Page 61 of The Trick

Finally, a long-darkened hallway that looks like it leads to a steep flight of stairs, beckons my attention. My feet feel as if they’re taking flight, my body glides across the creaky floorboards, the faster I move. Dark, ominous air engulfs me as my eyes try to adjust to the ill lit space.

Ten.

He roars as I lift my foot onto the staircase. Immediately I alternate my quickened pace onto the next wooden step. As I move up the stairs, my pulse accelerates, making my blood sound like a muffled symphony in my ears. Fear toying with me, I try to maintain a fragment of reality so I can hear what number he’s counting behind me. Though as I’m approaching the halfway point of the long, steep staircase, the only sound I hear is my own heart beating.

I make it up to the landing when I notice the counting has stopped. I flip around, peering down at the empty flight of stairs, but he’s not there. Confusion hits me, but I take this as an opportunity to keep it moving and hide. Just as I’m about to walk, a blanket of even darker air wraps itself around me, taking my already limited vision with it as well as my equilibrium.

It’s then, as I try to steady myself, I hear a piercing screech break through the muffled barrier at my ears. The scratchy sound is reminiscent of a stuck vinyl, except this isn’t any song I’ve ever heard. It’s not a song at all. It’s a recording and, as a familiar throaty groan emerges from the speakers, my every sense is transported back in time.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, you’re a filthy fucking slut aren’t you?”

“Mmm.”

“Tell me, final girl. What’s your favorite scene in Halloween?”

“Hmm, the one at the end of the first movie when Michael chases Lorrie to the bedroom.”

“The one where he stabs at the closet?”

“Mmm yea, that’s the one.”

“Huh, interesting.”

“You’re not kink shaming me are you?”

“Baby, let’s not forget how we began. I stalked you and, once you found out, you begged me to continue even once we got together. There’s no shame in what makes you wet. I just want to learn how I can keep you satisfied.”

“Follow me like Michael. Chase me. Scare me. Make me think my life is in your hands.”

“And when I catch you?”

“Never let me go.”

My own words from years prior bring every sense I have to life, making my heart and pussy throb in a twisted dance together.Never let me go.

The recording of our phone conversation fades, and in its place, the familiar synthesizer of the Halloween theme song fills the cabin. A thud sounds from the bottom of the staircase, and there he stands.

Beneath the Michael Myers mask he now wears, I hear him growl, like a hungry, deranged man before he takes to the stairs. I begin to backtrack, when a sliver of light from the window at the top of the steps reflects down to the knife clenched in his fist, signaling me to run.

From what I can see, there are only two rooms on the second level. I make my way to the furthest part of the hall, reaching for the doorknob, I quickly turn it and pile into the room, locking the door behind me.

With my back flat against the door, my heart races hearing the heavy thud of his booted footsteps in the hall. Though the accelerated beating of my heart comes to an abrupt halt when I see, across from where I stand, with my heart pounding, is a closet with theidentical white accordion doors fromHalloween.

I scurry over to the closet, which is barren with the exception of two garments hanging in the corner, though with the light from the candles, the fabric looks like a shadow. With his steps nearing the outside of the room, I move to all fours. Crawling inside the closet, I take my hand to the edge of the door and slide it closed before hiding in the far corner.

I’m seated for not even a few seconds before I hear him kicking down the bedroom door. The broken wood scatters across the floor and, even with the music still playing, I can hear every piece break.

His shoes scuff against the floor as he slowly moves one step at a time around the room.

I wait with bated breath for him to approach the closet door. Through the slats of wood, I can see his silhouette. As I tilt my chin up, bracing myself for him to open the door, a gasp falls from my lips as the gleaming steel of his knife pierces the center of the door.

Fast, aggressive strikes of his knife wielding hand tear the wood barrier to shreds. The slats fall like dominoes, one by one, scattering around the floor of the closet. Like an animal, he rips away what’s left of the door, eliminating the minimal barrier between us, a ravenous grunt sounding from under his mask.

I flatten my back against the wall, drawing my already bent knees deeper into my chest.

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