Chapter 9

The tall coffin shaped door in front of where I stand, with the large "Ghouls Dress Here" etched in the center, has me at a real crossroad. The engraved door of the dressing room is where I should be headed so I can finish getting ready for tonight's Horseman Hollow Duel. However, what I should do and what I want to do are two completely different things. I know it's going to be a long night ahead. If I'm going to dance my ass off as this year's Katrina Van Tassel and live another day as Blair Van Tassel, I'm going to need a drink, or two, before my shift starts.

Feeling summoned by the fully stocked bar to my left, I pivot my heels against the gleaming marbled floors. It's always been a rule at Satan's that the dancers aren't allowed to drink while working, not like that has ever stopped me from sneaking a shot or two during my shift. I mean if murder being illegal doesn't stop me from partaking in it, the no drinking rule is meaningless to me, plus I'm not technically on the clock yet so screw it.

Moving closer to the bar, my gaze begins to take in the overwhelming number of liquors to choose from. Much of the ambiance at Satan's Stiletto is modeled after another bar one of the co-owners has in the city named The Sandy Claws. Except Satan's vibe leans more early to late 2000s slasher nostalgia with some classic horror sprinkled in.

I continue to scan the shelves, about to settle for the bottle of Dogfish Head Compelling Gin that rests near a Michael Myers mask from Halloween II, when a shade of vibrant orange flashes in my periphery. Adjusting my gaze, I see a pumpkin headed Horseman calling my name on the far-left beer tap.

Walking to the other side of the bar, I begin to look for a glass but, of course, there are none in sight. This should probably be my sign to give up and finish getting ready, but now that I'm really craving a pumpkin beer, I'm determined. Turning my back to the row of beer taps, I walk over to the small shelf with some pilsner glasses. Transferring my weight to my tip toes I try grabbing the pilsner glass from the middle shelf when I feel a warm, wrinkly hand on my shoulder.

Shit.

Debating if I should still snag the glass, the now persistent tapping at my shoulder blade, answers that question for me. Leaving the glass on the shelf, I plaster a beaming grin on my face as I turn around.

My forced smile falls flat, when a disappointed and very irritated Glinda purses her thin lips at me.

Ah, Glinda fucking Campbell.A true Jane of all trades. Not only does she still maintain her status as the suspicious widow of Sleepy Hollow, but she still remains one of my mom's best friends and the manager at Satan's, which makes her my boss and absolutely inescapable. What a time to be alive.

"Hey Glinda, you're early," I jokingly try to diffuse her mood, but she remains stoic and seemingly irritated with my attempt at humor.

Pressing her folded arms firmly across her abdomen, she shifts her weight to one hip. "Mhm," she mumbles. "So are you. I can't remember the last time you've arrived here on time, let alone early."

"Ha, I should ask you the same question. Thought you were too busy for this place," I tease.

Her eyes widen before her scowl deepens. She forgets that I know the real Glinda. The one that she tries to keep meticulously hidden. But she has been my mom's friend for as long as I can remember, so she may fool others, but she can't fool me.

"I still show up when I am supposed to be here, so I don't know what you are getting at, Blair," she snaps. "Now get!" she raises her voice an octave higher, lifting her hand up, shooing me out from behind the bar.

Begrudgingly, I appease her because I know that if anyone, aside from Maddox, is capable of killing me, it's Glinda, so I need to play my cards carefully with her…for now at least.

Clicking my heels to the other side of the bar top, I drag one of the barstools out, purposely letting the legs drag on the floor to grab her attention from where it is now turned to me.

An audible sigh sounds from her lips as she adjusts the glass on the shelf that I wish was full of beer and in my hand. "I hope you are planning on behaving yourself tonight, missy."

"Of course," I lie, turning my head to where the Shipyard Pumpkin Ale is calling my name, taunting me. My gaze darts back to where Glinda is now wiping the counter by the register. Fuck it, if I can't get a glass, I'm just going to get it straight from the tap.

Carefully I rise from the barstool, trying not to let it skid from underneath me, so Glinda doesn't hear. I continue my slow movements, twisting myself upward, allowing my back to press against the counter. Centering my parted lips beneath the beer faucet, my hand hovers over the spigot. Just as I'm about to pour some liquid gold into my mouth, I feel a sting at my hand and yank it away from the beer line. My stare falls from the tap to the damp rag that is in Glinda's clenched palm, swatting at my hand.

Flustered, I scoff before settling back onto the bar stool. "Just one beer before my shift starts, please?" I bat my lashes, removing my hand from where it rests on the counter because, judging by her fiery stare, it looks like she's ready to swat at me again. "Come on, Glinda."

Her stern look is unwavering. "You know the rules," she deadpans, pointing to the minuscule "Employee Rules" sign above the register.

"Ew, who reads those?" I laugh but again, she remains unmoved by my sarcasm.

"Clearly not you…ever."

"We aren't even open yet," I say, pointing out the obvious.

Swaying, she moves onto her tiptoes, leaning forward to get a better look at where my legs are crossed. "I thought I told you that you had to cover as this year's Katrina." The judgment in her tone is palpable.

"Umm, I am?" I retort, emphasizing my outfit with my hands. I mean honestly, it's not much different than what I usually wear to work, but I'm here aren't I? That should be good enough.

She shakes her head. "Since when does Katrina Van Tassel have a knife stashed in her thigh harness?"

Since she became a stripper and has a relentless psycho stalker, that's when.

I look down to where her disapproving glare remains on the clasp that secures my pocketknife. "Don't be a hypocrite Glinda," I grin. "Now, what do you say to one delicious pumpkin beer, and I will be out of your hair. Pretty please."

She shakes her head, releasing a defeated sigh. "One and that's it," she agrees begrudgingly, lifting her index finger for emphasis.

"That's a good girl," I tease with a wink. "Oh, and don't forget the cinnamon sugar rim!" I add, pushing my luck once again.

"Smart ass," She mutters, rolling her eyes. "Fuck the rim, you are getting one beer, the way I serve it to you. You better chug it as fast as I know you can and get to it. You know, you truly are a piece of work."

Ha, you have no idea.

"Takes one to know one, Glinny."

She mumbles something else under her breath as she reluctantly moves over to grab a glass. Continuing to talk to herself, she pulls on the beer tap. Her wrinkled hand tilts the glass at an angle, and as I watch the amber liquid pour into the glass, I notice a ring on her left hand that I've never seen her wear before.

I squint, taking in the strange looking piece of jewelry. It's a simple titanium band, nothing to write home about but it's the diamond, or where the diamond should be that draws my attention. Centered on the band is a pear-shaped piece of glass. Upon first glance it looks to be clear, but the more I stare at it, especially now that she is swirling the glass upward, I notice that the glass holds something red. Shifting to the edge of the barstool, I try to lean forward to get a better look, when she removes the freshly poured beer from beneath the tap.

"Here you go," she says, placing the beer down on a coaster in front of where I sit.

I nod a thank you, bringing the boozy autumn nectar to my lips, taking a big gulp. As the beer begins to coat my throat, I continue to watch Glinda in my periphery, walking to the other side of the bar top, near the phone that's hung on the wall.

Lifting the receiver to her ear, she looks my way for a moment before angling her back so that I can't see the dial pad as she begins to press the buttons.

Typical Glinda, always so damn secretive.

Drinking the last of my beer, I can't help but notice an abrupt softness wash over her, which is not typical of her as she turns to face me. She begins noticeably fidgeting with the ring on her free hand before directing her unexpectedly glassy eyes to where mine are already glued on her. Bringing the mouthpiece of the phone inward, so it lays against her shoulder as she parts her lips to speak…to me.

"Be careful," she mouths before bringing the mouthpiece back to her lips.

My brows fall to a straightened line that shifts my bangs. I don't say anything back to her, because she is already speaking to whoever is on the other line. Taking this bizarre interaction as my cue to head to the dressing room, my hand skims my thigh harness as I begin to walk away from the bar, more thankful than ever that I never leave the house without a knife.

* * *

Unknown: Tsk tsk little hellcat, don't you know it's rude to throw away gifts

Me: Omg stop texting me from random numbers!

Unknown: I wouldn't have to if you would stop blocking me

Me: The only thing I threw away was that lame note

Unknown: There's nothing lame about the truth

Unknown: I know honesty is a foreign concept to you though

Unknown: If you throw away your next gift I'll make you regret it

Me: I'd love to see you try…

Me: and do yourself a favor…cut the poetic shit. You want my fear? Give me something that will actually make me scream

Unknown: I plan on it…

Fuck, he is so irritating. Why I didn't stab him when I had the chance, like I did with Ethan…and the reporter — reporters, plural—from earlier this week is beyond me.

My jaw tenses as I pace back and forth in the dressing room. The stupid costume contest will be starting soon, and I need to see Delilah. Aside from being my best friend, her and I have hooked up on and off throughout the years of our friendship so her presence and tell it like it is attitude are a total comfort to me, which I need right now…desperately.

Not that Maddox Crane scares me, please. The only reason I let him live is because I find being watched hot, but the second I'm bored…bye bye. Which might be tonight if he keeps up with these boring letters. However, I feel off my game for some reason ever since my interaction with Glinda before at the bar and tonight, of all nights, I need to be sharp as the knife I keep on me at all times.

I continue to pace in front of my vanity when I hear muffled voices from the other side of the door. Moving closer, I recognize one of the voices to be Delilah's. I'm about to curl my hand around the knob to open it when the hinges begin to creak. I step back as waves of cerulean curls fill my vision as Delilah steps into thethreshold of the dressing room.

Her head is turned, facing the main room. "D–" I begin but I'm interrupted by her shouting back at Glinda.

"I said I got it, chill!" she shouts before turning to me. "Jesus Christ, Glinda is unbearable tonight," she half laughs but I can tell something's off. Delilah is usually the more poised out of the two of us. Even when Glinda irritates her, which is an almost nightly occurrence, I've never seen her look so tense talking to her. Closing the space between us, she presses her full lips against my cheek for a kiss. "You look hot, Blair Witch," she breathes.

"Thanks D, so do you." I move my hand to the small of her back, rubbing it slightly. "Everything good?" I ask.

"Yep, all good" she shrugs, flashing me a pearly white smile. She's lying. I've known Delilah for a long time, and she rarely smiles like that and when she does, it's usually to cover something.

Still skeptical, I arch my brows. "Right."

"Anyway," she deflects, walking in front of me toward our neighboring vanities. As her hips sway with her stride, a familiar scent wafts at my nose. I turn my attention to where she now places her tote bag on the floor.

I take a step closer, unintentionally peering into her bag when a black box with a white and speckled red bow on itsteals my attention.

"Hey D, what's that?" I ask, tilting my chin down to her bag.

She moves her gaze to where she just placed her bag on the floor. Her vibrant blue curls cascading down her side as she retrieves what appears to be a gift box.

My heart begins to thud what feels like a mile a minute as the red speckled bow comes into view because that's most definitely blood splattered on the ribbon.

Fuck, what's in there? But more importantly, why does my best friend have it in her possession. I guess time has made my admirer bolder because he's never had gift packages like this delivered to my job, he's usually more subtle.

I don't wait for Delilah to say anything before I snatch the box from her.

"Ay dios mio!" Delilah exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. "Blair, what's gotten into you?"

Ignoring her question, my curiosity is heightened, not only from the bloody ribbon that Delilah somehow has not noticed, but from the weight of the box.

My eyes continue to scan the box in my hand, trying to rack my brain as to what the hell is inside that's making it so heavy, when I notice a small envelope with Blair is spelled out in what looks to be smeared blood.

"Where did you find this?" I ask.

Confused as to why I'm questioning her, she parts her lips. "Umm, Glinda gave it to me when I came in."

That makes no sense, why wouldn't Glinda have given this to me before when I was at the bar?

"How did she get it?" I don't hide the urgency in my voice.

Her brown irises lock on mine, oblivious to the stormraging inside of me.

"I don't know, she just told me to give it to you." She shrugs, "It's probably from one of the contestants trying to butter you up."

"Yeah," I fake a smile. "That must be it.".

I want to open it, but I don't want Delilah to be present when I do. She is my best friend and knows most of my oddities, but there are things I have done—and still do, even though I shouldn't— that I don't want her to know about.

"Well, open it!" She nudges.

Squeezing the box against my chest, I swallow hard before answering. "I'd rather not."

"Oh, come on, you"re being silly," she says, reaching for the box, but I move it out of her reach.

"Stop!" I shout, my heart now thumping in my chest.

I feel bad being so harsh, but I still don't know what the hell is in this gift. I don"t need to involve Delilah in this anymore than she probably already has been.

"Damn B, who cares. Members give us gifts all the time, especially on duel night. It's not that big of a deal"

Bulging my eyes at her, my hands curl against the box. "D, you know it's not like that."

"Whatever Blair, why don't you collect yourself and I'll meet you out there okay?" She shakes her head at me when suddenly it looks like a lightbulb has gone off in her head. "Oh my god, it's him isn't it?". The enthusiasm in her voice runs dry pretty quick as she begins to shake her head. "Girl, I warned you about this," she clicks her tongue.

"I know, I know," I say, trying to shrug her off. "It's fine."

"Bullshit," D quips.

"D, it's fine," I repeat myself, bringing a hand to her cheek, gently caressing it.

She rolls her eyes clearly not buying it. "Listen, if there's anything in there that will hurt you, you fucking tell me, and we'll handle it. You got it?"

I nod my head, just to help move this along so I can go to a bathroom stall to open it alone. Of course, there will be something inside that will hurt me, in more ways than one, but if I tell her that, she'll stop me from opening it.

"I'll be just outside by the bar. See you there in a few?" D asks.

"Yep, you got it," I grin, curiosity beginning to mount to painful proportions.

Reluctantly, Delilah moves to the doorway and with her hand on the doorknob, she turns to me. "I mean it, if you need help, you tell me. Promise?"

"Promise," I lie.

As soon as Delilah is out of sight, I scurry over to the bathroom. My heart rattles against my chest, making my pulse feel like it's drumming at my ears as I mentally prepare myself for the latest round of what's sure to be a fucked up surprise. Locking myself inside one of the stalls, my curiosity guides my hands first to the bloodied envelope.

The metallic aroma that's been present ever since I snatched the box from Delilah's purse is now heightened as I sit down. Notes of iron and copper consume my senses the closer the bloodied envelope comes to my face while I open it.

Coarse card stock, thicker than the one from the note before scratches at my palm. It's another handwritten note containing more from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. However, as I skim past the remaining excerpt, I notice another message, this time written in bold, capitalized letters in a distinctly red hue.

"If his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was – a woman" – Washington Irving

THEY SAY REVENGE IS SWEET. I WONDER JUST HOW SWEET IT TASTES…

I read the last sentence over, unable to discern what he means by emphasizing the sweet appeal of revenge, I crumple the note in hand. It's then as I sit in the narrow confines of the bathroom stall, forced to stare at the black box in my hands, that the unexpected scent of warm sugar begins to beat at my nostrils.

The word "sweet" echoes in my mind. "Tastes sweet?" I ask myself aloud as my stomach begins to flip, wondering what the fuck I'm holding that can smell both sweet and like copper death at the same time.

Peeling the taped seal open, the sweet and bitter aroma nips at my face. Beneath a bed of crinkled gift paper, lay a dozen Pillsbury Halloween cookies. Just like the ones my mom held hostage from me, ironically, fifteen years ago when this nightmare started. I don't reach for one, I know better. No one receives baked treats from their stalker with a note emphasizing the sweet bliss of revenge without there being a catch.

Appraising the batch of cookies, I notice a patch of red poking through from beneath the first row. Shaking the box gently to shift the top layer out of place, a row of crimson frosted cookies appears with H31 and F666 written on them in what definitely looks like blood overtop what should be an adorable pumpkin.

What an asshole. Who decorates perfectly good cookies with blood? I can't eat this now, I'm not a fucking vampire. Oh, I swear, this man is maddening. He sure knows a way to ruin everything that's good, including my mood, because as if I wasn't already, I'm fucking over him and his lame games.

I go to stand up so I can toss this shitty gift in the garbage when I'm reminded of the box's weight.

Scooping the cookies up, along with the gift filler, I open the lid to flush them down the toilet, revealing two more gift boxes, each smaller than the one before.

I rip the second box open and an unsettling rush of déjà vu washes over me. The sea of black tissue paper that covers whatever "gift" he has next for me becomes lost in the backdrop. All I can focus on is the small glass cylinder that looks almost identical to Glinda's ring.

My mind begins to race, wondering if Glinda had some involvement in this because what are the chances that I receive a vial of blood damn near identical to the one she was wearing. Or maybe he's gotten to her too and there is more at play here. Either way, I feel compelled to reach for it.

As I remove the vial, I feel something pull against the chain it's attached to. The more I yank the necklace towards me a web of leather straps and buckles begins to unravel until an intricate body harness is unveiled. The chain that drapes down securing the blood-filled vial is centered on a thick black collar that gives way to a leather strap that goes down the sternum. Lace coincides with the leather on the bottom piece of the harness that looks like it's meant to be secured at the crotch. My fingers graze the lace, noticing a piece of paper wrapped around the middle.

Unraveling the paper, another handwritten note awaits me.

Since I went out of my way to bake your favorite cookies and have this harness custom made with your exact measurements—yes, I have memorized every inch of your 38 – 26.5 – 40 body—I expect to see you shaking your ass on stage wearing what I gifted you. And because it's almost Halloween and I'm in a giving mood, I have one more surprise for you. I'll give you a hint. You tried to stab me once with it and I would love to see you try again...

Tossing the note on the ground, my fingers skim past the lingering tissue paper until I feel the familiar handle of the knife that's been held hostage by this psycho all these years. Excitement creeps in my veins, increasing by the second, as my fingers curl around the smooth handle.

A smile washes over my face as I lift the steel to my red painted lips, pressing a kiss to the blade. My lips linger on the cool steel, savoring this moment when the last sentence from the note swarms my periphery, cutting this blissful reunion short.

Oh, and I hope you don't mind…I added a little something to the handle.

Removing the blade from where it's been pressed against my lips, dread fills me as my eyes slowly scan down from the blade to the handle.

My chest tightens from the anger that begins to burn through my sternum as I stare at the new engraving etched just past the small initials I had added when I first got it.

'Til death.

My gaze locked on the stupid idiom, I feel my temples begin to throb, brainstorming all the ways I'm going to cut him with my knife he so graciously returned to me.

I remain lost in my thoughts, until a shiver suddenly erupts, crackling its icy heat down my spine. The theme song to Halloween begins to play, rattling the speakers in the bathroom that are connected to the main stage area, signaling that the Horseman's Hollow Duel is about to begin.

Which means he'll be here any minute ready to torment me… like I deserve.