Page 6 of Scary In Love
“Hold my hand,” he says, grabbing mine.
This would be cute if he didn’t look like he was on the verge of tears. And if his palm wasn’t drenching mine in his cold, clammy sweat.
5
Jenna
Petersqueezeshardasthe door creaks open and we step into a musty, old drawing room.
Houses of this age are so big, most rooms have several doors through which to enter and leave. It makes them perfect for haunts because visitors can follow a loop through the property without ever seeing any other guests. Though that doesn’t mean you won’t hear their screams.
I’ve been to enough of these houses to know the scare actors always come from behind you, usually while you’re distracted by something, orsomeone. As soon as the door closes, I’m glancing at the shadowy spaces for hidden figures, or curtains that drape so low they could definitely conceal a figure or two.
Some houses build fake walls with hidden doors for actors to hide behind, poised and waiting to strike. There are plenty of spots in this room, and I have to find a balance between anticipating the scares and relaxing enough to let it unfold around me. It’s not as much fun when you’ve predicted everything that will happen.
This room is enormous, and I feel like I’ve stepped back in time. Maroon walls and ceilings, with gilded cornices I’m sure once gleamed in the sunlight. Brass wall sconces cast soft light down the walls, but the rest of the room is in darkness, save for the blazing fire.
Two sofas face each other, with a low table between them. We appear to have walked in on afternoon tea, but Peter and I are completely alone, which means someone will leap out on us at any second.
“What do we do now?” he asks.
A record crackles from an old gramophone in the corner.
“Now, we wait. Are you okay? Are you enjoying—”
A door at the opposite end of the room opens, and a woman with elegantly coiffed hair and a corseted dress interrupts us. Her face is powdery white, cheeks heavily rouged. She appears to float in with a tight smile on her face.
Peter shifts behind me. It was a stupid question. He’s obviously not enjoying himself, but I am.
“Guests!” the woman cheers, clapping once and clasping her hands at her chest. “Oh, beloved guests. Welcome, please do come closer. Won’t you join me for tea by the fire?”
“Nope,” Peter says, popping the P.
Palming the small of his back, I guide him over to where the lady awaits, her smile just a smidge too wide. I take a seat on the sofa, tugging on his sleeve until he does the same.
Another man might shuffle closer because he can’t bear to be even three inches away from me, but Peter scoots right up close because he’s a wimp.
His thigh presses against mine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, but not because of him. Every nerve in my body knows that sitting on a sofa in the middle of the room means someone is going to approach us from behind.
They might barge in screaming, or sneak up in silence, but either way, I’m ready. I fold my hands in my lap and settle into the scene.
“Goodness, it’s been so long since we’ve had visitors,” she says, her posh British accent hitting all the right notes. “I had a strange feelingthis morning that we’d be receiving visitors. I couldn’t tell if it was a dream or a premonition. I said as much to my husband, the good Mr. Miller, upon waking.”
With a soft hum, her excitement wanes, shoulders sagging as the flames draw her attention. She is silent for a long moment, her breath hitching before she speaks again.
“He scolded me for indulging in such fantasies, of course, and I paid the price. But afterwards, I had Sally prepare a few treats for us to enjoy, just in case. It really has been far too long.”
So Mr Miller is a villain in all of this. I make a mental note to give him my best death stare when we meet him.
Lady Miller hums softly, leaning forward to lock eyes with mine. “How have you been, my dear?”
“I have been well,” I tell her, playing along.
“Your new companion is most handsome.” Her nose wrinkles, and she taps her fingertips together excitedly.
“Me?” Peter croaks.
“Oh yes. Jenna’s previous acquaintances have left rather a sour taste.” My back stiffens. “It is Jenna, isn’t it? My memory isn’t what it once was.”
