Page 36 of That Island Feeling

‘I couldn’t find the chainsaw,’ he rasps, jaw muscles leaping as he regains his breath.

An excited thrill fizzes in my chest as it dawns on me what he’s up to – all that’s missing is Jason’s blood-splattered ice hockey mask.

Jack points the leaf blower up at the window. ‘Ready?’

I grin my response and almost immediately, the decibel-blasting sound blares like a jet engine roaring to life. Even over the thunderous noise I can hear the pure chaos inside.

‘WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!’

‘I TOLD YOU THIS PLACE WAS FUCKING HAUNTED!’

The door swings open again.

‘HELLO? WHO’S THERE?!’

My stomach twists, and Jack shoots me a frantic look.

Footsteps are approaching.

‘Quick! Run!’ he cries, tossing the leaf blower into the nearby shrubs and grabbing the ice. I almost miss a step as we race up the driveway but recover quickly as Jack grips my hand.

‘You good?’ he pants.

I nod, although my lungs are burning.

Then suddenly the bucks are right behind us.

‘WHO’S THERE?!’

We both startle, then drop each other’s hands and sprint in opposite directions as if our lives depend on it.

What feels like an eternity later, though it’s probably not even a minute, I’m alone on the dark path, a few hundred metres up from Keith’s place, when a deep, gravelly voice tickles my ear and a cold hand clamps over my mouth.

‘WhoooOOOooo!’

I don’t know if I scream first and then bite, or bite and then scream.

‘Fuck!’ Jack yells. ‘You bit me!’

‘Fuck you right back!’ I shout, my pulse racing in my ears. I spin around to face him. ‘What’s with the UNO Reverse card? I thought we were on the same team! You scared the shit out of me!’

He drops the ice, his expression softening as he gathers me into his arms. ‘Hey, hey, hey, I’m sorry, Andie. I thought it would be funny. I was wrong.’ I fight the urge to burrow into the nook of his neck.

How is it that he feels this familiar?

I realise then that I can taste blood. But there’s another distinct taste too – mixed with the metallic flavour is a sharp citrus.

‘Why do I taste oranges?’ I ask, moving away.

Jack shrugs. ‘I cooked fish for dinner. I use them to get rid of the smell.’

‘Ah, that’s why I could smell oranges earlier!’

‘Are you hungry?’ he asks. ‘I have leftovers.’

‘I should be getting back. Get those prawns on ice . . .’ I say reluctantly. I am starting to wonder if the girls even want me there. Jack’s right – they don’t seem to appreciate any of the effort I’ve made.

I reach for the bag of ice, but Jack intercepts it. ‘Did you really think I was going to let you walk back on your own?’

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