Chapter 7

I don't know what's worse. The fact that I'm about to kill the third person who has shown up unannounced to my house this week alone or that I need to use poison to do so. It's not that I'm opposed to death by poison per se. I mean, I have an entire garden filled with deadly herbs and flowering plants just waiting for occasions like the one I find myself in right now. However, I can't help but to feel that it's incredibly anticlimactic. Sure, it gets the job done but it's too…neat and lacks that personal touch I crave so much.

My appreciation for how blood sprays haphazardly from a freshly sliced carotid, or the way it gathers and then drips from a deep stab wound to the abdomen, has grown over the years. But blood, much like life, is messy and unpredictable. Not to mention, incredibly time consuming to clean. If I didn't have to leave for my shift at Satan's soon, I'd indulge myself in a little blood play, but I'm expected to be there tonight…on time. Hence the triple dose of aconite and deadly nightshade to this fucker's tea to help speed up the process.

Usually, I wouldn't complain about having to go to work. Dancing at Sleepy Hollow's one and only high end gothic strip club, Satan's Stiletto, isn't a bad gig. The pay is good, the atmosphere is dark – just how I like it– and the owners Carmine Moretti and his cousin, Alex, are pretty chill to work for. However, since I observe Halloween and Devil's Night like most would a religious holiday, I usually have off for both nights.

Though as fate would have it, the girl who was supposed to be this year's Katrina Van Tasselhad to go help at Carmine's main business venture, Marked Inc., at the Halloween gala.

Tonight is the annual charity gala for Marked Inc. While Satan's pre-Halloween festivities involve an annual costume contest known as the Horseman's Hollow's Duel.

Each year, the participating patrons pay a fee to enter. Half the participants dress as the Headless Horseman while the other half dresses as Ichabod Crane. Then they duel, which is a dramatic way of saying the audience votes on whose costume they like out of the two and the winner gets to spend the evening with that year's Katrina Van Tassel in one of the private lounges.

If only Washington Irving knew his famous story was the inspiration for a Halloweencostume contest at a strip club, I'm sure he'd be rolling in his grave.

Reaching my gloved hand toward the potted Wolfsbane on the countertop, I pluck a few more leaves to put in the stone mortar, just to ramp up the potency. As I begin to smash the aconite in with the generous amount of deceptively sweet berries that are alreadyin the stone bowl, an irritating sound breaks my concentration.

Mortar and pestle still in hand, I turn my head. My impromptu house guest, Brody, I believe he said his name was, is adjusting his posture in the wooden chair, causing the chair legs to scrape against the tile floor with each obnoxious movement he makes.

Faking a smile, I clear my throat to steal his attention from where he is still messing with the damn chair. "Almost ready," I sing.

Finally settling in the chair, he turns his attention to me. He's a bit older than I would usually go for, but his scruffy beard and bright green eyes suit him. It really is a shame that I have no choice but to kill him. With the random rise in people showing up to my house trying to gain information on my rumored involvement with the Campbell murders, he's a potential liability to my freedom. So, cute random guy who decided to show up at my house for reasons still unknown, has to go.

"You know, you really don't need to go through all that trouble for a cup of tea, Ms. Van Tassel. I'm fine with a glass of tap water," he says. "This will only take a minute of your time."

He has a point, but water isn't going to make his throat tighten to the point of suffocation or make him convulse until his heart and lungs give out, now, will it?

I bring my focus back to where I have the nightshade berries smashed in the mortar. With my back now turned to him, I click my tongue, pressing the pestle harder making sure to blend the Wolfsbane leaves into the bowl. "Don't be silly. It's just part of being a good hostess," I say in an unusually poised tone that makes me feel like an alien has overtaken my body. "So, Mister…" my voice drags, because I don't remember him mentioning a last name.

"Van Brunt," he answers, suddenly sounding uneasy. "Guess that would have helped if I gave you my full name, huh?" he chuckles.

I return his laughter with my own as I reach for the metal tea ball that rests on the countertop. We remain in awkward silence while I fill the sphere with the fresh leaves and herbs. "So, Mr. Van Brunt, you still haven't told me why exactly you're here, other than mentioning you have something that belongs to me." I remind him. I don't turn to look at him, but I can feel just how uneasy the truth in my statement makes him feel.

"Umm," he begins, dragging his tone, clearly not sure of what to say. That's alright, I'll get it out of him, one way or another.

Fully submerging the steel ball into the hot water that I had already poured from the kettle; I take a deep inhale. Mentally bracing myself as I'm about to pivot towards him for more forced pleasantries and small talk. "You were saying?" I ask, facing him.

The nerves I detected in his voice just moments before are now written all over his face. The point of his Adam's apple protrudes further from his neck as he swallows hard, keeping his mouth shut.

Swaying my hips, like I do when I first take the stage when I'm dancing, I begin a seductive and arguably cringe worthy walk towards Mr. Van Brunt. His awkward demeanor only intensifies the closer I get to where he sits, still speechless. "Here you go," I say in a breathy whisper. Placing the hot mug on the table, I purposely lean my chest close to where he is sitting so that my cleavage that is already bursting from my leather bodysuit consumes his vision.

Eyes glued to my tits, he grabs hold of the mug, cupping it in both hands as he brings it towards his mouth.

Good boy.

I move to the other side of the table, clicking my heels and exaggerating the way my hips naturally sway so I can sit across from him. "Go ahead, take a sip, don't wait for it to cool. We like our drinks hot in this house," I wink. "So, why are you–" I begin as a slurping sound breaks from where his lips are now pressed against the mug.

Holy fuck, I'm so happy I spiked this man's tea with a blend of untimely death because he is literally insufferable.

Transferring the mug that he was just cupping with both hands to one palm, he waves his free hand in the air, motioning for me to stop talking. He begins to mumble something into the cup, taking another healthy swig before placing the mug down on the wood tabletop. My eyes widen, hoping he is finally going to answer my damn question.

"Sorry. Why I'm here. Right." The inflection in his voice brightens as if a light just went off reminding him why the hell he came to my house in the first place.

He begins patting the inner lining of his jacket, mumbling something under his breath with a strong scowl across his brows. A few more seconds pass until his face lights, moving his hand from where he was just digging in his pocket. "Ah, here it is!" he exclaims, retrieving a white envelope out from where he was just searching. He glides his now shaky hand in front of him. My gaze falls to where his hand is now flat against the table, with the envelope still in his possession. With his unsteady fingers still hovering over the seemingly nondescript envelope, he moves his other hand back to the mug.

The ceramic mug clatters against the oak table a few times as he tries to steady his grip. Though it doesn't prevent him from lifting the cup to his lips for another giant gulp and steam ripples around his face as his swallowing becomes audible.

An obnoxious and long-winded sigh escapes his lips. He places the mug down, appearing increasingly shaky before he addresses me with an awkward gaze. "Does the name Maddox Crane ring any bells Ms.–" he continues speaking but my hearing begins to wither after hearing his name.

I don't know how, after all these years, that god forsaken name is still capable of making my stomach drop. I shift in my seat, switching my crossed legs, my face remains expressionless despite the conflicting rush I feel spread within my veins from the mere mention of his name. "What about him?" I ask, in a matter-of-fact tone, interrupting whatever he was going on about.

His lips begin to part, though all that sounds is a rugged inhale. Judging from the way his upper body is beginning to sway, the blend I served him is starting to kick in.

"Mr. Van Brunt," I snap. "What about him?"

Sweat begins to bead past his temples at a rapid rate.

"Ugh, sorry, is it hot in here?" he asks, shaking his head appearing increasingly disorientated.

"No," I deadpan. "Now what about him?" I repeat, this time raising my voice, though it's appearing that the triple potent blend is working its deadly magic. A boisterous gasp leaks from his mouth again, except this time it's followed by a coughing fit that causes him to hunch forward. Sweat continues to drip down his increasingly pale face.

I rise from where I am seated, pretending to look concerned. "Well, since you don't look too good, I'll just take this." My lip pouts matching the condescension that is ripe in my voice. I hinge forward to the center of the table. "Here, let me get that from you," I breathe, prying his sweaty fingertips from where they begin to stain the envelope with perspiration.

Bringing the flimsy envelope into view, I notice how light it feels. Though before I inspect what's inside, I really need to have this guy stop hacking so loud and just put him out of his misery. Placing the envelope back on the table, I walk to where Brody is keeled over on the chair.

I wrap my fist around the back ofhis sports jacket. Yanking the gathered material upward, I continue to pull his weight with my hand until he is sitting somewhat upright. "Here, let me help you." Keeping one hand on his backside, I extend my other toward the now half empty mug. Bringing it to his lips, I maneuver them open.

"I watched a documentary once about how there are so many herbs that can help improve our health. It's why, despite my black thumb, I keep some handy in the garden. Open up Mr. Van Brunt, this will help open your airways." I lie, holding his body upright so I can pour the remainder into his mouth. He begins to gasp though it quickly morphs into a gargling as the liquid begins to splash against his lips. I tilt his head back so as much of the potent blend can get in and seal his airways shut. "That's it, just a little more to go," I whisper in his ear andas I let go of him, his body thuds against the wood table.

I avert my gaze to the small clock on the wall across from where I stand. Good, I have enough time to figure out the latest round of incriminating evidence against me and still get to Satan's on time.

Picking up the envelope once more, I lift the half-sealed flap to discover that there's asmall polaroid placed inside. Retrieving it from the envelope, I'm even more confused because it"s of a log cabin. I continue to stare at the picture, trying to piece together why this man brought it over here in the first place and what it has to do with Maddox when a bright light flashes in my periphery.

My heart begins to bounce around my chest when an even brighter flash of light,presents itself. This time coming from the front of the house.

Worry creeps up on me for a moment but it quickly dissipates when I'm able to process that the lights are not the typical red and blue associated with the law. Whatever is flashing outside is bright with a yellow cast. Still looking ahead, I tip toe closer to the back sliding door when a pulse begins to vibrate from my thigh harness. Loosening the strap of my harness, I grab my phone and notice two new texts from my mom.

Mom: Call me now.

Mom: !!!!!!

Ah, what now?

My eye's roll as I press the green call button, pinching the phone between my shoulder and ear so I can continue to try to see where that flash of light came from. My phone vibrates against my ear, before the grainy ringing is replaced with my mother"s voice.

"Blair, where are you?" My mom asks, nagging at my ear drum.

"Hi, Mom. I'm good and you?" I say sarcastically.

"I'm serious, where are you? We need to talk." Her voice sounds more urgent this time.

"I'm home but this isn't really a good time."

A disapproving sigh filters through the phone. "You know, I wish you didn't insist on going there today."

It doesn't come as a surprise that my mom doesn't approve of my decision to drop out of NYU my sophomore year to pursue other avenues. I've tried my hand at an array of different jobs, but nothing has held my interest or felt quite like dancing at Satan's has. It just feels like home. Plus, I make enough money working three nights a week that I have time for my other hobbies.

"Tonight, or in general?" I ask.

"Honey," she begins, gearing herself up for a mini lecture. "My feelings about that place aside, it's not safe being out tonight."

"Mom, trust me, I'll be fine."

"Blair, I'm serious. Just the other night one of the…" she pauses. I already know what she's about to say, so I help her finish her sentence.

"Bodies," I offer with a chuckle.

"Jesus Christ, I don't know how you can be so nonchalant about such a thing," she scoffs. "Anyway, I spoke to Glinda, and she informed me that another decapitated body showed up near Satan's this week."

"So? What's your point?"

"My point is that you aren't invincible. One day," she pauses, to catch her breath which echo scratches at my ears through the speaker. "One day, you may not be so lucky. That's all. Just please use your head," she scolds.

"Before I lose it. Got it," I giggle.

"Blair Ellen Van Tassel!" she shouts, unimpressed with my joke.

"Oh, come on, you set yourself up for that one. Don't worry, I can handle myself. Plus, Satan's closes early tonight anyway, remember?"

"Yes, but still," she huffs, clearly not satisfied with my response. "Glinda said–"

"Glinda says a lot of things," I interrupt her. "Listen, I really need to go. I'll see you–" I'm about to say later but my words are cut off by the sensation of my stomach dropping to what feels like my feet. Though this time it's not because of an unannounced intruder or a bright flash of light sneaking into my house.

No, now, where I stand a few feet from my front door, the one with the stupid mail slot that I really need to close, is another envelope that was not there just a moment ago when I walked by.

Every hair on my body raises and a flush of heat that robs my mouth of any moisture erupts everywhere. My mom's voice continues to nag in my ears as I walk to the newenvelope, this one black, with a bright crimson wax seal facing me on the floor of the entryway.

"I don't know why you…" Her voice continues to filter in my ear, but I am unable to process the rest of what she is saying because all I can focus on is the name hellcat in small handwritten red letters.

"Umm, I have to go." I quickly end the call before she can respond.

Realizing I didn't lock the door after I let Brody in, I scurry to the door, frantically reaching for the lock and flipping the bar on the latch.

Why is he doing this?I don't have time for him and his games tonight.

With my hand still flat on the door, I can feel the gust of wind sneak through the small space between the weather stripping and the door itself. My skin prickles in response just as a harsh chill works its way to my spine as my phone begins to vibrate in my hand.

I peer down to see one new notification on the lock screen, from an unknown number.

Fuck, here we go.

Unknown: I trust that you received my surprise. Sorry it wasn't anything elaborate but the night is young =P

Me: What surprise?

Unknown: Umm hello, the picture of the cabin you're going to die at tonight Blair. DUH

Unknown: Didn't Brody…give it to you? Oh no, did you kill him already?

Unknown: Shame on you, that's no way to treat a house guest.

Me: Get a life and stop watching me…and no I didn't.

Unknown: Tsk little hellcat…haven't you learned not to lie to daddy?

Me: GAG…you're not daddy material…you're a deranged psycho…there's a difference

Unknown: Ehh, I don't know about that…

Unknown: Something tells me the more deranged, the more elevated the daddy status

Me: Shut up… what the fuck do you want?

Unknown: I just wanted to tell you that tight bodysuit you're wearing makes your tits look great but not as good as that thigh harness makes your juicy thighs look

Me: Lucky guess. You don't scare me. I'm a dancer, of course I'm wearing one

Unknown: True…but you don't always pair it with leather gloves now do you?

Me: You're a creep

Unknown: …and you're a murderer. Who the fuck are you to judge?

Unknown: Now, be a good girl and walk over to the other gift that is waiting for you to open on the floor

Unknown: Oh and shake your ass when you walk, nice and slow for daddy.

Me: Where are you? How are you fucking seeing me?

Unknown: Technology. Beautiful isn't it? It's come such a long way since our instant messenger days… final girl.

Unknown: Ok, I have to get back to work but you need to open the next part of your surprise.

Me: Or what? You going to come scare me, Boogeyman?

Unknown: HAHA

Unknown: Scare you? and allow you to be the wet little slut you are when fear invades your body?

Unknown: Nope. I'm going to do something much worse than scaring you.

Me: And that is??

Unknown: Make you keep your word. A promise is a promise, and you owe me.

Unknown: Clock's ticking final girl…

Unknown: It's a beautiful night for a burial

Me: Funny you mention that. I was thinking the same thing

Unknown: May the most depraved win =)

Placing my phone back, I walk over to where the black envelope still rests on the floor.Opening it I read aloud, the latest of the handwritten notes, he still insists on sending me.

"And he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his works…"

Thought I'd set the tone for the evening with a little Washington Irving quote. I mean, after all it is Devil's Nightin Sleepy Hollow, so it's fitting. I trust you saw the picture I had Brody deliver of the cabin. Pretty, isn't it? Although I feel like it's missing something that I am hoping you can help me with. I've always wanted a place to call my own, with windows from floor to ceiling but I can't help to feel that those windows will look even nicer with your blood smeared on the glass when I have you pinned against them. Just the thought of your blood dripping makes my cock rock hard. I hope you can run in those pretty heels you're wearing because as promised, I'm coming for you. Fifteen years in and there's no way out of this mess you made. See you soon little hellcat.

Always yours,

Madness

Crumpling the letter, I toss it in the garbage as I grab my car keys and purse.

I hope lover boy is ready because Devil's Night is my favorite time to lay old grudges to rest, the old fashion way of course. With a smile on my face and a knife in my hand.

Happy almost Halloween motherfucker, hope you can keep up.