#forcing the dog horror agenda down people's throats

[triglycercule]

horror's jacket fluff has probably accumulated so much DISGUSTINGNESS over 7 years in it that it's managed to acquire it's own signature Dog Smell (TM). however i think this would be a prime opportunity to pet him and then get some of that disgusting smell on you because for some reasons Dog Smell is just unavoidable when you pet a dog with a lot of hair

he'd hate it but awww awww whos a good boy (ﾉ´∀｀*) whos a good boy (*≧∪≦) YOU ARE!!! awww so cute you didn't commit all those murders against innocent people you were innocent (￣▽￣)／ such a good boy!!!! (gets beheaded) (he got too embarrassed)

[bettercallsabs]

The Groom To Be 2

A/N: 12/23. 2:32am. Due to starting a new job and all that jazz I’ve had very little time to write, but as my schedule solidifies, I will be posting regularly, so bear with me yet again. Anywho, I am so happy to be finally posting part 2. I hope you all enjoy! And thank you to each and everyone one of you that takes the time to read my works. I appreciate you more than you know! Taglist is open, so never miss a post.

Series Masterlist//Thee Masterlist

Engaged!Steve Rogers x WeddingPlanner!Reader plus sized reader-

Warnings: Adult language, Self-esteem issues.

Word Count: 3k+

STEVE ROGERS POV

Wedding planning was exhausting. Steve could believe people actually enjoyed this. He’s much rather have been kicking back with Bucky, and ice cold beer watching sports. But instead, here he was stuck planning large wedding, he didn’t even want whilst his fiancée was has way across the world. Steve always imagined a small, simplistic wedding, close family and friends, something rustic and homey. But Larissa wanted big, Big, BIG! 

Steve flopped into the overstuffed leather sofa of his Brooklyn loft. After a long day of venue touring, his brain was fried. 

“Beers are here!” Sam’s voice echoed off the exposed brick of the loft. His hands were full with four cases of beer. Bucky trailed behind him, carrying two large boxes of pizza.  

“You look awful man.” Sam tossed Steve a bottle, laughing as he took a seat in the match oversized chair. 

“I feel awful. I never thought I’d wish for something to go wrong, just so I could get out of wedding planning.”

“That bad?” Bucky chimed in carrying over a box of pizza with a roll of paper towels. 

“Yes! All we talk about is colors, and table settings. Flower arrangements this, wedding photos that. It’s beyond annoying. If Y/N was such a nice young woman, I’d have run off by now.”

“Nice you say?” Sam’s looked at Steve with quizzical eyes, one brow arching higher than the other. 

“Yes Sam, she’s very sweet. You’d like her.”

“Oh I would now?” 

“Yes, Bucky too. She really is delightful. We went to lunch today, and she’s actually quite comical.” 

Bucky and Sam exchanged a look of deviation spreading across their faces in the form of wicked grins. 

“Steve, buddy ole pal. Do you have the hots for your wedding planner?”

Steve’s face grew 10 different shades of red, as he swatted at his friends. 

“No! Of course not. I just... you two suck. You know that?” 

Both of his friends burst out into thunderous laughter. Bucky patted Steve’s shoulder, giving it a stern squeeze, Steve, shrugging him off. 

“Anyways, I love Larissa. I mean, I could probably set one of you up with her, although, she doesn’t seem like the dating type.” At least, Steve hoped she wasn’t the dating type. . . 

Steve felt a slight tightening in his chest as he spoke. He moved awkwardly in the lazy boy, taking a long swig of his beer, as his friends joked around. 

“Hey Cap, why so quiet bud?”

Sam looked at Steve with mischievous eyes- he was always up to no good. Steve rolled his eyes, refusing to feed into to Sam’s agenda, taking another long swig from the bottle. He suddenly wasn’t in the mood for beer and pizza. He needed to let off some steam. 

“I think I’m just going to go for a run. Yeah, a run sounds good.” 

Steve lurched himself from his seat, hustling to his room to change into better fitting clothing. Something he could move freely in without feeling like he was being suffocated. Steve ripped off his button down shirt, tearing it as he forgot his own strength for a moment. 

What the hell is wrong with me?

Steve thought to himself as he paused, his naked flesh exposed as he slumped over the sink, his hands clutching to  the edge of the counter.  These feelings were irrational, and Steve was anything but irrational… well, most of the time. Slipping into a pair of sweats and a form fitting blue tee that hugged his chest, exposing the definition of his toned pecks and perfectly built biceps and triceps, slipping a snuggly fit grey sweatshirt over top. 

After his tennis shoes were tied, Steve made his way for the door, his two best friends trailing close behind. 

“Steve, where are going?” Bucky stopped him, resting a bionic arm on his shoulder.

“I just need to clear my head. I’ll be back later, make yourselves at home, you always do anyway.”

Steve took off without another word. The cool air licked at his face as he took off running into the evening dusk. Thoughts of Y/N consumed his mind. That smile was infectious and sweet. She was shy, but outgoing, one of those women who didn’t know how beautiful they actually were. She was everything Larissa wasn’t. Sure, Larissa was kind, genuine and strikingly beautiful- some say she’s every man’s dream- but there was something Y/N had that Larissa didn’t. Steve wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he knew it was something significant. 

He was drawn to Y/N, but he knew he shouldn’t be. He was getting married, and she is the wedding planner. . . 

Steve pushed harder, his legs pumping faster as he quickened his pace from a brisk jog, into an all out sprint. Until his thoughts were of nothing  but remembering how to breathe. He didn’t want to think about her anymore… he couldn’t. 

———

The following weeks were painstakingly slow. Steve just wished Larissa would come back already. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this, keep up the facade. He had feelings for Y/N, that much he knew, but why was she so intoxicating? Just being in the same room as her made his head spin, and over the last couple of weeks things had only gotten worse. Steve found himself in a constant cycle of thought, always thinking of Y/N. He rarely thought of Larissa anymore, and it made him feel immense guilt and he didn’t think he could take much more of it. 

Steve sat across from Y/N, his arm draped over the plush loveseat as he listened to her speak in what seemed like foreign tongues. 

“So, Larissa sent me a message, and she would like you and your super boy posy - her words by the way- to pick out tuxedos. She specifically requested cumberbunds, but will settle for a low cut vest style. No bare. Shirts should have French cuffs and French front shirt. Pants should-“ 

Steve threw his hands up in defeat. “Listen Y/N, I know you mean well, and you’re  just doing your job, but for the love of goodness, I have no idea what you are talking about. I’m honestly not even sure if you’re speaking English to me right now. I know Larissa is nitpickie, but. . . Wow.”

Y/N looked at Steve with her calming eyes, that laugh that he adored so much slipping from her lips as she burst into laughter. 

“ I should have known fashion isn’t your forte.” Her smile widened as she continued to laugh. Y/N moved from her seat, grabbing the iPad that sat on the edge of her desk, before tasking s test next to Steve on the love seat, her leg brushing against Steve’s knee. 

Steve felt his heart leap in his chest. He felt nervous, clearing his throat as he awkwardly repositioned himself. He rubbed his sweating hands down his pants as he cleared his throat- trying to rid himself of the unreasonable nervousness.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was so close.” Her voice was laced with panic and embarrassment as she scooted away, creating a large gap between herself and Steve. 

Steve could see in her mesmerizing eyes, that she was suddenly self-conscious, and her whole demeanor seemed to change. 

“It’s not big deal, it happens. Don’t worry about it. “ Steve reached out, resting  his hand on her forearm, trying his best to reassure Y/N, but thee damage was already done and Steve felt a wave of remorse. Her never should have moved. He liked the way her leg felt against his. He liked feeling close to her.  

“I um, wold you excuse me a moment?” Before he even had a chance to reply, she was off the couch and rushing out of the office. 

God dammit. 

Steve grabbed his phone that was tucked away in his pocket, sending a text to a group chat of his closest friends. 

Steve: I think I just made my wedding planner cry. 

Sam: Cap… What did you do?

Bucky: You….. Made a woman cry? How’d you manage that one?

Nat: Steve….

Steve: I didn’t do anything really… she just sat down a little close than I think she meant too… she was laughing after all…

Bucky: what does that even mean?

Sam: So like, did she touch you or…

Steve: kind of yeah. But it was unintentional. And I panicked. I have no idea why I panicked. 

Nat: You hurt her feelings Steve…

Bucky: Wait, I thought you liked her though? I’m confused now…

Steve: I do like her, I don’t know what came over me. 

Sam: Man, I knew you had the hits for her. You sly dog, you. 

Steve. NO SAM! NOT LIKE THAT! 

Nat: why are you yelling Steve?

Steve: You all are no help. 

Bucky: That’s what were here for, no help. We fight with force, not feelings. What did you expect?

Steve: Obviously I wasn’t thinking when I sent the text. You all are useless. TTYL. 

Steve tucked his phone back into his pocket, resting his elbows on top of his knees-his head hung as he massaged at his temple. What was it about this woman that drove him to the point of such irrational behavior? 

Reader POV

When your leg brushed against his, you prayed he wouldn’t notice. You hoped that you could play it off as if it didn’t happen, but Steve’s reaction sent the hopes and dreams blowing into the wind. HE seemed top flinch at your touch, moving as quickly as he could to create a distance between the two of you. The expression on his face, looked to be a face of horror and discontent. 

No…

You couldn’t think straight, as your emotions took over you. Before you even knew what you were thinking, you were on your feet, darting for the bathroom…

Your heart leapt in your chest as you hovered over the sink- your hands clutching the sink so hard, they ached. You felt your stomach beginning to churn, you felt as though you might just hurl. How could you have been so stupid? God. They way he moved away from you… Your heart dropped into your stomach, tears welling in your eyes. Of course he’d never go for someone like you, he was completely out of your league. He is Steve Rogers, Captain America- and he was marry Larissa fucking Levingston for fuck sakes. You were his wedding planner, period. 

“Get out of fantasy land Y/N, and do your job.” You scowled at yourself in the mirror, wiping the running mascara from your under eye and cheek. Taking in a deep breath, you recomposed yourself, You were a professional and you needed to be professional. With another deep breath, you sucked back in the emotions you had let run loose.

 Not today Y/N, not today.

You displayed your best fake smile- quite genuine looking- as you entered back into your office. 

“Sorry about that. I think I might be catching a bug. Now where were we?” You snatched up the iPad you had tossed onto the coffee table when you fled to the bathroom. You tested yourself back on the loveseat, but made sure there was a persons length between the two of you. You would not make the same mistake twice. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? If you’re not feeling well, I wouldn’t want to keep you.” 

Of course. You were sure he wanted nothing more but then to get away from you, but you had a job to do. You had to make sure Larissa’s requests were met. And the tuxedos were high on her list. You had to get them perfect, and everyone knows, that customer tuxedos take time, so this needed to get done today, now, no matter how much your self esteem was suffering, you had to do this.

“No, no I’m fine. This is important. Larissa wants custom Tux’s and those take time, so were going to have to pick out some styles today, and get fittings scheduled for you and your party. So let’s get started.” You wanted do get this over with as soon as possible. Your cuddle duds, crappy Lifetime movies, and Chineseese food, were calling your name. 

“Alright. Walk me through it then.

 After a long day at work, and an outburst of untamed emotions, you were happy to be home. You set the bags of groceries onto the kitchen counter, sighing in relief as you freed your poor aching feet from the new heels you had decided to wear that day-rookie mistake, you should have definitely worn them in first. You grabbed a Large wine glass form the cupboard, realising the cork from the bottle of wine as you proud yourself a generous glass. Taking a sip, you felt the glorious red liquid warming your body. Oh how you loved wine. 

Glass on hand, you climbed the short flight of stairs to your bedroom. You couldn’t get out of your work clothes quick enough. You didn’t even bother picking up your clothes from the floor- you knew you would regret it later, but at the moment, after the day you had experienced, you couldn’t care less- you made your way into the bathroom, clearing the days worn makeup from your face. 

Fresh faced and in your favorite pair of cuddle duds, you strutted down into the kitchen to prepare yourself some supper. Freshly chopped chicken sautéed on the stove, as you sliced some spring onion and ginger, adding them into the sizzling chicken, the mouthwatering  scent wafting up in the steady streams of steam. You flipped on the TV, turning the channel straight to lifetime. Crappy acting, predictable plot, and of course a criminal act, was all the joy of watching Lifetime movies. Even though they surely weren’t winning any film awards anytime soon, they somehow managed to keep your attention.

Just as you were spooning out your Teriyaki chicken into a serving bowl, your buzzer rang. You weren’t expecting any company… Walking to the door, you held the intercom button. 

“Who is it?”

“Hey Y/N, its Steve, Steve Rogers. Can we talk?”

What the hell was Steve Rogers doing at your home? How the hell did he even know where you lived? And what could he possibly want to talk about at 9:32pm. You stood there for one too many seconds, his voice speaking through the intercom. 

“Hello? Are you still there?”

“Uh yeah, I’ll buzz you up.” 

Hesitantly, you hit the buzzer, unlocking in the door, and letting Steve Rogers into your building. And it hit you. You were in your jimjams, no makeup, hair a mess… Jesus fucking christ. A flood of panic rushed over you as you bobbed up and down like a lunatic. 

Fuck fuck fuck.

The knock at the door nearly sent you over the edge. You couldn’t possibly let him see you like this… but what choice I you have?

-another knock at the door.-

Fuck.

Hesitantly , you made your way for the door, unlocking the deadbolt, slowly opening the door so only half of your face was visible. Steve stood in the hall, a fading smile gracing his face- he looked nervous, his sparkling blue eyes avoided yours as he looked at the ground, before meeting your gaze. 

“I… Could I possibly come in? I’m truly sorry for the intrusion, I just wanted to talk with you.” 

Nodding, you opened the door wide enough for him to step through -You were going to regret this later… Hell, you regretted it now.- You closed the door behind him, holding your arms snuggly against your body. Your embarrassment level at an all time high. 

“Wow, it smells amazing in here.” 

“Oh thanks. I just whipped up some quick supper, I was actually just about to eat-“

“Im so sorry. Gosh, this was so rude of me to show up unannounced. I should leave.”

A part of you wished he would leave, but… 

“It’s alright Steve. No harm done. Actually, I made well more than I can eat alone… Would you like to join me?”

Steve’s eyes seems to light up as you asked him to stay. It made your heart sputter. 

“I couldn’t impose-“

“No, I insist, poles stay. DO you like teriyaki chicken?”

He nodded, a glint of a smile creeping in the corner of his mouth. “I cant remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.”

You directed him to the quant square table that sat in your eat in kitchen, gesturing for him to have a seat.  You finished spooning the chicken into the bowl, setting it onto the table with a side of rice, grabbing dinnerware from the cabinet. 

“Would you like anything drink? I’m afraid I don’t have much of a selection. Lets see here..” You peered into your fridge, nothing but beer and water. “I have some wine, or theres a bottle of Guinness , if you’d prefer that or water.”

“I’ll take that Guinness if you don’t mind.” 

You grabbed the bottle from the fridge, using the bottle opener magnet that hung on the fridge to crack it open. You took your seat across the table from Steve, feeling more aware of the situation you were in then you would have liked. 

“Please, help yourself.” Your voice began to crack as you pushed the food closer to his general direction. Steve hesitated a moment, before sipping a heaping pile of rice and chicken onto his plate. Good thing you had made enough to feed a family of five, because the man could eat. 

“Oh my, this is amazing! You made this?”

 Steve smiled that oh so charming grin that made you melt, as he took another bite.You nodded, smiling back at him as you dished yourself a plate. 

“So, what brings you by?” You asked between bites. You desperately wanted to know what brought this hunk of a man to your home. Was it about the tuxedos? His friends probably weren’t on board with it, and he was probably here to find away out of them…

“I wanted to apologizes. About early today.”

You nearly choked on your chicken. He came all the way out here to apologize? But for what exactly?

“Apologize? For what?

“My behavior earlier, you know. . . “ You could feel the heat rising to your face, a wave of nausea sweeping over you as he spoke. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or embarrassed. I, I don’t know what came over me. I don’t know what it is, but, you…” Steve shook his head, his thumb and index finger rubbing at his eyes, before staring at you with those intoxicating blue eyes. 

“I don’t understand.” The words spilled form your mouth, barely audible. 

Steve was no longer sitting but standing in to the side of you. You looked up at him, completely puzzled by the predicament you seemed to be in. 

“I have to go. I’m sorry.” 

Steve hustled for the door, swinging it behind him as he left, with a slight bang. You were speechless, utterly confused. And you were 100% unsure on how to process what had just issued.

“What the actual…” 

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[sweetbitterbitten]

continued from here

One of the countless benefits of being in the neighborhood watch was the ability to get any new news first. Eyes and ears of agencies old led one to be incredibly well informed. Especially on fronts personally manned. She’d not yet been assigned to him a few months when already the first casualty staked it’s claim. The chatter on the wire was all abuzz, some deal gone south, some retribution in the cards to be dealt and doled out. Some recalibration in his ill-fated stars spun about. She’d slipped from the flat, sensible shoes speeding down flights of stairs before the order was half over. Her people wanted him alive and alive is what he would not be if she arrived any later than precisely, impossibly on time. Blocks from where the intel had locked as the predetermined destination of the arranged hit, a crack like that of a car backfiring pulled her up short with a savage jerk, manipulation akin to that of a marionette’s strings. A sickening nervous riot roiled mid belly and from there she sprinted faster than the blur of street lights could register. Her keds screeched to a forceful stop feet away from his battered and bloody boody, prone and unprotected on the ground; caught for a moment in speechless horror at the scene so gruesomely splayed. Old fashioned sacrifice on an eldrich-new aged altar. So much the river of red run ‘round him - a moat, and he, the conquered castle. Beaten, bludgeoned and reduced to rubble. He makes a sound - so opposite, so awfully opposite from what she has encountered personally from him in the past. That wild dog in the pants of a panther, control just barely tethered to a flimsy pole. This weak, helpless resonation of sound from his throat, churned by the gut, slashes at her with such fear - such desperate disbelief- it all but renders her immobile. But life is life, and she must have his. Her superiors demand it, and her limbs heed the call. Vaulting to his side over a disarmingly twinkling, and inconveniently placed road stall, she lands harshly beside him in a puddle of his own crimson composition. “jesuschrist. jesusfuckingchrist.” Her hands hover, hesitating to touch - to unintentionally cause him further harm. Still, stock must be taken, monitored within an inch of perfection to pull off salvation. And though she is no nurse, she’ll serve well enough. For now. 

Fingertips trace the matted hair away from his mauled face, managing to catalog the damage done to the cheek and more. She curses low, a litany to rival any prayer, were it not for it’s uncouth characterization. Over and over again, hardly breath at all, more whistle hissed between grimacing lips and teeth - tenderly trying his chest. fuck. his ribs. fuck. And that shoulder, god that shoulder...fuckfuckfuck. Well past her range of skill to heal. Her features screw up, furrow in frustration, molars chewing the inside of her cheek fretfully. Drawing blood of her own. Salty, tangy, iron-infused. Jesusfuckingchristfuckinghelpher. She cannot call an ambulance. Hospitals are too public, too pronounced a presence to parade themselves into. Those who did this were likely to find him easily enough and finish what they had begun before she could radio her dispatch for back up. This was only meant to be a reconnaissance mission. Nothing more. But already it had defied its preconceived labels. First with their impromptu and unconventional introduction...And now? Midnight mob run-ins? She ran a hand through her ragged hair in cross contemplation, precious seconds slipping in equal measure to the auburn streaks snagging, tussling in her panic. Specifics could be settled some other time. Safety and seclusion were the prime directives now. She cast about vainly for some source of either aspect, damning every darkened window or shut door -who stays inside while a man lies dying? - and exhaled a jagged, rasp of laughter coughs out in recognition of their local. Not half a block from an unused and all but derelict stock/store room (one of the several scattered throughout the city, should the occasion call for them, to be used at any agents descretion).  “Goddamn blessed by god, is what you are, Nigel Paininmy Arsehole.” The grumble conjoins with the grunts of her efforts to raise him onto her petite shoulder, half dragging his dead weight as much as she can muster. One painful cement sideway block at a time. Maneuvering him within the space beyond border door and the facade wall after was nothing short of miraculous. Divine intervention for his damned soul. For whatever purpose, the universe prepared to place no impediment on his continued existence. Laying him with all gentleness and absolute relief on a stock of blankets by the back wall, she once again checked his wounds before laying a discerning palm to his burning brow. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ An hour after morphine and antibacterial were injected into his system, saw her as fraught and frazzled as his prone form. Blood was an inherently transferable medium, clinging to her canvas as she sought to clean his. A pile of soaked and sanguine enspunged cloth was stacked off to the side. Antiseptics applied. The sting of alcohol permanently branded in her nostrils. The scent of sweat as his body rebelled against infection and hers fought fear. She was wrecked, roughened by the night - but - immediate danger seemed to have passed as much as could be possible. She was so worn, weary...though without visible wound. Sleep could have won with no more but a whisper, and would have, had the dilemma she’d pushed aside in light of the current urgency, not reared its foul little head in reminder. She was meant to alert the home base of happenings such as these. But that would surely mean capture, custody, and questioning. At full health, her directions had been to follow, record and report accordingly. Strictly noncontact cautioned. Sin begins with curiosity and ends in a lie. It had been curiosity that had crept her too close. Close enough for a hand to clamp about her arm, an arm to pin her choking, scrambling, squeaking to a wall. Field mouse against a fucking jackal. He’d spared her with rough and rude threats to do worse should he catch her treading on his tail again. Acquiesence was the only available avenue if she wanted to escape alive. And so...it was readily given. But to her watchers she revealed none of this. No hint or reference to it ever having happened. They would have replaced her had she done so. The slippery slope, or so they liked to say. Strangely enough, though for certain she’d kept her distance thereafter, determined to slide no further - her mark, the half man- half animal, seemed to amuse himself in encouraging her agenda from afar. A tip of a teasing salute given or a saucer and cup of coffee sent to the seat she sightsaw from across the street, her civilian paper pathetically posed as a prop in hand. Always with that same self-satisfied smirk. So often earning a returning scoff and a deft roll of her eyes. But she never refused the caffeine. Keeping watch was a full-time job. The flirtation, however, seemed to fill her thoughts more often than her actual charge. Dangerous. Deeply dangerous, under any circumstances but particularly these. Unheard of and improper for an agent of her training: desk clerk. paper collector. note taker. If she proved herself incapable, or more disappointingly, compromised and unethical, she’d never be allowed to ascend - let alone keep her position. The arguments teemed, like beetles, or maggots on the bone. Chittering, jittering away until even the motion of shaking her head could not dislodge them. The only alternative was to drown them out. Rising, joints popping from a spot too long anchored on her knees, overseeing his recovery, she retrieved his shirt (the removal of which had been necessary in assessing and dressing his incapacitated arm) and walked stiltingly to the basin in the corner. The rushing flush of fresh water from the faucet above clattering in the steel bin was enough to eventually cover the roar of her concerns as she began to clean the stains lodged in the cloth. She had done well enough for herself thus far, keeping hidden that which would rather be. She could continue, chaperone free. He would raise no objection or alarm, she assumed. After all, fair trade wasn’t it? Professional courtesy and all? Occupation feeding occupation. By the time she’d wrung the last of the final rinse from the fabric and hung it up to dry, she knew this would be but another secret she’d keep. Another lie she’d tell.

[lets-talk-appella]

Fallen Leaves, Fallen Bellas

Ch. 3/6 - Laundry Day

Summary:

“It’s not true, though,” Chloe’s voice jarred them from their thoughts. “I mean, it can’t be. Ghosts aren’t real, and they definitely don’t kill people. You made that up to scare us, right?” She asked Aubrey, smiling uncertainly.

Aubrey didn’t smile back.

Horror take on the Lodge at Fallen Leaves retreat, cabin in the woods style.

Word Count: 5.8k

Rated: T - brief, non-graphic mention of blood. Creep-factor increased.

AO3 and FFN

Chapter 1 - Chippy

Chapter 2 - Footsteps

“Beca. Wake up, Beca. It’s time to get up.”

“Nooooo…”

“Yes, I’m sorry. It’s Aubrey’s rules, and I don’t wanna get yelled at again.”

Beca cracked open one eye, wincing at even the small amount of light in the room. Emily’s anxious face was looming above her, much too close for comfort. To avoid thinking about it, Beca looked to the side, expecting to see flowing red hair on the pillow next to her. However, Chloe was already gone.

“Chloe’s downstairs. Everyone is,” Emily said far too loudly for Beca’s liking.

“What? What time is it?” Beca asked blearily, blinking to clear her eyes and wondering why Chloe hadn’t woken her up when she’d left.

“It’s almost seven,” Emily said guilty, backing slowly away from the bed as if she thought Beca might attack her.

Beca glared, her annoyance spiking. No one should have to be awake at that ungodly hour. “Emily, why the fu –”

“I’m sorry!” Emily squeaked, raising her hands defensively as she backed out of the room. “Aubrey’s orders!”

Beca heard herself growl, and she reached for Chloe’s pillow to fling at the youngest Bella, but Emily had already whisked out the door, letting it slam. Beca fell back against her pillow with a groan, rubbing her eyes and hating her entire existence. It was stupidly early, Chloe was gone, Amy was hurt, and Ashley and Jessica were still missing.

Ashley and Jessica. Shit.

The memory of their disappearance dragged Beca’s body from bed; she figured Aubrey was organizing a search party or something in the daylight, which, okay, smart. Keeping her eyes half-closed to protect them for as long as possible, Beca changed from her pajamas into denim shorts and a blue T-shirt. She wasn’t sure what else to wear on a search party, but she hadn’t packed much else.  

She stumbled down the steps (God, she hated mornings) and into the kitchen of Aubrey’s lodge, which somehow looked even more dingy and gloomy in the early morning light. Thankfully, there was a huge pile of granola bars on the counter, obviously meant as her breakfast. She grabbed two, unwrapping one and biting into it immediately, and slid the other into a pocket for later. Glancing around the lodge, she didn’t see anyone hanging around and figured they were all outside, gearing up for the search.

Tossing her granola bar wrapper in the trash, Beca spared only a glance at the knife block still missing its chef knife and at the mirror facing the wall before stepping out the front door of the lodge, shivering at the unseasonable chill. She expected to see a full search party assembled, perhaps with police and rescue dogs. That was not the case; instead, the Bellas stood in a sort of semi-circle facing Aubrey, who had her back to Beca.

At Beca’s approach, Aubrey turned around sharply to glare at her. Beca had to do a double-take; Aubrey looked rough. Her eyes were bloodshot, with massive, dark bags under them as if she hadn’t slept. Her hair was lank and messy, and she seemed to be wearing the same outfit as she had the day before. She still clutched Chippy, who had been dressed in a crisp new outfit, his painted features more alarmingly life-like than ever.

“Thank you for joining us, Beca,” Aubrey said, her voice clipped and formal.

Beca cleared her throat, recovering from the shock of Aubrey’s appearance.

“Yeah… so, are we meeting the police here, or…?” she gestured vaguely.

“No police,” Aubrey said firmly. “No need for that.”

Beca felt her eyebrows shoot up. Aubrey had lost her mind; of course they needed the police.

“Uh, dude, we really could use –”

Aubrey delicately lifted Chippy’s little wooden arm, bringing Beca to a horrified, stuttering halt. “We do not believe in law enforcement during team building,” she said clearly. “And besides. There’s no cell service.”

Beca stared, stunned by the display. She glanced up and saw Cynthia-Rose staring back at her, clearly as repulsed by the puppet as she was.

Aubrey let Chippy’s arm fall but held tight to his hand as she continued, “It is time for some vocal warm-ups before you run the Obstacle Course of Bonding and Friendship.”

Beca choked a little. She looked beyond Aubrey to gauge the others’ reactions. They didn’t appear surprised, so she figured Aubrey must have already given them the day’s agenda. Emily and Lilly looked sympathetic, Stacie and Flo stared uncomfortably at their own feet, Cynthia-Rose stared at Chippy in disgust, and Chloe gazed back at Beca, her expression pleading. A weird tapping noise made Beca turn to the house, and she saw Amy staring down at them all from the second floor, seated in her wheelchair at the window, bag of popcorn (where the hell did she get that?) in hand.

Whirling back to Aubrey, Beca said with a forced calm, “Aubrey. Two people are missing. Our friends are missing. You know that, right?”

She again looked at Chloe, who shifted her weight and looked away, her arms crossing over her chest.

“This is just an exercise in finding harmony, Beca,” Aubrey said, an edge to her voice. “Sometimes you have to break things down before you can build them back up.”

Beca threw her hands up in frustration, shouting, “We’ve got more important things to do!”

“Oh, what could be more important than this?” Chloe jumped in suddenly, glaring at Beca.

Hardly believing her ears, Beca droned sarcastically, “Hmm, I don’t know, Chloe, maybe… finding Ashley and Jessica and getting out of this hell?”

Dimly, she registered the other Bellas backing away slowly from their raised voices, but Beca didn’t care. She was tired of Chloe acting like she didn’t care about Ashley and Jessica, tired of Chloe constantly giving her the cold shoulder, tired of not having her best friend in her life. The resentment she’d been feeling toward Chloe ever since her breakup with Jesse was boiling over and bursting free.

“Well,” Chloe spit back at her, “did you ever think that we’re only here because of you?”

“What?” Beca hissed, furious. If it was anyone’s fault, it was Chloe’s for suggesting the retreat in the first place. Before she could say that, though, Chloe cut her off.

“No, you don’t think that we haven’t all realized you’ve been a little checked out lately?” she said harshly. “If you weren’t off doing God-knows-what all the time and actually paid attention to us, we never would have had to come here, and Ashley and Jessica wouldn’t be missing!”

Oh. The internship. Shit.

“God, that’s why you’ve been acting so weird? Because you’re pissed at me for not being around?” Beca groaned, exasperated. She hadn’t realized she’d been that obvious.

“Yes!” Chloe exploded violently, throwing her hands up. “Don’t you get it? I’m trying to fix us, and you don’t seem to care about that at all! What the hell is going on? Who are you always sneaking off to?”

“Girl fight!” Cynthia-Rose called out from the side, but Beca barely heard her. Was that seriously what Chloe was worried about?

“What, you think I’ve been seeing someone?” Beca laughed, ignoring Chloe’s flinch and sudden break in eye contact. “Okay, you know what?” She’d just have to come clean.

With a deep breath, Beca explained, “I’ve been interning at a recording studio and a legit music producer wants to hear my work.”

“Well that’s – oh.” Chloe stopped herself, her eyes widening in surprise as she absorbed what Beca said. She looked down at her feet, suddenly quiet and contrite, and Beca felt the tension draining away from the situation. She exhaled shakily in quiet relief; she hated arguing with Chloe.

Chloe looked back up and said softly, “Why would you keep something like that from us?”

Beca shrugged one shoulder and replied, “Because you’re – I didn’t want to distract you.”

She’d been close to saying “you’re obsessed,” but she didn’t think that would go over too well, and didn’t want the shouting match to resume.

Chloe nodded thoughtfully, but said quietly, “I still wish you could have told me. That’s really cool Bec.”

“I… yeah,” Beca sighed, swiping a hand over her face tiredly. “I should have.”

When she looked up again, Chloe was smiling at her gently, as though they’d never fought. She opened her mouth, and Beca knew Chloe was about to apologize, but she realized that she didn’t need to hear it.

Before Chloe could say anything, Beca rushed out, “There, I said it, it’s fine. Now, can you stop acting so weird all the time and help me find our friends?” She made sure to keep her tone light and joking, desperate not to mess up the repair in their friendship.

With a small smile, Chloe glanced at the other Bellas and Aubrey (and Chippy) before saying, “Yeah. Definitely. Let’s find them.”

They turned to face the other Bellas, all of whom had been standing nearby and blatantly staring during their fight. Aubrey had her back to them all and appeared to be whispering to Chippy, who was cradled in her arms. Beca glanced up at the lodge window; Amy waved down at her, the bag of popcorn half-empty already.

“You two kiss and make up?” Cynthia-Rose asked with a self-satisfied grin.

“Yeah, there’s so much sexual tension here, you could cut it with a knife,” Stacie purred (rather unnecessarily in Beca’s opinion).

Beca’s stomach fluttered and she felt her face warm. She opened her mouth, ready to deliver a sharp retort – of some kind, probably – but Chloe interjected before she could.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, casually waving a hand. “We’re good. Let’s find Ashley and Jessica!”

“Finally,” Flo mumbled. “In my country, if someone has been missing this long, we just say they’ve been eaten by jaguars and move on.”

“Oh my God,” Emily squeaked. “You don’t think that’s what happened?”

Beca couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. “No, Legacy,” she said, “that’s not what happened. We just need to go for the police like I said earlier. Whether Aubrey” – she pointed to Aubrey’s turned back – “believes in the police or not.”

Aubrey whipped around so quickly that Chippy’s arms flapped. “I told you. No cell service, no cops.”

“But we can drive and get them,” Beca insisted, crossing her arms.

“No.”

It wasn’t Aubrey, but David; he stepped out from the lodge, Paris following right behind him. Without really meaning to, Beca glanced at Chloe and was momentarily pleased to see she looked affronted by his appearance. The next instant, though, she sent him a welcoming smile that made Beca’s stomach hurt.

“We’ll find your friends ourselves,” Paris added, her eyes lingering on Beca. “We can’t risk the camp getting shut down.”

Stacie glared at her and said slowly, “They were attacked. I think we have bigger things to worry about.”

Aubrey laughed loudly, making Beca jump and whirl; in the time they’d spent talking to David and Paris, Aubrey had moved to stand directly behind Beca.

“Attacked?” Aubrey said doubtfully in a high-pitched voice as Beca stumbled away from her. “More like they got lost and wandered off.”

“Um, what about that freaky hole in the ground?” Cynthia-Rose asked loudly. “Don’t tell me that wasn’t anything. It took three of us to pull Amy out.”

“Yeah, and we heard weird footsteps,” Chloe added, looking to Beca for support. Beca nodded back, grateful that Chloe was supporting their story again.

David and Paris glanced at each other, brows furrowed. Aubrey, however, pressed her lips together and ran two fingers over the crown of Chippy’s head as though smoothing his hair.

“Who would have attacked them?” she said through gritted teeth. “We’re alone here.”

Lilly raised her hand suddenly. “What if the ghost did it?” she whispered.

Beca’s stomach tightened as the Bellas all started talking over each other. She didn’t think she believed in ghosts – not really, anyway – but she still didn’t at all fancy the idea of one roaming around kidnapping (ghostnapping?) her friends. Amid the frenzied conversation around her, she caught a glimpse of Aubrey’s face, which for the first time was drawn tight with anxiety. However, the moment passed and Aubrey was soon yelling over them for attention.

“Bellas! Ladies, please!” she shouted, silencing them immediately. She raised a hand to rub at her eyes before continuing. “Tell you what – let’s split up and look for them. Then, if we still can’t find them, we go to the police. Okay?”

Beca glanced around; the others nodded their agreement, looking determined. Lilly pulled a knife out of nowhere, looking incredibly pleased about it. Flo saw her, winced, and moved to stand between Stacie and Cynthia-Rose.

“I… okay,” Beca agreed, knowing that the compromise was as good as it was going to get with Aubrey.

“How’re we going to split up?” Chloe asked, glancing at Beca.

Paris stepped forward and wrapped her arm around Beca’s shoulders. “Dibs on Beca!” she called out, for some reason looking directly at Chloe.

Beca’s brain turned to mush. A confused mush. What did that even mean? And Paris’s arm around her shoulders wasn’t helping her think.

God, her perfume smelled amazing.

“I’m with Beca, too,” Chloe said in a rush, moving in to smoosh herself against Beca’s other side.

Beca felt like she was dying.

Cynthia-Rose and Stacie both smirked, which didn’t help.

“I’m with these two,” David said with a smile to Emily and Lilly. Beca blinked, surprised that he hadn’t joined her, Paris, and Chloe. She risked a look at Chloe, expecting her to be disappointed, but Chloe was too busy giving Paris the side-eye that she hadn’t seemed to notice David.

Beca was incredibly confused.

“That leaves us, then,” Aubrey said briskly to Stacie, Flo, and Cynthia-Rose. “And Chippy, of course.”

Cynthia-Rose’s eyes flicked down to the marionette and she visibly cringed. Beca didn’t blame her.

“I’ll stay here and keep an eye on you twig bitches!” Amy called, loudly enough to be heard from the filthy window of the lodge.

“Thanks, Amy,” Beca managed, awkwardly extracting herself from between the two most beautiful women on the planet. She’d been starting to get sweaty, despite the unnatural chill in the air.

“Right, so, we’re gonna do this?” Emily asked, noticeably nervous.

“Yep,” said Stacie determinedly, though her hands were trembling.

“Stay in earshot,” Aubrey ordered, “And if you don’t find anything, meet back here in T-minus two hours. Don’t be late.”

A coyote howled in the distance.

“Wanna bring your shotgun?” Cynthia-Rose muttered, though Aubrey appeared not to hear her.

“Okay, team, break on three!” Chloe cheered.

“On three or af –”

“Let’s go,” Beca said before Stacie could finish her question. They were wasting time. “Everyone be careful.”

She watched as Aubrey took Chippy, Flo, Stacie, and Cynthia-Rose toward the woods to the right of the cabins. David, Emily, and Lilly went straight out from the cabins to walk along the road and woods there. Her heart plummeted; that left…

“To the pool?” Paris suggested.

Beca grimaced. She’d been afraid of that.

“Fine,” Chloe agreed stiffly.

Together, they turned and started toward the empty pool, every step closer making Beca’s heart thud more painfully against her ribs. The pool had always unnerved her, but she hadn’t realized just how much until forced to walk toward it in search of her missing friends that a ghost may or may not have spirited away. Or, if not a ghost, something else.

It wasn’t great.

It didn’t help that an awkward silence had fallen over the three of them as they walked. Beca didn’t like it; she could hear every step they took on the fallen leaves and small twigs, every breath Chloe took, every swish of Paris’s long hair as she walked. They moved further and further from the clearing, the sounds of the others’ footsteps fading away unnaturally quickly, until they were blanketed in the dense quiet of the forest around them.

The fog rolled in, seeping out of the woods and coating the grounds of the retreat. The mist swirled around them, thickening rather than dissipating in the daylight, and several times, Beca thought she saw someone moving toward them, only to realize the fog was playing tricks on her. She shivered, again feeling the weight of eyes on her back. The whole “someone is watching” schtick was getting old fast, but she couldn’t shake it.

“Could they have gone in the cabins?” Chloe broke the quiet suddenly, her voice loud in the eerie fog. Beca glanced to her right at the line of four abandoned cabins dotting the path to the pool, taking in their decrepit and creepy state. Her skin crawled and the hair on her arms stood up.

“I doubt it,” Paris said. “They’re in rough shape.”

“But it doesn’t hurt to check,” Chloe replied, an edge to her voice.

Paris sighed, then replied just as testily, “If you want to fall through a rotted wooden floor, be my guest.”

“We have to be thorough,” Chloe insisted stubbornly.

“Beca, what do you think?”

“Yeah, Bec?”

Oh God.

Beca didn’t like being between them at all. The way they both looked at her made her feel like she was making a much larger choice than whether or not to look around some creepy cabins for Ashley and Jessica.

“I mean,” she managed, pleased that she at least hadn’t made some embarrassing squeaking noise, “we could peek in them? Like, just poke our heads in?”

Thankfully, that seemed to satisfy both Paris and Chloe, who stubbornly refused to look at each other. Beca did her best to shrink into herself, though she wasn’t sure it worked.

They made their way to the first and nearest cabin. As they drew closer, Beca wondered if perhaps they should have just skipped the cabins. The grimy, broken windows, dark interior, missing shingles, crooked foundation, and rotted wooden steps were wholly uninviting during the day, and she had a hard time imagining that Ashely and Jessica would seek refuge in them at night.

Nevertheless, they moved to the first cabin’s door, carefully picking their way up the spongy steps. Beca was on edge, her heart pounding as she constantly stared around for any movement.

When Chloe gasped at a large spider on the wall, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Sorry,” Chloe whispered.

Paris rolled her eyes and reached for the door handle.

The cabins should have been locked. Beca hadn’t really thought about it, but they should not have been able to enter the derelict building. She was surprised, then, when the door swung open with relative ease and a soft groan like an exhale. She glanced up, making sure that the ancient structure wasn’t about to collapse on top of them.

A rush of fetid air from the interior of the building made her wrinkle her nose; it smelled of mold, dust, and decay, as though some animal had died in there years and years ago. The place looked even worse on the inside; what little light filtered through the filthy windows revealed holes in the floorboards, torn and moldy furniture still in place, and a collapsed fireplace on the far wall. As in Aubrey’s lodge, the mirrors on the walls were turned so that the glass faced inward.

There was very obviously no one there; Beca wouldn’t be surprised if no one had set foot in the cabin since the retreat closed twenty years ago.

Nevertheless, Chloe called tentatively into the dark interior, “Ashley? Jessica?”

There was no reply.

“Happy?” Paris asked, though her voice quivered slightly.

“Not really,” Chloe whispered.

Beca privately agreed.

“Let’s go,” she muttered, not at all liking the eerie feeling of the cabin.

Paris pulled the door shut again with a damp thud, and they wasted no time in making their way down the steps, careful to avoid the sagging, rotted sections.

Similarly, they approached the other three cabins, on high alert for any sign of movement from within.

The second didn’t have a front door, but rather was boarded up, a series of warped two-by-fours crisscrossing over the main entrance. They walked around the exterior checking the windows, but there weren’t any big enough holes in the glass for someone to have crawled through to get into the cabin that way. It would have been impossible for anyone to get inside.

The third cabin was open like the first had been, but when Paris opened the door, there was something waiting for them inside. Beca couldn’t stop herself from shrieking and jumping back when a pair of big, dark eyes met hers; Chloe only just grabbed her arm in time to save her from toppling own the front steps.

“Calm down!” Paris hissed. “It’s just a raccoon.”

Beca took a second look, and sure enough, the eyes she’d seen belonged to a small gray body with a fluffy tail. The animal bared its teeth at them but stayed put, burrowing into a couch.

Duh. Beca should have expected some animals to be living there, really.

That didn’t keep her legs from trembling beneath her.

Chloe again called for Ashely and Jessica to no avail. The sound of her voice didn’t seem to bother the raccoon at all, which, wasn’t that weird behavior for animals? Shouldn’t it have been scared of them? Instead, it only glared at them with those same beady eyes, as if berating them for disturbing its peace.

Beca was beyond relieved to leave that cabin and its inhabitant behind. However, they still had one left to check before making their way to the empty pool.

Beca swallowed.

Her eyes flicked between the concrete pool and the last cabin.

She wished Chloe would say something.

Or maybe Paris.

Anything to drown out the sound of her own frantic pulse.

They approached the fourth cabin cautiously, Beca glancing over her shoulder at the ever-darkening woods, positive she could feel eyes on her back, though they’d lost sight of the others long ago.

She, Chloe, and Paris again navigated the rotting wooden steps, avoiding what would almost certainly be a broken ankle should they make one mistake and fall through the stairs. They reached the front door and paused, Beca’s ears straining to hear any sign of life.

This time, she heard something.

Her heart stopped.

“Uh…”

“You’re hearing that?” Chloe whispered frantically, her eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline.

Paris nodded, frowning.

Beca reluctantly stepped closer to the door, listening with all her might. Whatever it was didn’t sound human; it was more of a rhythmic, electric whirring noise.

Chloe reached bravely toward the door handle, which turned with a click to let them into the cabin. The whirring became louder, and Beca realized it had to be coming from some kind of running appliance. Chloe cast a triumphant look over her shoulder at Paris before taking the first step into the cabin.

Beca followed slowly, eyes on the floor. Unlike the other cabins, however, the floor seemed more stable, though the furniture was no less musty, and there was yet another mirror turned to the wall.

Hope fluttered in Beca’s chest as she looked around carefully, searching for any sign that Ashley or Jessica might have gone in there. Someone obviously had been in the cabin recently, if there was a running appliance.

Paris stepped over the threshold behind them, and they made their way further into the room, heads turning in search of the noise. Movement caught Beca’s eye and she stared into a dim corner, finally making out the source of the whirring, which came from a small, front-loading washing machine. It was clearly nearing the end of its spin cycle. Only a few articles of clothing were visible through the scratched window, but she couldn’t quite make them out.

There was no dryer in sight.

“Guys, look,” she said, gesturing Chloe and Paris over and pointing to the washer.

“That’s not possible,” Paris said, her voice strained. “This cabin is supposed to be defunct. Aubrey said.”

“Well, what the fuck is that, then?” Beca asked, her nerves frayed. She didn’t like it.

Who would start a load of laundry in some old, abandoned – or supposed to be – cabin?

“Ashley? Jessica?” Chloe called out loudly, twisting and turning for any sign of them.

Nothing.

The cabin was silent apart from the sloshing of the washer and the sound of their heartbeats.

“What’s in it?” Paris asked quietly.

“Dunno,” Beca shrugged.

“Open it,” Paris urged.

Beca hesitated; she could think of about a million things she’d rather do, including running away or hugging a porcupine. Anything sounded better than approaching the washer, though she couldn’t really explain why.

“Bec, don’t,” Chloe whispered, shaking her head frantically. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Beca looked back at the washer, thinking.

What was the worst that could happen, really? It was just a washer. And opening it might make her seem brave in front of Chloe and Paris… she made her decision.

She stepped forward gingerly, ignoring Chloe’s small whimper of fear.

She stood beside the washer, put her hand on the door’s latch, and prepared to tug it open. She was sure it wasn’t locked; the thing looked older than her grandma, and probably didn’t come equipped with safety features.

The air around them quivered with anticipation.

Beca realized she was holding her breath.

Before she could change her mind, Beca gave a mighty tug on the door, flinging it open and causing some of the contents to spill out onto the floor along with a fair bit of water. For a moment, Beca stared at the mess, worried about cleaning up after themselves, until she caught sight of the clothing.

An achingly familiar patterned T-shirt lay in a soggy heap.

She recognized it in a heartbeat; it was Jessica’s.

And it was caked in blood.

Paris’s scream ripped through the air. Chloe was on her in an instant, basically tackling Paris and clamping a hand over her mouth like she had to Beca the night before in the woods.

“Shut up!” she whispered harshly, her eyes still on the shirt on the floor. “He’ll hear us!”

Beca’s brain felt like it was running on molasses. He? He who? She glanced between the shirt and Chloe, who looked utterly terrified even as she held a hand over Paris’s mouth. Nausea rolled Beca’s stomach and she drew a deep breath through her nose. Chloe’s eyes locked onto hers and understanding hit her like a bolt of lightning.

Jessica and Ashley were missing. They weren’t in the cabin. Jessica’s shirt – as well as the rest of their clothes, Beca noted as she stared at the washer – was in the cabin. That was most definitely blood. Someone had put the clothes there. Someone was trying to clean up and hide it. Someone had done this.

Or something.

The retreat was haunted. The camp counselor.

Charles.

Shit.

Before Beca could so much as open her mouth, a series of deep shouts came from outside: David. She and Chloe exchanged a look and Chloe released Paris with a muttered apology. Without a second glance at the clothing on the floor, they rushed out of the cabin, leaping over the hazardous steps out front.

“David!” Paris cried as they ran. “David, where are you?”

The shouts continued, emanating from the woods but drawing nearer by the second. They sprinted to the clearing at Aubrey’s lodge where they’d initially split up, Paris in the lead with Beca and Chloe right behind. They were there in less than a minute, Beca’s legs burning and Chloe puffing next to her.

With one final shout, David came crashing out of the woods, panting, dirt streaked all over his clothes and a dark line of something trickling down the side of his face.

He was alone.

“Wh-where are Emily and Lilly?” Chloe panted, her eyes focused on the woods behind David as if waiting for them to emerge.

They did not.

David doubled over, his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. Beca wanted to reach forward, shake him, and demand to know where their friends were, but she managed to restrain herself, hands twitching as David eventually hauled himself upright.

“I – they’re gone, I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush, eyes wide and scared.

Ice flooded Beca’s veins. No. Not possible.

“What the fuck does that mean?” she spat and clenched her fists, hearing the anger in her own voice.

David took a step back, looking at her warily before answering, “They’re just gone, I don’t know what –”

“Tell us what happened!” Chloe half-shrieked at him. Beca couldn’t help it – despite the seriousness of the situation, she took petty satisfaction in how furious Chloe seemed.

“He’s trying!” Paris shouted back, taking a step forward. “Would you just –”

“Stop!” Beca interrupted, moving between Chloe and Paris. “That’s not helping! What happened?” she glared at David.

David shifted uncomfortably, finally having caught his breath. “I don’t know,” he repeated, “we were doing fine, had covered a lot of ground when the Emily girl said she heard something. We stopped, and there were some weird noises, like… like rustling or something.”

Beca caught Chloe’s eye; that had been what they’d heard the night before.

David continued, “And it stopped for a while, so I started walking again, and then something hit me, hard.” He raised a hand to point at the side of his head, from which the dark line of blood trickled.

“It must have knocked me out, because the next thing I know, I’m on the ground and your friends are gone. I looked around, but didn’t see them, and that’s when I heard Paris scream, so I started yelling and came running.”

Beca had heard enough; she started toward the woods.

“Okay,” she said, “well, obviously we just have to go back there and find them and –”

Familiar arms wrapped around her waist, hauling her backward and away from the woods.

“Don’t you dare,” Chloe said, her mouth right next to her ear. “Bec, you can’t, whatever it was will just get you, too.”

“Chloe, let me go, there’s enough of us that we could take whatever the hell –”

“She’s right, Beca,” David said gravely while Paris nodded. “That thing didn’t care about attacking me, and now he – it – has four of your friends.”

“You seem fine now!” Beca fired back shaking free of Chloe angrily. “How do we know you were really even attacked?��

“David didn’t do anything!” Paris protested loudly, crossing her arms.

“That’s kind of a serious thing to say, Beca,” Chloe murmured.

Beca could have screamed. No way was Chloe still attracted to this idiot after he let something Emily and Lilly go missing, too.

“Why did you scream?” David asked Paris, steering the conversation away from himself.

The memory of what they’d found in the cabin rushed back into Beca’s mind like a punch to the gut; in her worry for Emily and Lilly, she’d completely forgotten about Jessica’s shirt.

“We found something,” Paris answered.

Chloe snorted, cutting her off before she could explain. “More like Beca found something,” she said. “Ashley and Jessica’s clothes are in a washer in the far cabin.”

“What?” David looked utterly bemused. “But those cabins haven’t been used in years!”

“Yeah, well,” Beca huffed, her anger slowly ebbing to fear, “that’s what we found, and their clothes were covered in blood. Wanna look?”

She turned to march back to the cabin, Chloe hot on her heels, but Paris caught her arm and tugged her to a halt. Beca yanked herself free, tired of being manhandled. Chloe smirked.

“Wait, Beca, shouldn’t we wait for the others?” Paris pleaded, anxiety lacing her voice.

Beca hesitated, then shook her head no. She couldn’t explain why, but for some reason, she knew they had to get back to the cabin as soon as possible.

Paris sighed in defeat, and with a glance to David, gestured to let her lead the way back to the cabin.

The walk passed in tense silence. Beca’s mind whirred, theories about what had happened to Emily and Lilly – and Ashley and Jessica – bouncing around her skull, each more outlandish than the last.

Aubrey had definitely said they were alone at the retreat, and she had no reason to lie about it. But David had been hit by someone… or so he claimed, anyway. Who would have done that? Did ghosts hit people? And, God, what was happening to Emily, Lilly, Ashley, and Jessica? Lilly could handle herself, but the others… God, what was she going to say to Mrs. Junk?

Movement from the woods caught Beca’s eye, shattering her concentration.

A huge, shadowy figure stood half-concealed behind a tree, clad in what looked like a maintenance suit and with a strangely misshapen head.

An iron fist clenched around her stomach. She blinked hard and ground to a halt, but when she opened her eyes, the figure was gone.

“Um, ah…” she choked, staring at the spot she’d been sure he stood.

“Bec? What?” Chloe asked instantly, craning her neck to peer into the woods where Beca stared. “Do you see something?”

“Ye – no,” she said, changing her mind.

She’d been imagining things, that’s all. It had to be. No one could hide themselves that quickly. No need to worry anyone else because she’d been hallucinating. She’d been thinking about ghosts, so now she was seeing them. That was all.

“Ye-no?” David asked sarcastically.

“No,” Beca said firmly, shaking her head out. Ghosts weren’t real.  “Let’s go.”

She continued forward to the cabin, hearing the others follow.

It had been a trick of the light. She was sure of it.

She quickened her pace.

They reached the cabin shortly, Beca’s stomach churning with nerves. She picked her way over the steps carefully, the others following her closely. Hoping she didn’t look as terrified as she felt, she reached for the door – hadn’t they left it open? – and swung it forward so they could enter the cabin.

“The clothes are in the corner,” she said, leading them in and beckoning to David. “Just take a… look…”

Beca trailed off as she stared at the patch of floor in front of the old washer where they’d left the bloodied clothes.

Except. They were gone. Every piece of clothing was gone, as was the puddle of water that had poured from the washer. The washer itself, which Beca was sure they’d left open, had been closed and turned off; it looked like it hadn’t been run in years.

“What the everloving –”

“Beca!” Chloe gasped, one hand again clutching Beca’s arm, the other raised to point at something across the room.

Beca’s gaze followed Chloe’s index finger, moving across the room to land on a mirror on the wall. It had been moved; unlike when they’d been in the cabin earlier, the glass was facing out into the room so that Beca could see her own terrified expression reflected in the glass.

And there, written across it in deep red were the words:

Leave now or suffer with me

-        Charles

[jeidafei]

The May Queen

Prior Note: This short (?) story is written as a prequel/character exploration for my full-length novel, Meya Hild (because I’m suffering through a severe bout of writer’s block right now and can’t continue both my Originals and Fanfictions).

The sky over Manor Crosset is a clear blue of early summer, unblemished by clouds. Music and laughter mingled in the wind blowing pass the town square, where young maidens in white dresses, with flower crowns atop their hair, danced arm in arm with jolly young lads to the tune from blaring bagpipes.

The visiting Baron Hadrian wasn’t out there enjoying the annual May Day celebrations, however. And neither were his counterpart, Lord Crosset. Both of them were meeting in the castle on the hilltop, reaffirming their children’s marriage after the unfortunate turn in both of their fortunes.

A marriage which would end soon with his death.

Young Lord Coris Hadrian clutched a white handkerchief to his mouth as he coughed repeatedly, his thin frame shuddering and rocking back and forth. A searing, burning pain, like a river of hot acid, sped up his throat all the way from his bowels, leaving him gagging and gasping for breath.

When the coughing episode subsided, Coris downed the waterskin at his waist to soothe his blistered throat, hastily slopping the last drops on his tunic. He raised the handkerchief gingerly to his eyes, sighing in relief at the absence of wet, dark red patches.

But this was nothing compared to what he have been through, to the fate he had saved his younger brother from, and he reminded himself every day he never regretted it.

During a castle heist which had been all but a ruse, a distraction, Coris’s embittered little brother, Ciel, had swallowed the Silver Diamond, their clan’s most prized treasure which had secured their influence over the King for centuries, to smuggle it out to the enemy, and Coris had caught him in the act.

To save him from their father’s wrath, Coris lied about swallowing the Diamond, and suffered the consequences. He remembered how the witch his father had summoned forced poison after poison down his throat and have him retch them back up, again and again, for over a week. He remembered the agony of living death as vividly as yesterday, even though it was three years ago. His father eventually gave up after he begged for death, and his mother threatened to take her own life. The Diamond remained in Ciel’s stomach, but fat round little Lord Coris was forever gone.

Coris Hadrian was now nothing but a clammy, waifish, sickly shadow of his past, apparently too weak to succeed his father as Lord Hadrian. He had no hope of becoming stronger, as his traumatic experience left him with a debilitating fear of medicine and treatment of all kinds. His damaged insides also could no longer receive as much healthy food as he’d like to eat, and the excruciating pain had taken away Coris’s appetite for a vast array of his once-favorite dishes.

Coris gazed over at Crosset Castle. The imposing stone structure looming over the town below belies its master’s actual powerless state. Actually, his father really doesn’t have to bother getting his cousin Simon to masquerade as him to make sure Lady Arinel would marry him. News of his frail condition had probably reached Lord Crosset long since, but Lord Crosset would be too desperate to care about the prospect of his daughter being widowed in the near future. At least for him, being widowed young by Lord Hadrian is probably a better future than staying here with Lord Crosset, a knight the king had forsaken.

Actually, as Baron Hadrian wanted to make sure the real Coris stay well out of the way as he negotiated with Lord Crosset, Coris had no business whatsoever walking about in this little country town. But his poor loving mother had beseeched the Baron to allow Coris to tag along, so he could enjoy the warm summer breeze and the delightful May Day for once.

Unbeknownst to his father, there is a hidden agenda to his mother’s seemingly innocent plea; this might be the last chance Coris would ever have to fulfill his dearest mission.

It had only been four years. Yet it seemed like a lifetime away, when he was spoiled fat by his father, like a pig for slaughter. When the prospect of marrying a Lady from a powerful family is the norm, and a future of ruling the ten-or-so manors in his father’s demesne is nothing he felt thankful about, as it is his to take from the moment of his birth. Back then, he thought nothing of his people, his parents, his poor little brother, his servants, his dogs, or any soul apart from himself. He was a disgusting being who would never entertain the idea of drinking poison in place of his brother.

It was until that day, four years ago, when he received a brutal awakening from the starving villagers of Crosset. Bailiff Johnsy had used Marquis Crosset’s frequent absence to secretly sell off Crosset’s storehouse grain, anticipating a good crop year would cover up his perfidy.

Instead, a stormy summer and a swarm of locusts befell the town, and the villagers were left starving as winter blew in. Of course, Coris had not known all this when Bailiff Johnsy invited him over to hunt game in the royal forest of Crosset. It had never occurred to him that Johnsy was manipulating the villagers to kidnap and ransom him for food. And Coris would probably have been dead if not for a little peasant girl who defied her people’s axes and spears to help him escape back to his father. All she asked in exchange was bread for her two starving little brothers and baby sister.

Coris inadvertently had a hand in exposing Bailiff Johnsy when his suspicious father ordered an investigation and discovered the hushed-up famine going on in Crosset. Johnsy was executed, Marquis Crosset is demoted to Lord and harshly rebuked by the King for neglecting his duties, and Crosset was added to Baron Hadrian’s demesne as a result.

Coris had learned all this from his mother as he recovered from his trauma. But he never knew what became of the peasant girl. By the time he had made sense of everything that had happened, the girl had disappeared without a trace, and his father is too busy feeding the whole of Crosset to spare men to search for one nameless, faceless little girl.

Coris squeezed his eyes shut, thinking hard as he paced the winding dirt roads of the deserted village. Somehow, try as he might, he couldn’t remember the girl’s face. He was sure his memory had been crystal clear that day, but then he woke up the next morning with blurry recollections and shattered, disconnected events.

The peasant girl had not revealed her name to him, for fear she would be executed for trespassing royal ground. Their parting had been brusque and abrupt, but his search for her had not been, and Coris feared he would never be able to thank her before he left this world forever.

During his brief visit to the town square, he had scanned the happy, dancing, drinking crowd for a familiar face, strained his ears for a voice from his past, and failed yet again. Every girl in the town would be at the Fest, but she was still nowhere to be seen. Had he been too late? After all, he didn’t even know whether she survived the famine, even with all the food he left for her in the forest.

Coris bit his lip at the worrying thought he had pushed to the back of his mind for four long years. Ever since he recovered from his bout with poisons, he had made it a habit to create small crucifixes out of wire and beads, as a reminder for every life that had been sacrificed for him, but he refused to give up hope on the mysterious peasant girl. If it’s the last thing he would do, he would find her and beg her forgiveness for everything that had happened.

The town is silent and deserted, apart from the occasional housewife bustling about doing chores in her absent daughter’s stead, and the tired old farmer snoring away in his hammock hanging from the oak tree in his meagre garden. Then, once he neared the lasts of the mud cottages, in a completely empty part of the village, Coris heard something blowing in the wind, a sweet voice lending a lilt to the summer breeze, a voice as heavenly as an angel’s.

It was a voice so beautiful he could only imagine the beauty of its owner. It sent Coris sprinting as he had never done in three years. He came to a halt in front of a small, crumbling cottage of wattle and daub.

The house is empty and no smoke trickled out the chimney, but in the small cabbage patch within the low fence, beside a plump brown sow, sat a young girl of no more than thirteen. Her plain, nondescript face was smudged with dirt, and her golden-brown braid is coming loose. Her fading red woolen dress was patched in numerous places. She was caressing the sow as it dug its snout in the ground, but her song was sent to a lone thrush which had alighted on the fence. Her beauty was no match to his first and only love, Agnesia Graye, but Coris swore he had never beheld a more beautiful sight in his life.

“I’m here to sing this song I own.

I wish to hear the birds sing along.

I’ll sing my heart, when none shall heed.

I’ve made my vow to the winds of Mays past.”

“I’m Meya, Meya. I’m born on May’s Eve.

As my father grieved my mother’s song.

Oh Meya, they say what good is a lass

As unruly and poor as Meya Hild.”

The song ended with a lengthy, ringing vibrato, and the girl dipped her head then sighed softly. Coris took a step forth, still captivated by the sight. His movement startled the thrush, which instantly shot away into the forest, and the girl whipped around to him, her emerald green eyes wide with fear and horror.

“That’s sad.” Coris chose to speak up first, as he curiously approached the fence. Being a nobleman, he’s used to people responding enthusiastically to him no matter when he called upon them. “Who’s Meya Hild?”

Coris had forgotten that he is now dressed like a peasant, and was alarmed when the girl sprang up as if she had sat on hot metal. She sped to the back door of her cottage then disappeared inside without a backwards glance, and Coris scrambled after her.

“Wait!” He grabbed the slightly rocking fence, hollering desperately at the window-hole. “I’m sorry I eavesdropped on you. I just wanted to talk.”

There was no response other than the twittering of faraway birds crossing the sky, and Coris despaired at the prospect of never hearing that voice again.

“Please.” He begged, his voice cracking from the sour tang of acid in his throat. “Let me hear your song.”

He had barely finished when another bout of hacking coughs overtook him. Coris clutched the fence tightly for support as he retched and gasped. Then a small, rough hand landed on his shivering shoulder. He looked up and saw beautiful, gleaming green eyes. The girl handed him a large wooden mug.

“Gramma always says ‘oney pleases an ang’ry gullet. An’ I added a dash of ‘er secret spice powder, too.”

Her normal speaking voice, heavily accented as to be expected of peasants, is brusque and snarky. At her last sentence, Coris froze, cup halfway to his mouth, silver eyes staring warily up at the girl. In his panic, it had just occurred to him how a deadly ingredient might just make its way into his honey drink as well.

The girl blinked, her plain face twisting into a scowl.

“What? Ya think I ‘ave enough gold ta buy poison then waste it killin’ some random lad passin’ by?” She spited. Coris shrugged, his expression deadpan, his voice a bit hoarse from all that coughing.

“Well, I did peek on you singing.”

“Ha.” The girl snorted, sounding very much like the pig she raised, then leaned closer to whisper deadly. “Tell ya what. If I wanted ta kill ya, I’d just thwack ya on tha ‘ead with ma week-old breadbowl then feed ya ta Lady ‘ere.”

Coris glanced at Lady the Sow, grunting away as she sent dirt flying about, her snout burrowing furiously, and doubted if she really could eat him whole.

But before he could think any further, another round of coughs overcame him, and Coris found himself clinging to the fence, bent almost double as the girl looked on, a gratified smirk on her parched lips. He glanced up at her with reproachful eyes, and she merely grinned wider.

“Spew out all yer fluff yet? I could stand ‘ere all day while ya cough ‘til yer dead. I finished ma chores.”

Coris’s common sense, honed from a life testing every meal on slaves (and sometimes witnessing their deaths), screamed shrilly in protest, but his gullet felt as though it would burst apart if he let it endure another cough. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he felt the bitter taste of blood and bile in his throat. He can’t wait for warm milk in Crosset Castle.

He grabbed the cup then gulped down the drink. The soothing sensation trickling down his throat was like the purest, ice-cold stream of paradise, and he quickly took another gulp. Sighing in relief, he set the half-empty cup down on the fence. After taking a moment to calm his breath, he asked up once more.

“So, who’s Meya Hild?”

“Nobody.” The peasant girl rebuffed rudely. She glared at him, her nose inches from his as she threatened in a growling whisper. “Dun ya breathe a word of this ta anyone, ‘ear me?”

Had he been his former self, Coris would have ordered the girl’s tongue cut off. But now her nerve and daring rarely found in maidens simply amused him. Besides, she didn’t know she was talking to the Coris Hadrian. Not that he have any power to brag about, anyway.

“Why not? You’ve got a beautiful voice. And it’s a nice song.” He cajoled and pleaded with a little laugh, gazing straight at the girl’s green eyes with genuine attention. “I’d love to hear more of Meya. She seems interesting. Is there more?”

“Nah, that’s all of it.” The girl replied in that same brusque manner. She shrugged, then went about gathering up the wooden buckets and farming tools scattered about the small dirt garden. “This ‘ole Manor dunno I could sing. It’s my ‘lil secret. And I dun plan on lettin’ ‘em know anytime soon. So forget ‘bout everythin’ ya ‘eard.”

Coris didn’t say anything. Considering his health, she wouldn’t have to worry about him knowing her secret for long. And until that time comes he obviously wouldn’t want to forget such a beautiful voice. Perhaps it would console him on his deathbed, make it easier to enter the gates of Heaven. Or Hell, if these past few years of repentance isn’t enough to atone for his early sins.

“Who’re ya? Ya dun seem ta be from ‘round ‘ere.”

The girl spoke up, shaking Coris from his gloomy, death-related thoughts. He looked up, blinking at her narrowed, suspicious eyes, then swiftly replied.

“Oh. I’m from Hadrian.” No point lying about that. His accent would probably betray his hometown anyway. Besides, the people of Crosset loves all things Hadrian. They’re their saviors, after all!

As to be expected, the girl’s unfriendly expression melted away into delight at that. She leaned closer.

“ ‘Adrian? That’s three days away from ‘ere, ain’t it?” Her eyes sparkling, she dragged over the small stool she had been sitting on, slumped down upon it, propped her elbows on her knees then rested her face on her fists. “What yer doin’ all tha way ‘ere on a May Day like this? Ain’t there pretty girls back in ‘Adrian?”

Coris smiled at her poke, lying smoothly as he is so good at.

“I’ve been to a lot of Manors on May Days. My father’s a merchant.”

“Merchant?” His answer further interested the girl. She smiled wider. Her eyes drifted away, a dreamy look overcame her muddy face. “I’ve always wanna be tha merchant’s daughter. Like my best friend Jezia.”

She sighed wistfully. “Ah, tha adventurous life ya could lead. What d’ya trade?”

Coris thought fast when she directed another query at him, picking something he knows well enough about; his mother’s favorite food in the world…

“Oils. Spices and herbs. Hadrian’s famous for white truffles.”

The girl was beside herself with excitement at that. She sprang up and clung to the fence.

“Truffles! I ‘eard they say it’s like food from the ‘eavens. Ya dun ‘appen ta ‘ave one in ya pocke’, huh? Huh? D’ya?”

She chirped as she bobbed about, looking him up and down for a lump in a pocket somewhere, and even as he had to stifle his laughter, Coris felt a little guilty that he must let her down.

“No, I’m sorry—” The girl’s face fell, and Coris fervently wished he had nicked some from back home, like he used to do when he was a gluttonous little brat. Yet all he could do was fire out a string of codswallop. “—My father never lets me near the shrooms. Never even ate one himself. He said if you eat what you sell, you’re eating your own gold.”

The girl looked as if the Sun had baked the life out of her. She slumped back down on her dirty, rickety stool, kicking glumly at the dirt with her worn-out straw shoes.

“Wish I could eat a truffle ‘fore I die.” She mumbled.

“You could get yourself some truffles in the woods with Lady, you know.”  Coris gestured at the oinking pig beside her. The girl spared it a glance, then shook her head, patting it lovingly.

“Nah, I tried. There’s none this part of tha country.” The girl sighed, gazing down at the pig nearby, she went on miserably. “M‘fraid this one’s fer tha slaughter’ouse as usual. We on’y keep ‘em fer tha year.”

The girl lugged the sow closer to her, then lean down and hugged it, caring nothing of the dirt and the mud caked on its wiggly body. It was still but a piglet, just the right size to fit in her slim embrace.

“Yer so like me, Lady. But at least yer meat would ‘elp us through the win’er—though I swear I’d ne’er touch a sliver of ya.” She cooed as it squealed and thrashed about in her arms. Then she glanced up at the blue sky above her, sighing in wonder. “If on’y I could be jus’ as useful as ya.”

There was bitterness in her voice he could easily feel. It must have been hard, plumping up your pet only to have it become the family dinner, year after year. The pointless, endless task probably left her wondering how she is any different, except for being born as a human.

Even as she smiled absently, her beautiful eyes were etched with loneliness and long suffering, and Coris’s heart pained at the sight. He glanced around, noticing once again the loud silence and heavy air of lifelessness around them, then turned back and tried to strike up conversation.

“What are you doing here all alone? It’s awfully quiet here. They’re all at the fest.”

“They are. My three sisters as well.” The girl smiled as she released the pig back to its feeding frenzy, gesturing vaguely towards the house. “They usually do the chores ‘round ‘ere, so with ‘em gone, someone ‘as to do it.”

“Then why you? Why not your brothers? Or your parents?” Coris was still puzzled. The girl began to look disgruntled. Her lively voice returned to snarky and biting.

“They gotta be at the fest, that’s why. ‘Cause Marin will get the May Queen Wreath again this year. An’ next year. An’ the year after that. An’ ev’ry year ‘til she’s married off ta some rich, ‘andsome farmer boy. An’ after that it’ll be Morel an’ Mistral.”

Those three names are probably her three sisters. Come to think of it, back at the town square Coris recalled seeing three pretty young women with shining copper hair who somewhat resembled each other and their mother. The eldest and prettiest sister was laden with twice more flowers than any other lady, surrounded by admiring men. Perhaps that was Marin.

Glancing back at the forgotten sister of the house fuming silently by her pig, he suggested the obvious.

“You should go, too, you know. It’s May Day. The boys would want to dance with you.”

The girl went back to tending to her pig, hand-feeding it walnuts from her bulging apron pocket. Her voice as she replied, however, had lost its venom and was surprisingly soft.

“Marin. Morel. Mistral. They’re all so beautiful. And they’re good at somethin’. Just like my mum.” She muttered. “Who would see me when they’re there? Ugly, dirty, reekin’ pig with ‘air full of leaves an’ bugs.”

“Nothing a bath couldn’t take care of.” Coris pointed out, eyebrows raised skeptically.

“I ‘ate festivals.” The girl veered off, her voice harsh and final. “An’ someone’s gotta feed Lady. She likes walnuts from tha forest.”

Coris cocked his head in question at that, but the girl fell silent then, wiping her hands shining with pig drool on her apron, and Coris had a feeling she wasn’t telling the whole truth. Sighing, he decided to go for honesty first.

“I’m Simon.” Well, almost honest, at the very least.

The girl perked up. She seemed to brighten up a little at the change of subject. She grinned then stuck out her grubby hand.

“Ah! Nice ta meet ya Simon, I’m Meya.”

The nonchalant greeting sent Coris freezing. He blinked at those twinkling, mischievous green eyes, then surfaced with a hearty laugh. The sly lass!

“So you’re Meya Hild!” He exclaimed laughingly, swallowing his disgust and briefly shaking her pig-drool-smelling hand. He loved dogs, raised an army of them, and yet he still rushes to wash their drool off his hands. Nevertheless, he unwittingly leaned against the fence, closer to her. “It means May Queen, right?”

“I guess.” Meya shrugged, her green eyes straying away as she went on hesitantly, her face falling once again. She crossed her arms on the fence, propping her chin upon it. “But ya see, it’s ‘cause…today’s my birthday.”

Her voice had all but disappeared into her throat, and the words of her song came back to Coris then, hitting him like an axe blow to his head. And suddenly it all became clear why she was left sitting here alone while her whole family was at the festival.

I’m Meya, Meya. I’m born on May’s Eve.

As my father grieved my mother’s song.

“My mother used ta sing at tha May Fest ev’ry year, up until the year I was born, when I stole ‘er song away.” Meya explained in a low voice, shaking her head. “I couldn’t be there. It’s jus’ too ‘ard. Song Thief, they’d call me.”

She mumbled shamefacedly, lowering her face behind her arms, leaving only her eyes visible, staring straight ahead. A wave of sympathy for the peasant girl welled up in Coris’s heart. How must she have felt, having to be reminded every birthday the misfortune you brought upon your family with your birth, as if being shunned aside to the shadow of your sisters isn’t bad enough, yet hating May Day would probably mean hating your own birthday, your very existence.

He felt he could understand why she chose to hide her song—her mother’s song—from her people. He had sensed the bitterness laced into its beauty, and it had drawn him to her. But perhaps it would be best for the world to hear her at her happiest.

And perhaps…there might be something he could do to make her feel better. He was a weak, powerless, wretched creature with little time left on this world. He probably couldn’t do much for ten Manors, but maybe he could be a friend for one young maiden, at least for a day.

“I know a jolly Hadrian song. And I’d be honored if you would give me a dance, Meya Hild.”

Coris finally offered, breaking the awkward silence, and Meya perked up, staring at him incredulously.

“Yer sure?” She exclaimed, eyes bulged, shaking her head like a dog ridding itself of water. “I can’t dance like they do in tha fest!”

“Just dance whichever way you like, milady.” Coris cajoled laughingly, offering his hand and smile, adding with a cock of his head. “It’s your birthday, after all.”

Meya stared at his warm grin, her usually sharp gaze strangely unfocused, then raised her trembling hand to his. She let out a small scream when Coris instead grabbed her waists then hoisted her up over the fence. The young lord overestimated his manly strength, however, and he toppled backwards. The two ended up sprawled on the lush grass, laughing and rolling about. They helped each other up, messy-haired and sprinkled with dirt, then joined hands and danced clumsily to Coris’s awful voice.

“Little Lord Coris Hadrian.

As plump as Betty the sow.

But he ne’er dig for truffles.

For lazy and greedy is he.

His meals are laid on gold.

And his belly draped in silk.

His father spoils him rotten

As his subjects sing in praise.

“Behold young Coris Hadrian,

The kingdom thou shalt ruin.”

“Ack! Ya sound like Myron in tha bath!”

The song went on and on, and Meya laughed happily. Whether it was because of his duck-like, off-pitch voice, the hilarious lyrics or both, he would never know. Once he finished, Meya sang some of Crosset’s local rhymes with her birdsong voice, and they danced until they were both gasping for breath.

From there they changed to playing checkers with rocks on the dirt. Meya taught him simple games the peasant children play, and Coris taught her chess from her father’s old chessboard. She got the hang of it quickly, and could almost beat him once. Well, almost.

And sometimes, all they did was talk. Coris couldn’t talk much about himself, of course, and he was content to listening to Meya’s endless stories of her boring life, her daily shenanigans with the church dog Fartmouth, her dreams of someday becoming great and famous.

He in turn told her about the towns he had visited, the various people he had met, as Meya drank it all in with sparkling eyes. She did ask him, however, about his violent coughs, and he admitted he has not got much time left. Meya wanted none of it. She insisted he’ll live long enough to travel the whole of Latakia then sail beyond Everglen.

Despite his intention to cheer her up, Coris discovered he himself immensely enjoyed Meya’s company. Beneath the rough, tough exterior, weathered by poverty and years spent tilling and plowing in the harsh climate, she is witty, spunky, humorous, and unsettlingly kindhearted. Her weird ideals, her strong will, that inherent yearn for adventure, that burning desire to be something more than what was expected of her; it all painfully reminded him of Agnesia.

It had him looking back at the resigned life he had chosen for himself, ever since that day he sacrificed his own glorious future for Ciel. Outcasted by her people for her unruliness, struggling to find her footing in a family barely scraping by to feed seven children, and even losing her understanding grandmother to the famine, this peasant girl still had not lost her will to live and her sight of her dream.

If she had the chance, would she achieve more than he ever will?

The church bell chimed out the time as the Sun dipped low over the dark wall of evergreen pine trees of the forest. Coris jolted, whirling around to look at the black spires of Crosset castle, shooting up against the vermillion sky. His father had given him until seven to return to the castle.

“Oh dear. I must go. My father will be leaving town soon.”

Coris hastily fished for his pocketwatch, trying to hide its golden gleam from Meya’s eyes. The girl seemed crestfallen for a beat, then she brightened up with the realization.

“Well, ya know who I am. If yer car’van come round to Crosset then come visit. I did enjoy our ‘lil spell together.”

She gave him a wide smile filled with innocence and life, and Coris couldn’t help returning it.

“I did too. Thanks.”

Meya blushed a little, though it was hard to see in the dim orange light of gathering dusk. Wringing her hands awkwardly, she leaned in and whispered.

“That was tha firs’ dance I ever got from someone other than ma brothers.” Her breath felt tickly in his ear as she giggled. “So thanks, too.”

Beneath the sour reek of pig, she smelled of fresh grass and honey. A strange sensation took hold of the young man, and he brushed his lips against her cheek as she made to draw away. Two pairs of eyes—silver and emerald—met, and Coris stammered out the truest truth he at least wanted to impress upon her before he leaves—perhaps for the last time.

“You’re worth more than a pig—or simply your mother’s song, Meya. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Meya nodded slowly. For a glimpse, he thought he could see the gleam of moisture in her strange, gem-like eyes, before the fire in them burned it away.

He would never know, but Meya Hild would carry those words with her always, especially in times she felt she needed a kind voice to usher her on, up until the day they meet again many years later, and beyond.

“And I’ll wait for the day you’re ready to sing for the world to hear, not just the birds. But until then—”

Meya smiled, holding a weathered finger to her lips, then pressing it on his.

“—Remember, it’s our ‘liI secret.”

Coris closed his eyes at the “kiss”. He held onto the touch of her finger for a moment longer, then drew back and finally trudged away, feeling her gaze upon his receding back. He shivered in his cloak as the chilly evening wind rushed by. His body is aching and drained, but his heart is content and refreshed like he had never felt in a long, long time. After a while he turned back for a last look, but Meya’s house had already vanished behind the rows upon rows of tiny cottages. His heart deflated slightly, but then he heard it again—

The most heavenly voice in the land was blowing after him in the wind, as if sending him on his way.

The song of the May Queen.

“I’m here to sing this song I own.

I wish to hear the world sing along.

Someday I’ll sing for all who’ll heed.

So lend your ear to the wind as it blows…”

At those words of hope, Coris renewed his steps with rekindled fire in his heart. He had made someone’s day a better day. He had witnessed her song, and in turn she had reminded him of the beauty of this land, hidden in the most unlikely, unremarkable places.

He could still be of use to this land, he realized, no matter how small, and if he could stumble onto little Meya, a jewel buried in the mud of her pigsty, one that refuses to give up gleaming, perhaps there is still hope he could find the girl whose fiery courage and grudging kindness had changed his life for the better.

He would find her someday, and he’ll live on the best he could until then.

The End

[ghoulluck]

Wish That You Were Here

| NOTES: Anything canon after season two of Scream is not included. This is time line and canon divergent. There are MANY mentions and allusions to other pieces of literature and horror films so if you get even a few of them congrats. If It’s reblogged enough, I could make a part two.Be aware there will be spelling and grammar errors. |

SUMMARY: Inspired by Florence + the Machine’s Wish That You Were Here. Audrey comes home to Lakewood after a fourteen year period serving Special Forces. There she has to resolve the demons she thought she buried years ago in her violent military history and realizes her definition of home could be blonde hair and brown eyes. (braudrey. one shot? no rating. warnings for graphic/triggering etc content. if reception is well, there might be a part two or more.)

PLEASE REBLOG, DO NOT REPOST. THIS IS AN ORIGINAL WORK.

Audrey turned the key over in her fingers. She felt the weight of her dog tags slide towards her on the chain. “Here’s your coffee ma'am.” The woman blinked and remembered where she was.

“Uhm, t-thanks. Sorry.” Putting the chain down, she stared at the cup in silence. The diner’s red neon sign washed in through the dirty window casting Audrey a pale pink.She glanced at her green beret sitting on top of a pile of unopened letters. She had never written back, but the letters had never stopped coming even if they had slowed in volume. Nearly every single one was from Brooke.

She let her icy eyes fall on the Christmas card sitting on table as she touched the old house key sitting among the dog tags around her neck. Opening the card one more time, she read Brooke’s near immaculate hand writing.

[WISH THAT YOU WERE HERE.]

Audrey took in a deep breath as she closed it. It had been very easily at least a decade since she had set foot in Lakewood. She hardly ever breathed her home town’s name out loud in fear of it catching up to her.

(“Audrey?” Sheriff Acosta’s voice sounded tight over the telephone. “Did I get a ticket again?” she half joked as she wiped the candy counter down. “I’m sorry for this news.” The teenager stopped a moment as she stared at a scratch on the bright red counter top. Audrey scratched at an itch in her throat that never seemed to go away. “Your dad was hit by a drunk driver off highway 45.” Audrey tried to swallow the itch down. It became a tickle that would turn into a hiccup of a sob.)

She squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the tears that still burned as if she had heard the news only yesterday. Joining the special forces had never been part of her own agenda. Hell, her agenda had been to get back into film making and not letting anything ruin that for her again. The idea had been a footnote given to her by her Dad. She recalled him laughingly mentioning it while they were making pancakes one morning.

(His eyes were starting to regain a little bit of their light. Her mother had passed only four years before. Audrey was in eighth grade and Emma sat across the table. They were playing footsie and laughing while stuffing their gross pimply faces with pancakes. She could barely hear him talking on the phone with Uncle Mike. He was laughing about her newborn baby cousin, Thomasin. “Our girls are tough, I’m sure Audrey or Thomasin is gonna carry on the Jensen military legacy.” )

At the time Audrey would huff and roll her eyes. She hadn’t gone home since the funeral. She had thought about chucking the house key in Wren lake, but she didn’t have the guts. Her rough fingers hesitantly reached for the pile. She was almost afraid of what they would say. Tearing open the second most recent letter. A few pictures fell out, they were of Emma and a tiny little baby. Turning them open carefully, she read the notes on the back.

[Emma & Eisley].

She picked up the letter for answers.

[Hey its me again. Just keeping you updated on stuff. Emma had her first baby. Her name is Eisley and she’s the cutest. Her eyes look a lot like yours. She’s so lucky to have colored eyes since her dad has brown eyes. Emma was scared she was gonna look more like her dad, but she's a good 50/50. Love ya, hope to hear/see you soon]

It took Audrey hours to sort through the letters backwards. Emma had met some guy in med school. Noah was a big time crime writer -- Brooke was kind enough to include his debut Vanity Fair article about the Texas Debutante killer. She had to laugh about the irony about it all. She touched these items as she read to make their lives more real to her again. Stavo and Brooke had divorced amicably and according to Blondie he was doing pretty well with his foot in the animation department. He was working with Konami for a new generation of horror gaming.

They had done so much in her time away. She touched her split lip which was a reminder of what she had accomplished in her own time away from them. Audrey had polished her steel and sharpened her edges. She had channeled her grief and anger into power and bloodshed. Picking up the letters, she filed them into her duffle bag’s side pocket. Putting a dollar bill under her untouched coffee cup, she slowly moved out of the diner’s booth. Her wary eyes flicked around carefully to take in the people around her.

In her nearly twelve hour seating, the diner had acquired a new set of hard asses. Most of them were from the near by base and Audrey made her way to the restroom with her green beret in hand. The bathroom resembled one she would find at a shitty seven eleven.

Dropping her bag on the floor she took a look at herself in the mirror. She had retained some of her baby face, something she was thankful for. Her blue eyes had gotten paler with age. Maybe it had something to do with extended periods of staring into flood lights. There was a shadow of a black eye around her left eye. Her jaw clicked when her mouth parted to observe the split in her lip.

Shrugging out of her uniform carefully, Audrey noted had more freckles on her bare shoulders probably from sun exposure. She passed a finger over old bullet wounds on her right arm. Some scars were uglier than others. The brunette pulled her white tank top over her head quickly to pull on a loose fitting charcoal colored tee. Her shoulder still ached from tearing her rotary cuff.

Shucking her uniform pants off, she pulled the metal belt from it to lace it through her black jeans and sighed at the new space. Her clothing was cold and at least a few years old. Her jeans were worn at the knees and if she had been a few years younger she would have thought it stylish. She put her arms into her trusty leather jacket before carefully pulling her long brunette hair over it’s collar. She made a note to cut it when she got the chance.

The dog tags clinked as she finished dressing and she put her uniform back into her duffle bag in a neatly folded and now empty corner. She lugged the green bag over her shoulder as she pushed her way out of the restroom.

“Bye ma’am! Happy holidays!”

Audrey cast a glance at the waitress and for a moment she didn’t know what to say as she went out the door, “--T-thanks.”. The cold air hit her and her breath fanned out into the air in cool white clouds. Making her way to her beaten red jeep she threw the duffle into the back seat. The vehicle wasn’t warm, but she had spent time in places colder than hell in less clothes. Tying her hair back, she turned on the GPS to set it.

CURRENT LOCATION - BARROW, ALASKA

SET DESTINATION - LAKEWOOD, LOUISIANA

She gave a white puff as she plugged the key in the ignition and sparked up a cigarette.It was a bad habit she had picked up when she was alone. She let the jeep’s engine warm up before cranking up the heat. The windows fogged and she looked at the gold watch on her right wrist to hide a scar. It was her mother’s, a gift from her dad before she had passed from cancer. The piece was delicately detailed and it reminded her that her parents were finally together somewhere.

Looking at the watch made her feel as if a hundred years had passed since she was eighteen. Covering it up with the leather jacket, she wiped away a spot on the passenger’s window to see the mirror. Her limbs were starting to feel heavy. Rolling her head back against the jeep’s headrest, she debated if she was really going to go home on such a shit impulse.

“Fuck it.”

Audrey glanced at the rear view mirror as she pulled out of the parking lot and made her way down to the first high way. For the next five days, she spent her time seeing things she had missed and stopping at scenic routes to take short videos and quick pictures before coming across a beauty salon.

She put down her camera. She was only about thirty minutes from home and suddenly, she didn’t like the idea of parting with her long locks just yet. Audrey had changed too much to go back to who she was. Entering against her best instinct, the brunette was greeted by a bored looking stylist, “Hi, how can I help you?”

“Uh yeah, I’d like to get a hair cut? Maybe some color?” She had dyed it once a long time ago, a glossy blue black and she was offered an array of books and color samples. Determined not to be overwhelmed, she chose out a short crop that would sit just below her chin and a glossy black color. The process took longer then she had expected and Audrey was starting to feel the nerves when the excess was being washed away.

She closed her pale eyes to avoid looking at herself in the mirror until it was all done. Audrey had to laugh at the stylist’s commentary. “You kinda look like Kate Beckinsale-- what was that movie?” She shrugged, she was laughing too hard at her own reflection to remember as the cape came off. The shorter crop made her feel a little lighter. Not bothering to hear a price, she shelled out a hundred and made her way out. “Happy holidays,” Audrey stated through a sigh before the door closed behind her.

She slid on her sunglasses as she ran a hand through her wet black hair and stared up at the sun with a grimace. She looked back down at her watch. With every step, her dog tags felt heavier and the key seemed to be the heaviest weight on her chain. Climbing back into the jeep with a groan, she sat in the driver’s seat.

The rear view mirror declared Louisana’s temperature at a nice solid 60.

Audrey gave a sigh as she drove her way out of the parking lot. She didn’t have anymore excuses between her and Lakewood. “Fuck --” she hissed under her breath as she sped down highway 45. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her Dad’s worn old cross with fresh flowers. It wasn’t like he was fucking buried there and she made a sharp u-turn to take a good look at it before peeling out.

She stared at her GPS as she navigated the town’s streets. She recognized various things here and there, but it had changed so much Audrey almost felt lost. Who the hell in their right mind had sunk so much money into Lakewood? She spied a street sign [Quinn Maddox Memorial]. It was a grisly reminder of why she wanted to leave Lakewood. It took everything special and turned it to shit.

She raked her calloused finger through her hair as she drove slowly to see what had changed. Maggie had sold her house to be closer to Emma and Eisley from the looks of it. Unfamiliar faces played in the front yard with their children and grandchildren. Audrey found herself driving by Noah’s house to see his dad and mom pleasantly still settled in their house. She passed her house without a blink and sighed as she tried to ignore the weight of the key around her neck.

She found herself navigating to the familiar address on one of the letters. It was Stavo’s old house. When Sheriff Acosta had been fired, he had been relocated and Brooke had followed, initially as her letter depicted and she had come back. It was hard to imagine the Maddox princess living so humbly in the old Acosta house. Bringing her jeep to a stop across the street, she stuck her head out the window to see who lived in the house as she put a cigarette in between her lips.

‘Stalker alert,’ she thought to herself as she put the lighter to the menthol and exhaled it’s poison into the cool Louisiana air. Setting her head back into the jeep, she let her head rest as she watched the house and finished off her cigarette. Lakewood still smelled like Wren Lake and she took in a deep breath of that cold sweet water air. She waved away her cigarette smoke and sighed when she saw nothing moving.

She peered at the bright red envelope sitting in her passenger seat. Taking it in her hands again, she passed her thumb over the date. It was the most recent and the only dated for the current year. She passed her fingers over the glossy picture of Emma and Eisley before sticking it in her in her sun visor like they were going to look over her and hopefully keep her safe, mainly from herself.

Audrey had more than one demon to pick a bone with. She glanced at the gold watch. Slowly she moved to unclasp it. An angry red scar stared back at her. She couldn’t forget how she had acquired it. She closed her eyes a minute and even with all her anxiety she couldn’t ward off the tiredness she felt to her core.

When she slept, she never dreamed and if she did, she never remembered what she had dreamt about even when the feeling of fear remained. If there was anything she hated most in the world, it was the feeling of being powerless.

(The knife slashed at her arm. The burning red pain of it had her gasping as the killer stepped back. She could hear Piper’s laugh ringing in her ears still to this day. “What the fuck, Piper! That’s not funny! I was scared you were gonna kill me!” She hissed this low and under her voice as she clutched her arm. Small rivets of blood ran down her pale skin.

“Audrey live a little, geeze,” Piper stated as she flipped her long brown hair much like Emma did when she didn’t really think about it. It made Audrey think of a shampoo commercial. “What the fuck are you doing with the mask? And dressed like that! There’s a real killer on the -- loose--- ” Her words were starting to die in her throat.

She could see Piper’s visible irritation and also the gaff of a mocking laugh, “Yeah, I fucking know, Audrey.” The slow pronunciation of her name brought chills to her spine. The cold knowledge of suddenly putting everything together set in and Audrey felt the itch in her throat she hated so much. “Y-y-you lied to me--?” 

She hated the shrill sound of her voice as it turned to anger, “You bitch!” The teen froze when she heard shouting. Her first instinct was to protect anyone else from harm and her head shot to the left. When she turned back, Piper was gone before Audrey could give the bitch a piece of her mind.)

Whenever Audrey fell asleep, she dealt with the dark dreams. She would never be fully rid of the guilt. She would always carry it with her like the key around her neck. It was humbling and grounding. She ran her fingers over her chain as she glanced at her watch.

It was almost nine and the sky was dark.

She took in a deep breath through her nose and the cool air had turned sharp in her lungs. Louisiana had always been less industrial then the east and west coast. That was probably why the gulf had always been her favorite. She wiped at her tired pale eyes and glanced at the house. It was still vacant. Her tongue swiped out to taste the scab on her lip as she debated staying the night at the Crescent Palms hotel.

Did the place even exist still? The question suddenly seemed more realistic when she realized that her house had been unoccupied for a few years. She leaned over to turn on the GPS and the headlights of an oncoming car blinded her. The GPS page presented her several options for hotels in the area.

A hard knock on the jeep’s metal jolted her nearly out of her seat.

“Audrey?”

Brooke had changed so much since she had last seen her, yet not at all. She still had the biggest, saddest eyes she had ever seen. Like someone had really gone and broken her heart. Audrey opened her mouth to say something. The Maddox princess was as pristine as ever, dressed in white like an angel and she reached out to touch the birth mark on Brooke’s cheek.

She pushed open the jeep door slowly and Brooke made her way around to meet Audrey half way. The blonde in her arms was a little more filled out then she had remembered and she smelled a little more like sandalwood than vanilla, but she made no arguments against the pleasant scents. She felt Brooke squeeze her back harder.

“I-I I thought I was never going to see you again.”