Chapter 2 Patrick #2
Mikey ran up to the front porch like a kid trick-or-treating for the first time, leaving Patrick standing awkwardly by the car with Jason.
Jason’s face was closed as tight as a clam, and Patrick didn’t know if it was because of the breakup with Tiffany or his inexplicable disapproval of the choice of reunion site.
He’d thought Jason also had good memories of this place.
Unless Jason was just as embarrassed as Patrick by what had happened the last time they’d been alone together.
Four years ago, the last night the Jumpscare Society had convened on the cabin grounds, Jason had followed Patrick into the toolshed, expounding on the merits of the second Nightmare on Elm Street.
Patrick had turned around and discovered Jason right in his path, their faces inches apart.
Jason had stopped mid-sentence and they’d locked eyes, their breath rasping heavily in the charged silence.
Jason’s glance had flicked to Patrick’s mouth and for three thunderous and sweaty heartbeats, Patrick had foolishly thought Jason was going to kiss him.
Until Tiffany hollered from outside that Jen had arrived with the beer, and Jason had ambled out of the shed as if he hadn’t just set Patrick’s heart—and body—on fire.
Patrick told himself not to be silly. Jason would’ve totally forgotten the incident. It was only wishful thinking on Patrick’s part that it had meant something.
Jason leaned against the side of the car with his arms crossed. “I do appreciate you organizing this,” he finally said, although he didn’t sound like he meant it.
He didn’t meet Patrick’s gaze, instead watching Mikey, who was peering excitedly through the cabin’s windows.
Mikey wore his old Jumpscare Society T-shirt, which Jen had designed when they were in high school.
Patrick had Jen to thank for coming up with the club’s name.
He’d toyed with calling it the Cinebites as a nod to Hellraiser, or the Losers Club, but Jen had pointed out that even if their classmates got the reference to It, no one wanted to be called a loser.
In the end, the name didn’t matter. The Jumpscare Society only ever had seven core members.
Because Slasher Summer drew so many eager tourists, Cedar Lake teens thought horror movies were desperately uncool, and not even Jason and Tiffany’s popularity could get them to join.
Jason sighed reluctantly. “Just look how happy Mikey is.”
Patrick nodded, hiding his hurt that Jason wasn’t as enthused. But he wasn’t going to let Jason’s bad attitude ruin this weekend. Even though seeing him again was what Patrick had been looking forward to the most.
A honk interrupted his thoughts. Tiffany’s purple Jeep came rambling down the road to the cabin. Jason’s bland expression never wavered. He had a lot of practice at existing in the same space as Tiffany during their breakups.
The Jeep parked beside Patrick’s silver Audi.
Jen and Tiffany spilled out, bickering over Tiffany’s driving skills.
They were an unlikely pair, Tiffany bright and sunny, and Jen dark and scowling.
They were that meme of the black beach house next to the pink beach house, although Jen had traded in the Hot Topic corsets for an oversize Siouxsie and the Banshees T-shirt and paint-spattered denim shorts over black fishnets.
The kohl that rimmed her brown eyes had been applied with remarkable restraint.
“The native Cedar Lake goth displays her summer plumage,” Mikey said in a plummy David Attenborough voice. Patrick laughed. Mikey had always been good at imitations.
Jen rewarded Mikey with the finger. “Nice to see you too, Pipsqueak.”
Mikey was hardly a pipsqueak now. His Jumpscare Society T-shirt stretched across his chest, whereas in high school it had hung off his shoulders like a bedsheet. “I have a name,” he protested, hopping down the porch steps.
“Sorry. Nice to see you, too, Mikey. Great T-shirt.”
Mikey’s jaw hardened. “I go by Michael now.”
Jen slung an arm around Mikey’s neck and affectionately pulled down his head to muss up his carefully coiffed blond hair. “You’ll always be Mikey to us. Right, Carlton?” she said to Patrick.
Patrick rolled his eyes. Jen’s predilection for insulting nicknames was one of her greatest flaws and charms.
“Hello, boys!” Tiffany chirped, her golden ponytail swinging. She ran her gaze along the assembled company. “Is Freddy not coming?”
Patrick checked his phone. Cell service had dwindled to one bar and data had disappeared, as expected.
A few local news headlines had popped up while they’d still had internet access.
A six-car pile-up, a man found dead in an alley in downtown Fairvale, a celebrity accused of harassment.
Patrick swiped the notifications away. They were here to escape the grim cruelty of the real world.
There were no messages from Freddy. “He’s probably mopping up at the theater.”
“You mean, trying to lure girls into his serial killer van,” Jen said.
Tiffany made a face. “I can’t believe the Mystery Machine hasn’t broken down yet.”
“The mystery is how he manages to pick up girls in it,” said Mikey.
“It’s called weed,” Jen deadpanned. “All right. Are we gonna get this party started or what? Come on, Patrick, let’s start the tour.”
Tiffany took Patrick’s arm, probably so she wouldn’t be alone with Jason.
Patrick didn’t mind. He liked Tiffany, even though her flair for drama constantly put Jason through the wringer.
She had a bigger heart than she let on. She’d joined the Jumpscare Society because of Jason, but had stuck around through their breakups.
To pad out the extracurriculars on her college applications, she claimed, but Patrick knew it was also because she and Jen had rekindled their friendship.
Next-door neighbors and grade-school besties, they’d drifted apart after Jen’s parents divorced.
Patrick was gratified he’d brought them back together.
The Jumpscare Society screenings on Tuesdays after school were the only place the head cheerleader and the scowling goth girl could hang out without disrupting Cedar Lake High’s strict social hierarchy.
He was glad he’d brought everyone back together this weekend.
Well, almost everyone.
He and Tiffany promenaded up the veranda steps, the others following. “I’m so excited!” she squealed, mirroring his own enthusiasm.
Patrick took the key ring from the pocket of his khakis and found the right key. He opened the door and turned on the light. They all crowded eagerly inside, making noises of appreciation.
“It’s even more like the movie than I remember,” Tiffany said, squeezing Patrick’s arm.
The cabin was old and musty—Slasher had been filmed in the 1980s, after all—but it was no less grand.
A chandelier made of antlers hung from the exposed wooden beams that crisscrossed the main room’s high, peaked ceiling.
A narrow wooden staircase led up to the bedrooms on the second floor, the elaborately carved posts of the balustrade visible from the long hallway.
Mikey gawked in wonder. Even Jason and cynical Jen had genuine smiles on their faces. “I can’t believe we’re here,” Patrick said, a grin stretching his lips.
He inhaled deeply and coughed. The pine-scented air freshener burned the back of his throat.
It was probably hiding the scent of mildew.
Patrick could see why the rental company had decided to tear the cabin down and rebuild closer to town.
Tourists these days would expect Wi-Fi and air conditioning and an address easily found by food delivery apps. Not this isolated and aging abode.