Page 31 of Fright Night
How the fuck…?Imagining his voice might have been possible, but unlikely, given how clear it was. My hand touchesthe spot on my neck tingling from his whisper. It’s proof enough. No, he was here. I know it.
“This isn’t funny!”
My phone vibrates at that same time, the sender presumed even without glancing down.
Knox
Trick or treat, Trickster. Play my tricks and you might end up with a treat. You in?
Me
No.
Knox
I’m hiding somewhere in the park. Escape and go home. Don’t let me find you beforehand.
“I’m trying to! I’m not playing your sick games.”
While I have no doubt he’s within listening range, I type the same thing:
Me
Going home is literally all I want. I’m too tired to deal with you.
Knox
Too bad.
There’s something so final in that text. Something ominous that has me locking the phone after five long seconds of staring at it, hoping he’ll send more, but also guessing he won’t.
“Play your own fucking games, dick.”
My pace quickens towards the exit, my phone’s flashlight leading my path. Knowing he’s watching, hiding somewhere, is creepy enough.
I’m passing the pile of tied-up garbage bags from post-event clean-up when a figure comes out from behind a nearby tree, the orange glow of his mask stricken against the black background. He steps into my path, ensuring I’ll barrel into him if my pace continues.
Keeping my back rigid, I double my speed to blow by him and make the point I refuse to play this game.
He doesn’t move, remaining a statue the closer my approach.
Five feet…
“Go away.”
When I’m within passing distance, he slides directly in front of me, blocking my path. He cups my hips to render me immobile, but as they slide up and over my dress, they feel wrong. Too gentle and not how Knox touches me.
He bends at the waist, the mask tilting to the side. “I’m not Knox, little girl. But he’s looking for you. Might I suggest another direction?”
Not Knox…
He releases my waist as I stumble backwards, realization hitting mehard. Knox wouldn’t play fair; that’s not in his rulebook. No, he’d have a friend helping him out. Probably the one he’s staying with.
I try to recall who he used to hang out with in school, but our circles were so different, they weren’t even on the same planet, so I draw a blank.
“Shit.”
“Get going, Oakley.” There’s a smile in his tone.
