Page 17 of Haunt

But I knew she wasitfor me.My pair. The moment she plucked the legs off of a spider. We had watched it crawl over the metal slats above our heads, holding the mattress of the sleeping child’s bunk above. I watched her, take it apart, piece by piece, gifting me its writhing torso into the palm of my hand, giggling at the messy conflict of love and horror on my face.

I had wanted nothing more than to keep her safe.

It’s why I lied to The Obsidian.

I thought they were the worst thing she would ever have to face in this world.

But telling them she wasn’t worthy was the biggest fucking mistake of my life.

On the only Halloween we spent together, we ran, hand in hand, to the funfair. There were rides and snacks and prizes. Too many things to look at and take in, but the only thing I wanted to watch was her. Even then, at that young age, ten to my nearly sixteen, she had a lightness about her. Carefree. That was why I enjoyed her so much. But really, it was like trapping one of those oil-slick coloured beetles in a jar. Shoving a stick and a leaf inside with a tablespoon of dirt and watching it make the best of a shitty situation. I always forgot to put air holes in the top.

It got worse for her after I left. The people who used her. I know all of them by name.

I will gift her every finger that ever touched her. Every cock that should never have been inside of her. Every tongue, every tooth and bone.

I shall jar it all, put the pieces into different coloured liquids, seal the lids and display them on a shelf for her viewing.

So she will always know just how far I will go for her. And if she ever forgets, she can look at the macabre display and feel it.

My love for her.

It is vengeance.

Not something cults are particularly known for. The one I am a part of certainly is not.

But I don’t give a fuck when it comes to my girl and her safety.

All of the things I couldn’t protect her from.

Save her from.

I won’t let it happen again, Little Lamb.

As I stare down at her, lifted cheekbones, bright smile, my heart pangs in my chest. Knowing what is to come. More things that will hurt her. All things she must do so that we can be together. It is selfish. Really. It’s the wholeif you love her, let her gothing, but I am not that kind of man. My world is so very different to this one. I will snare her in a bear trap, even if it ends up severing her foot. Because I must keep her, Ineedher.

It is a sickness.

My love for her.

It has festered like a slow simmering poison.

I am lovesick for her.

And I couldn’t let her go now even if she begged for it.

When I offered her an escape, an out, on the bridge only minutes ago, I know I did not mean it. I would have slit both of our throats and thrown us into the river below if she had told me she didn’t want to go with me.

She can never escape me now.

We walk through the towers of brightly lit pumpkins, everything luminous in the dark. There are few people wandering about, but everything has remained open. As I requested. There are games and stalls, gift vendors and street food. Sweet and salty scents fill my nostrils, and I can’t decipher any of them for what they are, everything melding together on the back of my tongue.

Eerie music plays, sinister and cold, high-pitched laughter of clowns cutting through it all. Straw is scattered along the shiny cobbles, itwhooshesas we walk, both of us in matching boots. A pathway full of spooky decor leading to the field behindCasa Nera,our final horror destination for tonight.

I let her lead. Her fingers squeezing between mine, excitement on her face, plastered in a grin, happiness alive in her eyes. Her smile is infectious, my own lips curling somewhat upward. She takes me straight to a toffee-apple stall, so many different kinds, chocolate, caramel, dyed greens and reds and pinks, flavours I cannot determine through their bright coloured icing.

A man in a black mask and blood-splattered apron stands behind the glass display, peering down at her unseeing.Good,if he looked at her, her delicate features, wide eyes, too hard, I might have to pop his own from his head. But as she points to a dark green covered apple that looks like toxic forest slime covered in shiny chips of blood red, he does nothing more than lift it towards her. Offering up the white stick pinched between his thick, leather gloved fingers. Their hands brush as she takes it from him, and I think about snapping the bones in his knuckles. Severing his fingers, shoving them down his throat. But his shadowed eyes come to mine, a slight nod to his head and he steps away into the shaded area at his back, eyes immediately averting.

One of ours.

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