2. Mona
There have been a lot of moments in my twenty-four years where I thought I’d hit rock bottom, yet I somehow keep finding new layers to peel back and slip inside like a cold, dark, and lonely sleeping bag.
For a long time, I waited for a hand to find mine in the shadows and help me up, but it never came.
Not when I was ten years old and not now.
There’s only one person I’ve ever been able to rely on—myself.
I don’t mind it. I love hanging out with my lonesome.
Occasionally, it’d be nice to have someone to share life with, even a friend.
But that's something I’ve always struggled to maintain.
My self-sabotaging isolation from genuine connection when it gets to feel a little too real, has consequences, like losing the people I let in for fear of them hurting me first.
I’ve always been an overachiever when it comes to my own self-destruction. It’s a skill, really. But I learned from the best.
My parents were the prime example of people who should never have children. Selfish to the bone. Narcissistic. Downright terrible, irredeemable people.
Growing up, kids never assume their parents are bad. People learn the world through their parents’ eyes, actions, and affection. Unfortunately, that affects kids all the same, both good and bad.
We never get to choose the family we’re born with, but we certainly get to decide if we’re going to stay in it. When I was seventeen, I made my choice and moved out, living in my car until high school ended. My parents didn’t care, and I didn’t report them. Us parting ways was for the best.
I showered in the locker rooms, stole food from the cafeteria or gas stations when the opportunity arose, and did what I had to do in order to survive. It wasn’t easy, and I’m definitely not proud of it. But I’m here today because of who I was then.
For a while after graduation, I had my shit together. After moving out of my small town and to Minneapolis, I worked full-time as a waitress until I turned twenty-one and became a bartender, the position finally opening up. The tips were good, but, God, putting up with the drunk men never was.
It wasn’t my lifelong goal—that’s for sure—but it paid the bills and kept me fed.
That’s all I could’ve asked for … until I showed up to work one day and was called into my new manager’s office.
I had known he was a creep from day one when he walked into the building, but my gut instinct was proven true when he asked me out late one night after my shift.
My mouth is an untamed creature all its own. Sometimes, I have no control over what comes out, and, boy, did everything come out that day. I can’t even remember how many things I told him I could fit up his ass.
In the end, the joke was on me when he fired me for my “poor attitude and lack of initiative.” All bullshit. But it doesn’t matter because Minnesota is an at-will state, and he could’ve fired me for any reason he saw fit and gotten away with it—well, to a certain degree.
I didn’t fight it. I might have flipped a couple of picture frames on his desk, with photos of him and his golf friends, and chucked a pen or two. But then I left, ready for a change and a fresh start.
And yet again, I was punched in the face with a concrete brick and knocked down another peg when my apartment lease was canceled because they were selling the building.
I was given a thirty-day notice, as were all of the tenants.
But I didn't have money for two months’ rent and the security deposit and the thousand hidden fees that I can’t afford.
To be honest, it was far too easy to fall back into the old habit of living out of my car, Ginny.
She’s my oldest friend and has been on this long journey with me since I was a teenager.
Which is why in June, July, and a few days into August, she and I reconnected intimately while I slept in the leaned-back front seat, curled up with a blanket.
Honestly, sometimes, I think it was more comfortable there than in bed.
But gas is expensive, and I’m broke, and soon winter will be arriving.
But last month, early August, I came up with the perfect solution—or rather, my new job unknowingly presented it when I stumbled upon a hidden room while onboarding.
It’s been four weeks since I started living inside of this haunted house, in a secret room that has clearly gone untouched for years.
It’s dusty, and it smells like an antique shop, but it’s perfect.
I stay shut away before the crews leave, and security does their final sweep.
Thanks to a few candles I swiped from the prop room, I have a comforting glow since there’s no working light in here.
I think something’s wrong with the wiring because I already tried replacing the bulb, and that did nothing. But I shall prevail, as I always do.
I’d heard rumors from the staff that this place is haunted, and genuinely, for the first week I stayed here, I believed it, too, with the weird stuff happening around me. Random lights on in the hallway. Picture frames on the ground. It was like something came alive in the house at night.
Somehow, me losing my home, moving into my car, and then illegally moving into my place of work was only the beginning of craziness.
Handmade cards began showing up in my room only a week into staying here.
I found the first letter, lying on my makeshift bed of blankets and a thin mattress I’d stolen from the prop storage.
The cute card looked like a little ghost holding a card of his own, which read: For my boo.
I was scared to the bone that whoever this person was, he was going to turn me in.
I was also mortified that someone knew I was staying here at all.
But when I looked inside, it was … eerily romantic.
I’m your shadow, a ghost in the walls.
You’re my obsession, walking these halls.
Be not afraid; you’re safe and sound.
With me by your side, you won’t be found.
Utter the word and summon me in.
You’re mine forever, saint and sin.
—Your Masked Haunting
It was creepy. A bit terrifying. All-around inappropriate, especially if he was a worker here. But—this is a huge but—there was a part of me that found it oddly endearing.
I’m an idiot. But I’ve never had someone make me a card before or go out of their way for me. I’m usually treated like I’m in the way. The following few days were quiet, and I suspected whoever it was lost interest.
That was before I saw him. It was during the evening.
I had just finished painting the last kid’s face at the private event, and I felt eyes on me across the yard.
When I turned, I saw someone in a purple devil mask with glowing eyes locked on me.
I knew at first glance that it was My Masked Haunting.
But I was still scared shitless and immediately booked it into the house of bustling workers and disappeared into my room, where no one could discover me as I tried to catch my breath, hoping he wouldn’t follow.
I stayed silent for what felt like hours.
Eventually, no one came into my secret hideaway, and the house grew silent as the event attendees and staff all went home. I heard the cleaning crew next, but they were gone within an hour. I think it was only then that I took a deep breath.
Twelve more cards showed up over the course of the following three weeks, each declaring his affection and attraction to me in beautiful, occasionally spicy poems.
But then, yesterday, he stepped up his game in a whole new way.
Last night, after running to the gas station a few streets over for some snacks and nonperishables to keep stowed in my room, I padded through the massive house to my quiet hallway, pressed the hidden button in the wall sconce, and slipped inside.
Thank God this place doesn’t have security cameras on the exterior of the east wing that I use. But it helps that I crawl through a window and not an actual door.
When I got in my room, I quickly discovered that more than the interior had changed.
In place of my pile of blankets was a new queen-size bed with a cozy, brand-new bedspread.
A mini fridge was stocked with my favorite drinks, Witch’s Brew Alani and Propel water, along with a bunch of food and a microwave.
He nailed it all, and it warmed my heart to the core.
There’s a word for that, Mona. Starts with stalk and ends with er, my inner voice taunts me.
Yeah—thoughtful, nice, generous, I argue back.
Insane. Ridiculous. Dangerous. Batshit crazy. My inner voice responds, and I groan.
I’m well aware this is likely going to end horribly, possibly with me dead somewhere in a ditch. But … it might be a risk I’m willing to take because for the first time in a long time, I feel like someone has my back, and I’m not truly alone.
But the bed and the fridge weren’t the only things that showed up that night. There was also another card in the shape of a little ghost.
Being pursued by a tall, mysterious guy using handmade cards, thoughtful gifts, and love letters is certainly not how I expected my time at The Schrader House to start. It’s definitely interesting though.
Written inside the card that night was a message that I’ve reread a thousand times over in the span of the three days that have passed.
Now, I don’t need to look at the paper to remember what it says; I have it memorized. And every time, the thought of meeting him makes my heart race and palms sweat.
My Scaredy Cat,
Open the door and let me in.
Or block me out and don’t give in.
Beware, I’m not going away.
I’ll be watching and waiting every day.
Whatever it takes until you’re mine.
We’re soulmates, Mona, you and I.
—Your Masked Haunting
I should call the police—I should. But it’d be awfully hard to keep my living arrangements and report him at the same time.
Besides, what would I even say?