Page 15 of Horror and Chill
I end the stream and stare at the final scroll of comments, breath still shallow from the dance. My skin is flushed, my pulse a slow, simmering throb under the surface—but it’s not just from the movement. It’s from being seen. Understood.
Sk8rSlut97:That wasn’t just a striptease. That was a fucking warning.
ChurchOfAgatha:Control?? Bitch I felt that in mysoul.
ThighHighPriest:She’s not scared. She’s hunting.
DadIssuesUnresolved:Who pissed off our dark queen? Say the word and I’ll bury them myself.
GothDaddy69:That was art. That was war. That was a fucking resurrection.
I smirk and scroll further.
BloodAndBoudoir:You good, baby? Blink twice if we need to riot.
SoftlySadist:That wasn’t for us, was it? That was forhim.
VelvetNoose:Whoever tried to break her just gave her teeth.
I pause on that last one. My fingers are still on the touchpad and my throat is tight. They got the message. Every single one of them. They saw it in the song choice, in the way I didn’t smile, didn’t wink, didn’t giggle through the undress. They felt it in the beat, in the sharpness of my movements, in the deliberate way I peeled off every layer like I was shedding a skin that never fit.
They know I’m pissed. They know I’m not broken.
He didn’t scare me.
He just woke me up.
And now I’m wide awake.
The next morning,I teach like nothing ever happened. My kids are loud and chatty, still sticky from breakfast, but excited to learn. Today’s lesson is about teeth: how many they have, what each one is for, and why they shouldn’t yank them out with a string tied to a doorknob like old cartoons suggest.
We draw molars, color in incisors, and practice brushing motions with puppets and silly songs. They love it. I love them. They ground me.
After dismissal, I drive to Behind the Lens.
Nova’s chewing on the cap of her pen when I walk in. “Hey, Agatha, Lorna said to wait. She’ll grab you when she’s done yelling at Saul.”
I smirk. “What’d he do now?”
“Grant couldn’t finish the final scene forDeep Woods at Camp Cumtree.”
I raise a brow. “Why? Is he sick?”
Nova looks at me and smirks. “Nope. Saul fluffed him during lunch.”
My mouth opens, then closes again. “Hewhat?”
“Apparently Grant was nervous. Saul offered. Got him off so good he couldn’t reload in time for the afternoon shoot.”
“He made himcomebefore the climax scene?”
“Yup, and Lorna is pissed. You know Saul has had issues before with being toofluffy.”
I don’t get a chance to reply before Lorna’s office door flies open and Saul storms out muttering under his breath. “I was helping. He asked for his nerves to be gone. I delivered. He’s the one with a tragic refractory period.”
I say nothing as he storms from the building. Lorna steps out of her office and leans casually against the doorframe, like she owns the world and dares it to argue. Her teal-blue hair is twisted into retro victory rolls, tied off with a red bandana that somehow makes her look like both Rosie the Riveter and a punk rock pin-up. Her lips are painted a wicked matte red that matches the cherry of her heels. The full sleeve on her right arm is full of aliens, skulls, stars, and vintage pin-up girls all dancing across her pale skin. She has the kind of presence that makes you sit up straighter without realizing it. She’s bold, brash, and unapologetically hot.
She lifts a manicured brow at me and jerks her chin toward her office. “Come on, little monster. Let’s talk.”
