Page 4 of Scary In Love
Just as I’d seen with the previous group, the door slams shut, and from somewhere a speaker plays the obligatory haunted house music. So far, so obvious.
There’s a ghostly noise behind us, and Peter leaps about three feet into the air. “Oh my God, what the fuck?”
“Feeling brave, are we?” our host cackles. “Think you’ll be the special little snowflakes who’ll survive the Miller Mansion?”
He grunts again and shuffles closer, sniffing at the air between us. Peter hides behind me.
“No,” he says. “We’re nobody special.”
Er, speak for yourself, mate. I’m a bloody delight.
“They should have left this place locked, you know? All you disgusting people, desperate to stick your noses in where they’re not wanted. None of your stinkin’ business what goes on here. You’re the real ghouls.”
The man lifts his lamp, casting a glow across the floor as he heads deeper into the grand entrance hall. I look up and take in our surroundings.
All my life I’ve wondered what lies beyond those gates, and I can’t believe I’m actually inside the Miller house. This space is dark and dusty, with high ceilings and a huge chandelier covered in cobwebs. Those are definitely real.
This is my dream home aesthetic. I could quite happily spend my days flouncing around a place like this with only ghosts and spiders for company.
A carpeted staircase winds around one wall to the upper levels, and I crane my neck to see where it leads. At the top, a man in a shirt and waistcoat paces back and forth, whistling to himself as he swings an axe up onto his shoulder.
When our gazes snag, he does a double-take, and his axe falls to his side. I smile up at him, unsure if he’s a background actor or someone we’re supposed to acknowledge.
He leans against the balustrade and smiles back, full of cocky bravado I’m not normally into. Yet, when he tilts his head and casts his eyes down my body, I feel like I’m blushing all over.
HisPeaky Blinders-style costume is hot, and so is his face. Definitely not from around here. On closer inspection, his hair is a mess, there’s a bloody gash on his cheek, and he’s still staring.
I give him a demure little wave, and he laughs to himself, pressing his tongue into the side of his cheek. Then he lifts one hand, points straight down at me, and draws slow circles with his finger.
Interacting with scare actors is the best thing about these haunts, and I love being told what to do, but this one feels different. Still, I follow his orders and twirl for him, blushing harder knowing he’s studying me from all angles.
At the end of my rotation, I make eye contact and curtsey. When he sweeps his hand down his face, I lose all interest in the house. The only thing I want to know about is this guy.
4
Jenna
Myfeethitthefirst step without thinking, but someone grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“What are you doing?”
“Huh?”
Oh. Peter.
The man I’m on a date with. Oops.
I drag my eyes away, and give Peter’s hand the same reassuring pat I give my residents when they’re frustrated their favourite TV show has finished.
When I look back, the man with the axe is still staring, but I lose sight of him when our guide leads us into a dark corridor.
“Don’t follow him,” Peter hisses.
“Peter, this is it. It’s started. We’re supposed to follow him.”
“Hurry up,” the guide barks at us.
We scurry along and try to stay close, but he stops short, snarling over his shoulder when we crash into the back of him.
