Ghosts of Halloween: A Dark Why Choose Romance

I squeeze my eyes shut, holding my breath in as my entire body tightens, bracing for it. Seconds float by, sluggish and slow as the moment stretches, and something roars in my ears, the sound so loud, I can’t hear anything else. It seems to me Silas whispers something, but I don’t ask him to repeat. I won’t hear him anyway.

As the knife presses closer, a light sting cutting through my skin, I open my eyes and mouth to scream, because I can’t hold it in anymore, and…

And nothing.

I blink, shaking like a leaf, suddenly alone in the cold, dark hall. The heat and steady weight of Silas’s body behind me is gone, and for a wild moment, I think maybe it’s done already. Maybe I’m a ghost. But when I raise my fingers to my neck, I feel wetness and warmth. My neck is still whole, a tiny nick seeping blood.

“Silas?” I ask in a voice so hoarse, I don’t think anyone but me can hear it. I clear my throat just as a thud comes from the porch outside, making me jump. “Silas!” I say more loudly.

“She’s here,” a gleeful voice comes from the outside, and I whip toward the door, my heart somersaulting from shock.

That’s not Silas’s voice. Not Jack’s or Caden’s, either. I stare at the door, disbelief rooting me to the spot, because it can’t be. It fucking can’t.All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

Panicked thoughts flash through my mind, and I wonder if this is all just a giant prank. Or am I high? Did the pills muddle my brain? Up to this moment, everything felt real, my night spent tangled up with my three ghosts, a visceral, undeniable experience.

But now that the outside world comes crashing into this abandoned, haunted house, I question everything.

The door opens with a loud creak, revealing three male silhouettes crowding the porch. I stare, my mouth open, my throat squeezed shut as terror unveils through my chest and limbs, gripping me in a cold, vicious trap.

I can’t move. Even when the tallest of them comes inside with a crunching sound as he steps on something. I don’t so much as twitch when he stops right opposite me. His scent, familiar and nausea-inducing even as it mixes with the chill of the night air, winds around me. I can’t move, can’t speak, my body completely outside my control.

“Someone saw you coming in here,” Michael says, barely a hint of slurring in his voice. He’s drunk, but only just.

Like that night.

“And Ryan has a score to settle,” he adds with a snicker, gripping my chin in his chilly hand. “So we came to get you. Perfect end to a Halloween night if you ask me.”

His cold, slimy touch sends a jolt through me, loosening the paralysis that keeps me in place. I jerk, slapping his hand off me, and stumble back, panic flaring when he laughs.

“Don’t touch me,” I say, my voice coming out plaintive with a hint of hysteria.

I see their faces now, discolored and creepy in the ghostly light coming in from the street. Michael’s is twisted in a cruel smirk, and behind him, Greg eyes me with a lecherous grin while Ryan just looks angry and drunk, his brows pulled low over his eyes.

And I suddenly get it, what must have happened. After I dumped Ryan in his car—so many hours ago, feels like ages—he must have met Michael and Greg at the Halloween party. They heard I was here and decided to…

“Stay away from me!” I bark, backing away toward the main room, my legs moving with difficulty, as if treading water. Oh, God. They want to do it again.

Panic flares through me, and I turn to run just as Michael reaches for me, his cold fingers brushing my cheek. They skim through my hair, but I’m running already, out of reach before he can grip it.

I don’t bother with the back door. I made that mistake earlier today, when running from my ghosts—oh, God, where are they—and so I run up the stairs, aiming for the room my guys caught me in before. The window was broken, and if I can just shatter the remaining glass, then maybe I can jump. It doesn’t matter how high it is, I just need to get away…

“I’ll get you, bitch!”

Michael is right on my heels, and my heart sinks as I realize I won’t have time to clean out the window frame. Can I get the window to open? I fall into the room, scattering empty cans and a makeshift trash can, dirt spilling on the floor. I regain my balance and make for the window, reaching for the rusty latch.

A cruel hand yanks me back by the hair, and I stumble with a grunt, twisting in place. Michael doesn’t let go, but the pain in my scalp doesn’t stop me from moving. I kick high, hitting him in the groin, and he bends in half with a satisfying groan.

I turn for the window, wrestling with the latch, but it won’t budge. And I only get a few seconds, anyway, before Michael’s on me again, snarling with fury, his cold hand on my throat.

“You’ll fucking pay for this,” he wheezes in my ear, squeezing so hard, he cuts off my air. I struggle, completely unhinged as pure panic fuels me, my body a wild animal trying to get free. I kick and scratch, my nails raking down his palm, but he’s stronger and bigger than me. Soon, I start flagging, my movements growing slow and uncoordinated, the lack of air numbing my brain. Michael pants in my ear, heavy, disgusting breaths that make me want to vomit.

When his hand lands on my tit, crushing it through my dress, I flail with one last burst of strength. Somehow, I manage to hit him with my elbow, and his air rushes out of him, the impact relaxing his hold.

I tear free and out of the room, not even wondering where Greg and Ryan are. Not here. That’s all that matters.

Pure terror guides my steps as I thud down the stairs, thinking about the room with the axed door I didn’t go in before. Will there be bars over the window there, too? As loud stomping follows me, Michael’s voice raised in a furious shout, I squeak and turn sharply, heading for that door.

As soon as I enter, I know it’s a no-go. Bars here, too. I’m guessing most downstairs windows have bars.

Michael’s right behind me, and I’m cornered, but… not weaponless. With a shout of triumph, I lurch for the heavy frying pan I tried to break a window with before, the one that was ripped out of my hand. As I heft it in my hand, watching Michael with hate and fear, he stops in the doorway, eyes glittering as he takes me in.

“Don’t come closer, or I’ll hit you,” I growl, the heavy weight in my hand making me braver.

Michael snorts, taking a single, taunting step inside, and stops, giving me a rabid grin.

“You’re right-handed, bitch,” he says, gleeful even as his eyes track my movements warily. “You can’t aim with your left hand. And we both know you won’t do shit with that ugly piece of plastic, either.”

He looks at my prosthetic, and I growl, hating the disdain I see on his face. It’s neither ugly nor plastic, and it certainly isn’t useless. My body vibrating with tension, I plant my feet wide and grip the heavy frying pan with my right hand before letting go with the left. Michael scoffs and takes another step toward me.

“Don’t move!” I bark but panic breaks through, my voice high-pitched. His grin widens, and he takes another small step, crowding me in until I’m forced to back away.

I take another step back, something crunching under my foot, and when he grins and follows me, I swing my arm back to hit him. Michael’s face grows ugly with a snarl, and he charges at me. I let the pan loose, clocking him over his bent back, and he grunts but doesn’t even slow down.

He’s on me, his hands on my body, bruising and cruel.

I have nowhere to run.