Page 246 of Phobia
To be honest, it’s junkyard art… If the art was also terrifying.
Jules wanders up to this odd voodoo doll that looks like it’s made out of fur. But I tug him to get his attention.
“Just stay close to me, okay?” I command, and he raises a brow.
“Wait, we’re actually going in there??” He’s radiating uncertainty, and I don’t blame him.
To this day, I’ve never gotten past the foyer. And I have no desire to.
“I just need to talk to one of the guys,” I mumble, peering up at the second floor window when I feel someone watching us. “He’s a friend of Lena’s. I just want to know if he’s seen her… or maybe if she’s here.”
“People actuallylivein there?” Jules balks. “Is it some kind of trap house, or like… junkie hangout?” His eyes soften, and he adds, “No offense.”
I shrug it off. “No, this is their house. Now, come on. The longer we stand out here, the longer they’re gonna think we’re up to something.”
Pulling him along, I watch the ground carefully for booby traps. “Watch out.” I point to a welcome mat on the ground.
Jules shoots me a nervous look, and I bend to slide it aside, revealing a four-foot hole filled with spikes.
“Jesus Christ…” he murmurs while I help him over it. “Are we sure we want to go up to the door? What if a giant axe swings down and chops our heads off?”
“Rookie mistake,” I tell him. “You never ring the doorbell.”
I’m amused by the look of horror on Jules’s face, though I know I shouldn’t be. This place is scary as fuck. But I’ve known these people for years, and I just have to hold out hope that they won’t actively try to kill me the moment they open the door.
It’s not really their style anyway… They like to toy with their prey.
At the front door, we’re standing beneath an awning made from broken cathedral glass. It’s actually sort of beautiful. Taking a breath, I give Jules one last look before knocking on the door.
Loud music comes from inside, which is pretty standard. The whirring buzz of a saw is going off in the distance as well, which might be preventing them from hearing me. So I knock again.
“I feel like I’m inTexas Chainsaw Massacreright now,” Jules shivers at my side, clinging to me.
Finally, I hear shuffling and clomping footsteps behind the door.
I whisper to Jules, “Just stay quiet. And if he engages you, be polite. One-word answers only… Make eye contact, but not too much.”
“Who the fuck is in there? Satan??” Jules croaks.
“No… worse,” I mumble just as the door is opening. “Rory.”
I’m met with a familiar smile, a cunning one.Made to disguise.“Well, look who it is… Little Asa Kingston, come for high tea.”
His eyes fling to Jules, doing a sweep of him that’s a bit too hungry for my liking.
“Jules, this is—”
“Terror Volovik,” Rory gleams, brushing his jet black hair out of his face before reaching for Jules’s hand. Jules begins to reach out, but I nudge him and shake my head. “And who might you be, new face?”
“Julian Porter,” Jules answers firmly, not visibly intimidated.
Either that or he’s acting.
Rory leans up against the doorway, shirtless, his pale skin decorated in many tattoos. He’s all muscle and scattered ink, tall and foreboding, with something red all over his hands and smudged on his chest that I can only hope ispaint, deep green eyes framed by smeared charcoal makeup.
Attractive, some might even sayfuckhot. But if you know him, you know it’s not worth it to swoon for evil.
“Wanna come in for a beer?” Rory chirps casually, evil smirk resting in place.
