Page 22 of Scaredy Cat
For a few moments I just sit there, tapping my fingers on the edges of my laptop. My black and orange nails desperately need to be repainted, and I worry my bottom lip between my teeth while I watch a few seconds ofHalloween Warsinstead of forming replies to these comments.
It occurs to me I don’t even know where to start. But I know I have to address it. I can’t just let it go, probably, so I take the easy one first.
No, I don’t know him.
Romantic? Have you talked to a licensed therapist about this?
Though reading that one over makes me snort. I’m not really one to talk, since I will go to my grave with the opinion thatScreamis a romance between two men who weren’t allowed to follow their hearts and could only express their love with murder.
I read the man’s comment again, and again. It really is flirty, if not outright romantic, but I don’t know what to say to him. I’m certainly not about to remark about the taste of his blood on my lips, or how it took me forever to get the taste of it out of my mouth, even in the shower.
Idefinitelywon’t be remarking on how I found myself running my tongue over my bottom lip where his thumb spread his blood across my skin on my entire drive home.
“Talk about needing therapy,” I sigh, crossing my legs a bit more tightly underneath me. Finally, I type out a reply, though there are a lot of other things I’d rather say, things that aren’t so surface level humorous.
How long were you waiting up there? What if I went bowling or something before visiting Dusk House? Were you just going to hang out with the plastic body parts for company all night?
There. That works, I suppose. I don’t mention anything about his blood, his kiss, or the stroke of the blade on my skin that had me shivering later that night, after I crawled into bed. That’s definitely something I’m going to take to my grave, even under threat of torture. No one except me needs to know how fucked up I am.
But it’s over now, I tell myself. He got what he wanted, and that was to see me scared.
Now I just have to focus on getting through the rest of spooky season while creating worthwhile content and getting my name out there so I still have a brand after the excitement of Halloween is over and everyone goes back to their usual, non-spooky lives.
11
“Okay.Let’s go through this plan again.” Sitting at the picnic table near the front of Park Scream, I rest my shoulders on the table, shivering even in my hoodie. As per usual with the Midwest, the weather can’t decide what it wants to be. Tonight, it feels like winter is creeping up behind me, leaving me bundled up in a hoodie and leggings with my red sneakers that I could run from the zombie apocalypse in, if I so need.
Or, in this case, from a man with a wolf-skull mask, a knife, and a really talented mouth who absolutely might show up here at the carnival-inspired haunt.
Stop it,I tell myself firmly as I tap my knuckles on the table and try to remember my train of thought. It issonot the time to think about the man who’s been stalking me in any kind of positive way. But surely, I hope to myself, he’s done now. He scared me, sort of. A little.
Barely.
But if I can suck it up and maybe act like he succeeded, even though hevery much did not, maybe he’ll lose interest and fade back into obscurity like I’m hoping he already has. In retrospect, maybe I should’ve over-exaggerated my anxiety when I repliedto his comment on my blog, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to do so.
“The plan?” Madison prods, head in her hand. Like Brynn, she doesn’t really want to be here. But it was her idea to come with me to Park Scream, just in case he hasn’t lost interest and is prepared to escalate.
“The plan,” I agree. “Yes, okay. So this is sort of an extreme haunt. That’s why you guys have the chicken passes. Don’t start,” I add, seeing the look of disdain on Brynn’s face as I shove lanyards with orange glow sticks attached towards them. “There’s no shame in the chicken pass game. Well…”—I tilt my head and smile sweetly—“Okay, there’s sort of some shame. But I won’t tell anyone or judge.”
“You better not,” Brynn mumbles, slipping the lanyard over her head. “We’re doing you a favor here. We could be literallyanywhereelse that would be much more fun.”
Guilt stabs through me, and I sit back on the edge of the picnic table seat, biting my lip. I do feel bad about this. While I love all things scary and Halloween, my two best friends do not. It’s a testament to their concern for my well-being that they’re willing to suffer through this with me.
“Have you thought about getting one of these too?” Madison puts her lanyard over her head. “Just in case your stalker is here, he could use this park’s reputation to grab you and pull you away, or at the very least get close.” The chicken lanyards mean that the two of them won’t be touched, or pulled, or grabbed, or separated by the actors, so I get her point.
“No, I can’t…” I sigh. “I mean, first of all, I’d hate doing that. I really love the wholeextremepart of theextremehaunt.” Pressing my palms to the bench, I look around, taking a few moments to people watch. Most of the guests I see are adults, though there are a few kids of questionable ages who are probably going to be scarred for life by the time this is over. ParkScream is known for going all out, and given its reputation, its budget has only grown by leaps and bounds over the last few years. What used to look like a hastily thrown together carnival now has all the grandeur of a horror circus, complete with tents, food trucks, bonfires, and lights strung through the entire field that encompasses the haunt and parking areas.
“Second of all, my followers are looking forward to my review about whether this place is worth it. I have to do the whole thing so I can write about it.”
“You don’thaveto,” Brynn disagrees, but doesn’t argue further. I don’t push it either. I know she’s only worried about me and looking for ways to minimize any risks, but that’s something I’m not willing to compromise on.
“So the plan,” I go on, trying to get us back on track. “We do the three haunts. We don’t do paintball—I hate paintball. Then we leave, I buy you guys coffee, everyone goes home. Simple, no muss, no fuss. Do you want pizza?” I add, glancing at the nearby food truck parked in the middle of the concessions area. “They have some local IPA at the beer stand, too. I know you guys are into that.” I’d rather eat pizza than dwell on my hasty plan.
The two of them trade looks, and Madison shrugs, finally nodding. “Yeah. We didn’t eat before we came,” she tells me. “And you know I’m a sucker for an IPA. Proud of you for knowing that, actually.”
“Look, I just regurgitate the words you say.” Brynn stands up as well, and I wave to them as they head to the food lines. While I’m not hungry, I could probably force myself to choke down at least half a slice of pizza. Or at least gnaw on the crust, at a minimum. I haven’t really eaten all day, considering the way my stomach’s been in knots over this, and I don’t want to black out in any of the haunts here at Park Scream.
“You’re making a big deal over nothing, Persy,” I murmur to myself when they’re in line and not paying attention to me.I hate when my best friends see me not doing so well, and I promise to only give myself a moment to bury my face in my hands, fingers tangled in my hair so I can scrape my nails against my scalp. Absently, I comb through my hair until I can press against the knots in my neck that never seem to go away.
