is it. The inevitable bleed. Horror marathon, sugar high, vodka buzz, three monsters obsessed with me—they were never going to let the night end tame. And honestly? I’d riot if they tried.
I wiggle in Bonehead’s lap, pressing deliberately against the hard shape straining his new jeans.
He groans, teeth snapping together like he’s trying not to bite.
Skully’s fingers dig harder into my thigh.
Marrow’s kiss deepens, tracing from knuckles to wrist to the delicate hollow at the inside of my elbow.
The movie’s still playing. The TV flickers shadows across us. But none of us are watching anymore.
Bonehead’s groan rumbles through me like a bass speaker, vibrating straight into my bones. His hands spread wide on my hips, keeping me pinned in his lap like I’m the last living treasure he’s guarding.
“October,” he rasps, jaw tight. “Pretty October.”
“Don’t stop,” I tease, rolling my hips once more, feeling him throb against me. “You’ll ruin my movie marathon.”
Skully snorts, but his breath is ragged now, his fingers sliding higher, thumb brushing the bare skin just below my skirt’s hem. “Baby, the only thing scary right now is how long you think you’re gonna keep us watching this trash instead of-”
“-worshiping her properly,” Marrow finishes, velvet-soft, his lips finally closing around the inside of my wrist. His tongue laves where my pulse hammers like a frantic bell.
The remote slips from the bed with a clatter. No one reaches for it.
Candy corn squishes under Bonehead’s knee, releasing a sugary crunch that makes me laugh, half-hysterical, half-drunk. “We’re desecrating my altar of snacks,” I giggle, before Bonehead’s mouth finds my throat and his growl burns the words out of me.
Skully claims my mouth as I gasp, swallowing the sound—hard, messy, still tasting of beer and chocolate. He bites my lower lip, and I yelp, delighted. Marrow strokes my hair, murmuring into my temple, “Greedy little queen, having us all. You’ll unravel us completely.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “That’s the point.”
Boneheads teeth scrape at my pulse, not quite biting, but promising. Always promising. His hands tighten on my hips until I’m sure I’ll bruise in the exact shape of his devotion.