Page 32 of Horror and Chill
To us.
She stays seated, the bone saw resting across her lap. Then she drags it slowly along her thigh, letting the fake teeth scrape against her skin.
Too bad the blood’s not real.
She glances up, straight into the lens, and brings her fingers to her mouth. Licks them clean like she’s savoring something sweeter than sugar.
It’s time.
“She’s waiting,” Corwin says.
“She thinks she’s in charge,” Garron sneers.
“She’s not,” I reply.
We reach into the trunk and pull out the new mask. A hybrid—partPurge, partThe Punisherskull. The eyes are hollow.
Garron doesn’t speak. He just puts it on.
It’s his turn. He moves toward the barn without a sound. We watch him disappear into the dark, and we smile.
Let the next scene begin.
12
Agatha
The chat is losingits mind again.
I can barely keep up with the messages flying across the screen, a blur of usernames and thirst. Some are begging. Some are threatening to sell organs to tip me. Others just keep typing the same thing over and over—more,more,more.
I lower the camera slightly and pan the angle, dragging it from my mouth to my chest. My nipples are stiff, the cold barn air working in my favor, pebbled and proud as they press against the brown lace of my lingerie. The blood is sticky now, not quite dry, so it glistens in the light and gives the illusion it’s warm. The camera dips lower, hovering at my belly button before catching the thin triangle of my thong. The VCH shows when I shift my hips just right.
That sets them off.
GothDaddy69:God she’s unreal.
GraveyardDaddy:I’d sell my soul for 5 seconds
DadIssuesUnresolved:Spread it…and take it off.
CryptCummin:I’m on my knees in a Walmart bathroom. Show mercy!
I laugh softly, letting the moment linger before I speak.
“You’re all so greedy,” I murmur, dragging my fingers along my stomach, leaving a trail of fake blood behind. “But, lucky for you, I’m feeling generous.”
The camera picks up the subtle shift in my breathing. It’s not fake. I’m not acting. I’m really into tonight. There’s a humming in my veins. Not just arousal or adrenaline, something more, something unhinged.
A sound like a branch breaking catches my attention.
I freeze.
My eyes dart up toward the rafters, the far corners of the barn, the door I left cracked open. Nothing moves. No new shadows. Probably just the damn wind.
I turn my back to the door, letting my body block the frame. If something is out there, it can wait. I reach for the prop knife. The dildo knife really.
It’s hard plastic, a matte black handle with a rubber blade that bends just a little when pressed. I lick it slow and deliberate, letting my tongue curl around the edge.
