Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

“ T hat guy is seriously the creepiest dude I’ve ever met,” Hayes whispers as we walk toward the library door.

He has no idea. I glance over my shoulder, and my breath catches in my throat. Lyle’s eyes flick up to meet mine, dark and off-putting. He reaches for my dirty plate, dragging his index finger through the leftover ketchup, swirling it around and around. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he brings his finger to his lips and licks it clean. A queasy feeling bubbles in my stomach, but I can’t look away. His eyes are half-closed in what looks like sick pleasure. Then to my horror, he lifts the entire plate and holds it close to his face.

Oh, no. Gross. What the fuck?

His tongue, long and narrow, almost serpent-like, snakes out and laps up the remaining ketchup. It smears all over his cheeks and along the bridge of his nose. When he pulls the plate away, his face is a macabre canvas of horror. Ketchup seeps from the corners of his mouth, gruesomely red against his pallid skin. The whole act is grotesque, intimate in a way that makes my skin crawl.

He twists his mouth into a horrifying grin, his teeth stained bright red.

I want to throw something at him, scream at him to stop. The condiment on his face looks like fresh blood—his smile a sickening glint of pleasure. He licks his lips, smearing more ketchup across his upper lip and chin, slow and deliberate.

Jesus, that’s disgusting. I cling onto Hayes’s arm, quickening my pace.

Out in the hallway, the lights flicker overhead, casting startling shadows that dance along the walls.

“Did you see the way he was watching you eat?” Hayes asks with a chuckle.

I tilt my head to look up at him as we walk, trying to steady my breath. “No, I…he makes me feel uncomfortable.” I don’t want to tell him what I just saw. Lyle was just trying to mess with me. Make me feel agitated and to frighten me. He’s doing it because I slept with him, and he knows I don’t want any of the others to find out. It’s a form of revenge, a tiny twisted game of torture. And I can’t tell Hayes I’ve slept with Lyle. I don’t want to see that look in his eyes—the one I always see when men ask about my past lovers. They say they want to know, but when they hear the truth, they think less of you if your past puts theirs to shame.

“Hey, it’s all part of the vibe of this place,” Hayes says, his voice warm, teasing. He leans down closer, his breath tickling my ear. “Besides, I’m here to protect you from all the ghouls and ghosts in this place.”

I force a laugh. “Hmm, yes, I thoroughly enjoyed your warding off of horrible dreams this morning.”

His eyes flash with mischief, his smile widening. “I’m available all weekend.”

“Hey, where’s everyone else?” I ask as we reach the staircase. Maybe we can all go out for a bit, leave this place for a few hours and I can clear my head.

“Um, I believe getting toxins sucked out by zombies or something.” He chuckles.

“But didn’t they see my texts?” I feel a sting of hurt. “I texted everyone that weird stuff was going on here, and they all ignored it?”

“You texted me? I didn’t get it. I sent you a few messages, but you never answered me back.”

“I did text you, look.” I swipe open my phone to show him the messages I sent just to him, but this time when I open the thread, I notice that each message failed to send. My stomach drops. “Well, that’s weird. I bet there’s no service in here.”

“You’re probably right. Today sucked, though. If I’d known you weren’t coming, I would’ve stayed here with you. What did you do all day?” Hayes asks as we reach the staircase. The portrait of Liliana stares down at us.

I grip the banister, taking the first step. “I slept and had this weird dream where the Siri on my phone was whispering to me, and then I was in someone else’s room. The ghost of Liliana was there, pissing all over a pile of clothes. I think they were Marissa’s.”

He laughs. “I’d pay to see that happen for real.” He tugs playfully on the waistband of my jeans, his eyes bright with mischief. “Hey, wait. There’s an old bar at the other end of this floor, and it’s fully stocked. How about we grab a drink while we wait for everyone to get back? Get a little buzzed?”

I hesitate, unable to shake the unsettling feeling gnawing at me. “I’m not sure, Hayes. Maybe we should just leave for a while. This place is really starting to give me the creeps.

He keeps his grip on my waistband, his smile not fading. “Come on, just one drink. It’ll help you relax. Trust me.”

I nod reluctantly. “Just one,” I agree, hoping a drink might help shake off the uneasiness clinging to me.

Our footsteps echo through the long hallway as we walk. The air feels dense, almost suffocating, and I can’t shake the sensation that we’re being watched. I glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Lyle lurking in the shadows, but there’s nothing. Just our shadows dancing on the walls, like restless spirits.

We reach the bar, and Hayes pushes open the creaky wooden door, revealing a room untouched by time. Dust floats in the air, caught in the dim light from the hallway. A long mahogany counter stretches out, lined with bottles of all shapes and sizes, their labels faded and peeling. Hayes takes my hand, his fingers threading through mine. His touch is warm, reassuring—reminding me I’m not alone.

“It looks like no one’s been in here for years,” I murmur, noting the cobwebs draped over the shelves.

Hayes guides me to a stool and leans over the bar, searching through the bottles. “Ah, here we go,” he says, pulling out a dusty bottle of whiskey. “This should do the trick.” He grabs two glasses from the shelf, wipes them clean with his shirt, and pours us each a drink.

I take a long sip, feeling the whiskey burn down my throat. I breathe deeply, savoring the warmth as it spreads through my body, chasing away the chill that seems to have settled in my bones. Hayes watches me, his smile amused, his eyes dark in the dim light.

"Better?" he asks, his voice low and smooth.

“A little.” I nod.

We drink in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clink of our glasses against the counter. I can feel Hayes’s gaze on me—intense, unwavering. It makes me shiver, even with the fiery whiskey coursing through my veins.

"So, tell me more about these weird things that have been happening," he says finally, leaning forward on his elbows. "Tell me everything."

I hesitate, my mind flashing back to the disturbing scene with Lyle. I don't want to relive it, don't want to think about it ever again. But Hayes is looking at me with such genuine concern, such earnestness, that I find myself opening up a little.

"There's something...off about this whole place. Agatha, Lyle, thinking that people are coming into my room when I sleep to rearrange things," I say slowly, tracing my finger around the rim of my glass.

Hayes reaches out and takes my hand, his skin warm and rough against mine. "It’s all in good fun," he says, his tone firm and reassuring.

I want to believe him, to take comfort in his strength and certainty. But as I glance toward the shadowy hallway beyond the bar, half-expecting something unsettling to emerge from the darkness, I can't shake the trepidation creeping over me.

Hayes studies my face, his eyes searching mine as if trying to gauge my thoughts. He takes a sip of his whiskey, the amber liquid glinting in the low light, and clears his throat. “Jonathan and Marissa were fighting today.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “They were fighting?”

“Yeah,” Hayes replies, taking another sip and running his tongue along his bottom lip. “It got pretty heated. She was screaming at him.”

A flicker of curiosity replaces my apprehension. “What were they fighting about?” I’m positive Hayes is telling me this to take my mind off of feeling uncomfortable here. It’s working a little.

“Marissa thinks you and Jonathan are sleeping together.”

I bite my lip. It’s because of what I said at breakfast this morning. “I wonder if I’ll be uninvited to the wedding,” I wince at my joke. “Well, what did he say back to her?”

“He denied everything,” Hayes says, his gaze steady on mine. “Kept insisting that nothing ever really happened between you two.”

My stomach twists at his words. “He said that? That nothing really happened between us?” I down the rest of my drink, feeling the burn all the way down.

Hayes nods, his expression sympathetic. “He never deserved you,” he says softly. Then he reaches up, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is tender, his voice steady. “I want to be the one who does.”

My heart flutters, and I look at him, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me. “Hayes…”

He lifts a hand, stopping me. “No pressure, Tori. It’s your choice. But I want more than just friendship. A lot more.”

A rush of emotions floods through me—confusion, excitement, fear. Before I can respond, he leans in, his lips brushing against mine. His kiss is soft, searching.

Suddenly, the lights flicker overhead, plunging the room into darkness. I gasp, a cold wave of fear gripping me, and feel Hayes's hand tighten around mine.

"It's okay," he murmurs, his voice close to my ear. “No worries.”

But as the seconds tick by and the lights remain off, I can't help but feel a growing sense of fear.

"Hayes," I whisper, my voice trembling. "I think we should go. Now."

“Come on, Tori,” he says, trying to sound lighthearted. “This is probably just part of the spooky Halloween antics.”

As my vision adjusts to the darkness, I can make out the faint outline of the hallway and door. Hayes lets go of my hand and takes a few steps away.

I want to follow him, to press myself against his chest and walk right out of this place, but I stay rooted to the spot. Hayes laughs, his silhouette pointing at something near the door. “I think I just saw Agatha hobbling across the hallway in a white sheet.”

I try to laugh, but the truth is, I’m terrified. I want to leave, to get the hell away from this overbearing darkness and uncomfortable feeling of always being watched, but I can’t bring myself to say anything solid or real. Hayes and everyone else seem to be having a decent time, and I don’t want to ruin it for them. I press my back against the countertop, trying to steady my nerves. Then I hear a noise right next to me—a soft sound, like a breath or a sigh.

Every hair on the back of my neck stands up. I turn slowly, eyes straining to see through the dark. The sound comes again, unmistakable this time, like someone exhaling right beside me. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.

"Hayes," I manage to croak. But he's too far away, his laughter echoing in the eerie silence. My fingers fumble for the countertop, searching for something solid to hold onto. Just as I steady myself, a cold, icy breeze slowly creeps up my arm.

I whirl around in fright and see a massive, shapeless form looming in the darkness.

I try to scream, but my voice gets swallowed by the pitch black.

There’s a faint rustle of movement—small and soft. Not a footstep or the creak of floorboards, but something subtle, something I can’t explain. Yet I know something is there, moving toward me.

“Hayes!” I shriek, louder this time, my voice desperate and wild. The figure edges closer, and the icy chill seeps deeper into my skin, cutting through to my bones.

A wave of heavy sadness and despair crashes over me, pulling me into a dark, consuming void. My chest tightens, and a sharp, cold fear grips my insides—utter hopelessness mixed with paralyzing terror. My legs begin to tremble, threatening to buckle beneath me. I can feel my knees weakening, my body swaying, as if the very ground beneath me is shifting. The air around me thickens, growing denser, suffocating me, like an invisible force is pressing down on my lungs, squeezing the breath from my body.

The room seems to close in, the shadows creeping closer, their inky blackness stretching and twisting like they’re alive, ready to swallow me whole. I can hear my own ragged breaths, each one a broken gasp. The walls feel like they’re moving, inching toward me, the space narrowing until I feel trapped, panic clawing at my throat. A faint buzzing noise fills my ears, growing louder, more insistent, a maddening hum that matches the frantic rhythm of my pulse.

Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, when the darkness feels like it’s going to consume me completely, the lights flicker back on, sputtering to life with a dim, weak, yellow glow. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden change, my vision swimming as if I’m coming up for air after being submerged in a deep, dark ocean. The room is still spinning slightly, and I clutch the edge of the counter, my knuckles white, my heart still racing. The room is empty except for Hayes, who stands near the door with a bemused expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his tone light, but his face looks concerned. "Are you feeling sick?"

I stare at him, my pulse drumming erratically, unable to shake the lingering dread. “I... I thought I saw something.”

Hayes chuckles, walking over to me. “You’re letting this place get to you, Tori. There’s nothing here. Just a little prank with the lights to spook us. I was just in the hallway laughing about it with Agatha.”

He pulls me into a comforting hug, his arms warm and secure around me, but I can’t fully relax. Even with his embrace, the memory of that cold, suffocating presence clings to my skin. I force a smile—something I’ve done repeatedly this weekend—nodding as though I believe him, but deep down, I know what I felt wasn’t just a prank. It was something real, something dark and evil.