Page 6 of Final Girls and F*ck Boys

I could feel the oppressive weight of the forest pressing in on all sides, the trees crowding closer until it felt like we were driving through a tunnel carved from the forest itself. The silence outside was unnerving, broken only by the occasionalrustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl. I rolled my window back up and focused on something other than the silence.

After what felt like an eternity of winding through the dense woods, the trees finally began to thin out, revealing the manor in all its eerie glory. The forest fell away abruptly, the sudden openness disorienting after the claustrophobic darkness. Ahead, expensive cars were parked haphazardly along the edge of the drive, their sleek, polished surfaces gleaming faintly in the dim light.

As first impressions go, the manor was breathtaking—if you had a taste for the macabre.

And I happened to love it.

The Windsor Manor loomed before us, a massive structure that seemed to rise out of the ground, as if it had grown there rather than been built. It was colossal, a hulking beast of stone and wood that had withstood the ravages of time, even if parts of it had succumbed to decay. One entire wing had collapsed, the ruins a chaotic jumble of stone and rubble, broken rafters jutting skyward like the splintered bones of some long-dead creature. Those jagged timbers pointed accusingly at the full moon, as though blaming it for the manor’s tragic fate.

The rest of the manor, though still standing, was a weathered relic of a bygone era. The exterior was a patchwork of blackened shingles, the wood scorched by decades of harsh weather and neglect. The steeply pitched gables were crowned with ornate, spiderweb-like designs, the intricate patterns barely visible beneath a thick layer of grime and age. Vines snaked their way up the walls, creeping and twisting as they began the slow process of reclaiming the house, wrapping it in a green shroud that blended seamlessly with the surrounding forest. It was as though the manor was being pulled back into the soil, little by little, until one day, it would vanish entirely, leaving behind nothing but a memory—and perhaps the weatheredweathervane in the shape of a crow still perched defiantly atop the highest peak.

Through the shattered windows, I caught glimpses of flashing lights, the strobe effect casting wild, chaotic shadows across the lawn. I turned the key in the ignition, silencing the engine, and in the sudden quiet, the distant thrum of bass-heavy music reached my ears, a dull, rhythmic pulse that seemed to resonate through the very ground beneath us. Even before I stepped out of the SUV, I could feel the beat vibrating through the air, syncing with my own heartbeat, a primal rhythm that stirred something deep within me.

The smell of woodsmoke drifted on the breeze, the scent of a bonfire somewhere nearby mingling with the warm night air. It was a familiar, comforting smell, a reminder of fall despite the lingering heat of summer. I inhaled deeply, savoring the scent, letting it settle my nerves even as the adrenaline began to course through my veins.

There was a kind of exhilarating, white-knuckle excitement that takes over your body when you arrive at a party, especially one as notorious as this. The anticipation, the thrill of the unknown, the promise of a night where anything could happen—it was intoxicating. I felt it now, that heady rush of adrenaline that made me feel alive, invincible. I was drunk on nothing but the sheer joy of being young, of having the world at my feet and the night spread out before me like a blank canvas just waiting to be filled with whatever wild, reckless strokes I chose to paint.

As I stepped out of the SUV, the cool air brushed against my skin, carrying with it the sound of distant laughter and the faint strains of music. The manor loomed above me, its dark windows like empty eyes, watching as I made my way towards the entrance. The night was ours, and I intended to seize every moment of it.

Sawyer and I were giddy with excitement, flashing our middle fingers at the various catcalls random men sent our way as they stumbled, drunk and high, out on the front lawn. The rickety front door opened for us, and a kid I’d seen at school once but never met ushered us inside. He was wearing a full suit, but he had apparently lost his shoes sometime during the night as he screamed his hello at us. His blond hair was sticking up in various directions, and red lipstick dotted his mouth and neck. As we walked by him, a girl tugged him into a deep kiss as he laughed loudly.

“Oh, my God!” Sawyer yelled over the music, white teeth vibrant as a black light flashed.

There were neon lights flashing, and the strobing effect made me lightheaded. I fell into the feeling, loving the woozy twinge behind my eyes and deep in my stomach.

Fake spiderwebs hung from banisters and trailed along the orange-colored string lights. Battery-operated candles flickered with faux flames, precariously balanced on any and all flat surfaces. Where the hosts found them in the middle of summer, I have no idea, but there were pumpkins of various sizes and colors all over the house, some with missing guts and carved faces, others whole and round and perfect.

It was already muggy with the humidity of the season creeping in through the half-open roof and cracked windows, but add the heat of dancing bodies, and I was quickly sweating. There was Jigsaw walking by, an Ellen Ripley on his arm. Killers walked around in packs while final girls sat on the rotting couches, avoiding the sharp-tipped springs as they sipped blood-colored drinks.

I tugged Sawyer onto the makeshift dance floor, which seemed to be a former formal dining room, and started swaying to the music. It was something electric and lively, a wild beat I could barely keep up with. Arms above my head, I swayed backand forth, body moving in sinuous, snake-like movements as I rolled my hips against Sawyer’s. She gyrated back against me, holding my hips tightly in her hands.

I gazed around us, watching in flashes as eyes behind masks stared at us hungrily. Closing my eyes, I reveled in the feeling of being watched, in being the center of attention. More sweat beaded on my forehead as we continued to dance through multiple songs. Once my thighs were shaking from exertion, I gasped out to Sawyer that I needed a drink and, taking her hand in mine, I led her from the dance floor in search of the kitchen.

I trailed my hand along the walls as I searched, gathering dust and cobwebs on my fingertips from the tongues of curling wallpaper. The scene was of stags running from hunters. I stood for a moment, entranced by the fear in the painted stag’s eye in the strobing lights, before Sawyer jostled me from behind as someone ran into her. I wiped my hand on my overalls before continuing toward the kitchen.

It took a lot of trial and error trying, but eventually, we found our way there. It was jam-packed with people. Looking back at Sawyer, we both gave heavy sighs, knowing we’d have to muscle our way to the drinks. Shoving my shoulders into folks, I pushed my way through, shouting “excuse me” over the music that undoubtedly went unnoticed. Eventually, we discovered the island, buried under untold bottles of clear and brown glass. We grabbed two unopened bottles, a water for me and a beer for Sawyer, and took long gulps before fighting our way free from the crowded room.

We wandered the party a bit, saying hi here and there when we spotted people we knew, before we came to a room at the end of a hallway. It appeared to be a second living area. As I took in the huge bookshelves commanding the back wall, Sawyer’s nails dug into my bicep.

“Holy Christ,” she hissed. “Look, look, look.” As I turned my head, her hand shot up and intercepted my cheek. “Oh, my God! Don’t actually look!”

I rolled my eyes at her as I frowned. “You told me to look!”

“Look without looking!” she shushed as she turned us around, standing in front of me. Her eyes were wide and joyous, sparking with vulpine amusement.

“Oh, okay, because that makes sense,” I snarked.

“Stop sassing me and look over my shoulder while we’re talking.” I followed her advice, bringing my water to my lips and assessing the room casually with my gaze as she bullshitted some story about a nonexistent date she had this weekend. I nearly choked on my water when I spotted them.

Eye narrowing, I capped my water. “Let’s go.”

Sawyer gave a low chuckle, gushing, “Yes, yes, yes!”

We turned to the large group of people and walked over.

“Hey, there,” I called out. Replies rained out from people from school and friends of my brother, but I only had eyes for one.

Chamberlain was sprawled out on the leather couch, thick thighs spread wide, one arm stretched out behind the girl on his left as a beer dangled from that hand. He dragged the bottle up and down her shoulder, leaving droplets of condensation behind. I saw her shiver minutely and snuggle in closer to him, placing a possessive hand on his knee as she turned her body in toward him. His hood was pulled up, shadowing his features, but I could feel the weight of his stare like fingertips trailing along my skin. A mask lay beside his thigh, but I couldn’t make out what it was.

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