10. The Urge to Puke （and the Terror of Actually Doing It） #2
Maybe Ron notices, or maybe it just happens by accident. Right in the middle of his conversation with the others, he brings his hand back to me.
His warm palm settles on my arm again, solid, reassuring.
I look up. He's already looking at me, tuning out the rest of the group for a split second, and he smiles.
The din of the chatter fades into a dull hum.
For a single heartbeat, the rest of the world stops completely.
I swallow hard, entirely unable to tear my eyes away from his.
"Hey, wait, isn't this your ranch?"
Josh's question breaks the spell I was trapped in. I blink, trying to reconnect my synapses. Ron turns back to the captain, and yet his hand stays exactly where it is. On my skin.
"Yep," he confirms with a nod.
"Do you seriously live in a place like this?" The voice belongs to Dustin, who joins the group with his blonde wife, Sierra, in tow. She's wearing a short denim skirt, a light, flowy white top, and a pair of soft brown leather boots. He's practically glued to her side.
"Well, yeah. I actually just bought it recently," Ron explains, his tone easy and affable. "Haven't set foot in it for weeks, though. They kicked me out almost immediately to set it up for the show."
As he speaks, almost without me realizing it, gravity runs its invisible course. Ron and I have drifted a little closer. The space between our shoulders has thinned until it disappears completely. His intoxicating scent floods my senses.
God. My heart kicks into high gear again, hammering against my ribcage at a frantic pace.
"Who else are we missing? I can't remember," Sam cuts in, running a hand through his hair.
"The twins," Indya answers promptly. With impeccable timing, she shoots a look and a decidedly unveiled wink straight at Carolina.
Lizzie smiles, catching on immediately. "Oh, yeah. Do you happen to know where they are?"
Carolina's eyebrows shoot toward the sky, crossing her arms with an expression of absolute (and completely fake) innocence. "And why on earth would I know that, excuse me?"
Almost everyone bursts out laughing. Even I can't hold back a half-laugh. Cole practically made a shameless declaration of intent to her on live television, after all.
"Why shouldn't you know?"
A low, drawling, cocky voice makes me turn around. And there they are. The twins, Cade and Cole, striding gloriously toward the group in all their splendor: plaid shirts, massive silver buckles, Wrangler jeans, and dusty work boots.
"Okay..." Carolina clears her throat, though it's painfully obvious she can't take her eyes off Cole's approaching rogue grin. "So, by my count, that just leaves... Emerson and Susan."
We all look around, almost on pure instinct. But there's no one in sight.
The autumn sun is dipping low on the horizon, stretching the black shadows of the massive, centuries-old trees like skeletal fingers across the ground. A cold shiver runs down my spine.
"Shh... did you hear that?" Emma whispers suddenly, her voice trembling slightly.
We all fall silent instantly, the laughter snuffed out by the apprehension in her tone.
"I don't hear a damn thing," Sierra brushes it off, clinging to her husband's chest.
"You mean, besides the sound of my kisses?" Dustin murmurs, going right back to peppering her neck with kisses, completely impermeable and blind to the tension building in the group.
"Shh," Levi insists. His tone has gone rigid, authoritative. He heard something, too.
And then, in the almost unnatural silence of the countryside, we all hear it. Crick. Crack.
A violent rustling in the thick, dark bushes lining the edge of the woods. The branches thrash brutally. But... there is no wind. The air is completely dead, still. My pragmatic brain immediately catalogs the sound rationally: an animal. A deer, maybe a giant raccoon.
Emma gasps, stepping back. Levi, with the lightning-fast reflexes of someone who handles emergencies for a living, immediately slides an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to his side to reassure her.
Then, the noise gets louder. Closer. Snap.
Dry branches break under the weight of heavy footsteps. Someone—or something—is walking through the brush, heading straight for us.
"I'll go check it out," Levi declares, stepping forward with his jaw clenched, ready for action.
But Emma lets out a terrified whimper and grabs a fistful of his t-shirt, yanking him back hard. "No!"
"Maybe it's just the production crew hiding," Lizzie chimes in. "Maybe they want to prank us before they open the gates. A live jumpscare for the hidden cameras..."
"Wait," Ron whispers. His hand presses a little firmer on my arm. He tilts his head. "I hear voices."
We all strain our ears, holding our breath. The sound of trampled bushes is now accompanied by harsh muttering. Then, the words suddenly become clear.
"I told you that, statistically and topographically, this was not the right path!" a male voice exclaims, clearly irritated.
"Are you kidding me?! I'm the one ruining my designer heels in this fucking minefield of mud and brambles!" a high-pitched female voice shrieks back.
"Hey, beautiful, just a reminder that you were the one who got lost. Thank the laws of probability that I came to rescue you in the middle of nowhere."
One last branch is shoved violently out of the way, and from the depths of the dark brush emerge an exhausted Emerson and a Susan with her teased blonde curls full of twigs, dusting leaves and cobwebs off their clothes.
"Okay, now we're physically all here," Josh announces, looking around.
"So what do we do now?" Lizzie asks, planting her hands on her hips, her gaze bouncing between the woods and the massive iron gates.
"Do you think we should just... go in?" Indya suggests, uncertain.
While the group debates, gravity continues to pull me toward Ron.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and force myself to take a step to the side, putting a few inches of distance between us. I can't concentrate when he's this close.
"The gate is locked," Susan guesses.
"Maybe it's just pushed shut," Carolina counters with a shrug. "I mean, if production is already inside..."
Ron steps forward, passing Susan. He places his hands on the iron bars and pushes.
The metal groans. A long, shrill, sinister creak pierces the sudden silence as the two heavy doors slowly swing inward, kicking up clouds of dry dust.
"Well... it's open," Ron declares, turning back to us. He hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. "I guess, at this point... it's up to me to officially welcome you to Haunted Spurs."
As he delivers the last line, his eyes seek mine. He holds my gaze and winks.
I feel the earth spin beneath my feet.
What is wrong with me today?
Hesitantly, the group begins to make its way down the dirt driveway.
As we advance, the main estate emerges from the shadows of the ancient trees in all its decaying glory.
It is an absolute masterpiece of rural-gothic architecture.
A massive manor house, built on three asymmetrical floors, with time-blackened wood that seems to absorb the dusk's darkness.
The wraparound porch is supported by rotting wooden pillars, choked by dead, dry, twisted ivy clinging to the structure like bony fingers.
The windows are tall. The glass panes reflect the last rays of the dying sun, looking like empty, blind eye sockets peering down at us.
The sloped roof culminates in a lopsided turret, topped with a raven-shaped weather vane that sways, squeaking faintly in a sudden gust of wind.
Further back, shrouded in the evening mist, you can just make out the curved, dilapidated silhouette of a barn.
It’s a place that oozes death, abandonment, and buried secrets. It is perfect.
"Oh my God..." Emma squeaks. She instinctively wraps her arms around her chest, shivering. She takes a step back, bumping into Levi's chest. "This place gives me the creeps."
I stop in the middle of the driveway, my eyes wide.
The creeps? No. It’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. I study every detail in awe, drinking in the grim, majestic atmosphere of the house. I can already picture the creaking floorboards, the dark hallways, the long shadows on the peeling walls.
Well, yeah... I definitely won't be lacking inspiration in here.
I instinctively look for Ron, who... had enough madness to actually buy this place. He's standing close to me with his camcorder raised, his arm extended to frame himself and his surroundings. His face, illuminated by the screen, is relaxed and amused.
"Day one, Haunted Spurs," he announces to the lens in a projected, theatrical voice. "We just entered the estate. And the atmosphere is... spooky."
He does a slow pan, capturing the massive house, then shifts the frame to the group of contestants. He records Emma's horrified expression, Josh and Lizzie's competitive glares, and Katherine's furrowed brow.
Then, he tilts the camera down toward the ground. "Obviously, the bravest member of this expedition is him," he comments, as the display shows Ollie happily sniffing everything in sight, his tail wagging a mile a minute.
Right after that, the lens swings up and points dead at me.
Ron frames me in a close-up. His blue eyes peek out from behind the small camera, brimming with pure amusement.
"And here is the Moon Goddess in her natural habitat," he comments. "What do you think of the location, Selene? Dark enough for your tastes?"
Moon Goddess.
I narrow my eyes. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to summon my best icy, annoyed expression. I want to glare at him. I want to make it crystal clear that I do not appreciate having cameras shoved in my face without warning. Or mythological nicknames.
I try with everything I have.
But he lowers the lens just a fraction, shoots me another lopsided grin with that damn dimple sinking into his cheek, and my mask crumbles miserably.
I huff, shaking my head and turning away to escape the frame, but it's useless.
Repressing a smile around this buffoon is becoming, with every passing minute, dramatically more complicated.