Page 79 of Horror and Chill
Corwin leans against the wall, arms crossed, grinning like a man already holding the prize. Garron stands next to him, just watching like he’s lost in his favorite show. I stand behind the ring light, front and center, taking it all in.
She stands slowly to show off the dress. My dress. She hasn't thanked me. I don’t need her to. I only need her to wear it. It fits her like a glove. With the front cut to just above her bellybutton, her tits look amazing, and I can’t wait to have my tongue on them later.
She keeps talking, teasing her viewers, building tension like she was born for it. “But here’s the twist,” she says. “I’m not alone tonight. I’m going to hide. And when they find me, you’ll know.”
Her eyes flick up to me as she says it. Testing. Taunting. I step closer, but still so her phone doesn’t catch me. “Tell them the rules, Little Horror.”
Her mouth curves, lips painted blood-red. “Rules are simple. I hide. They seek. When one finds me, you’ll see what happens next. If I make it long enough, maybe you’ll get something special.”
Corwin whistles low. Garron shakes his head. I feel the tension in my jaw, but I let it stay. This is hers to sell. Ours to control.
She cuts the feed with a tap, sliding the phone into the tripod clamp. “Happy now?” she spits.
“No,” I answer, calmly. “I will be when you learn what it feels like to be caught.”
Corwin pushes off the wall, digging into the bag. Three identical gas masks come out. He holds them up like trophies. “Time to play hide and fuck.”
My chest tightens, slow, hot. I take the mask from Corwin’s hand, turn it over once in mine. She flinches when I look at her. Good. She should.
“Here’s how it works,” I tell her. “You get two minutes. Run where you want. Hide however you can. When we find you, we'll bring you back here, and you don’t get to say no. You give in. That’s the rule.”
Her breath stutters, quick, sharp, but she lifts her chin, anyway. “And if I don’t run?”
“Then you wait on the slab,” I say. “And we take turns until you admit you should have.”
The crypt is silent except for her breathing. She looks from me to Garron to Corwin, weighing, calculating, already deciding whether she wants to be hunted or cornered.
I want to see her run. I want to watch her test herself against the dark. I want to watch her fail.
I hold out the flashlight, daring her to take it. When her fingers brush mine, the charge is instant.
“Choose, Agatha,” I murmur. “Run or kneel.”
Agatha
I don’t answer him. I just run.
My boots hit stone, then grass, my legs pumping before I can second-guess my decision. The cold air slaps my face, biting at my skin as I tear out of the crypt and into the open graveyard. Even the bugs go quiet, like the whole place knows I’m being hunted.
The cemetery sprawls wider than I thought. Headstones, crooked and crumbling, stretch into the dark like broken teeth. Weeds snag at my ankles. My flashlight bounces wildly in my hand until I flick it off—too obvious, too bright. The moon is enough.
I need cover. A tree, a stone, anything that swallows me whole. I dart between two monuments, ducking low behind one so eroded the name is gone. My chest heaves. Behind me, their footsteps spread out.
I crouch lower, heart pounding, ears straining. A crunch of gravel. A whisper of weeds parting. I shift, crawling behind another stone, eyes scanning for something better. The crypts are too obvious. The trees too open. My pulse spikes when I spot it—a family plot ringed in wrought iron, half-collapsed, one corner swallowed by ivy. I slip inside, pressing my back against the vines, letting the green swallow me.
I peer through a gap.
And that’s when I see them.
They move out in three directions, masks turning black into black, every step too controlled, too patient, like they already know the end. Shapes in black slip between the headstones, glass eyes catching the moonlight, filters jutting from their faces like mouths that shouldn’t exist. My gut twists hard. They don’t look like men anymore. They look like nightmares, and I’m the one they came to hunt.
Corwin lopes across the far side, swinging his head from side to side like he’s scenting me out. Garron’s heavier steps beat steadily against the dirt, closer, measured. And Evander, his moves are quiet, deliberate, cutting the space between them, circling in a way that makes my breath catch.
For a second, I forget to breathe. They look wrong. Alien. And even I have to admit—creepy as hell.
But my thighs press tight anyway. Because every part of me knows exactly what happens if they find me.
And part of me wants them to.
