Page 3 of Don’t Watch Alone

Chapter two

Blaiz

The Halloween Party

One step inside and I’m overwhelmed by Christian’s Halloween party; blaring music, flashing lights, and a thick fog that smells like synthetic smoke and stale beer.

Every inch of the place is overflowing with chaos—furniture wrapped in cobwebs, people shoulder to shoulder in the living room, and flashing lights cutting everything into wild colors.

I’ve got fishnets digging into my thighs, leg warmers riding down my calves, and a welding mask hanging from my hand.

Alex Owens, in the flesh. Or at least my best approximation.

I glance over at Donald, who’s practically beaming in his silver cop costume—tight pants, aviators, and that damn mustache that makes him look like he stepped off the cover of a disco vinyl.

He winks and flexes, which gets him a cheer from some guy dressed as a sexy devil. Typical.

“Let’s find the rest of the fucking crew,” I shout to Jade, grabbing her arm before we get completely swallowed by the crowd.

She nods, already scanning the room, probably hunting for Derrick in that skeleton onesie he wouldn’t shut up about.

We push through clusters of witches, zombies, and—yeah, that’s a group of Revenge Of The Nerds grinding near the speakers.

Christian went all out this year, and it shows.

As we round a corner heading toward the patio, someone steps out of the shadows. The boogeyman himself—Michael Myers. Of course. I let out a shriek.

“Jesus Christ!” I choke, clutching my chest as though that’ll help.

Jade’s laughing, the kind that says she’s only a bit concerned. “You good? The Michael Myers costume is apparently the costume of the night. "

I glare at the figure, still standing there as if he’s auditioning for a damn slasher sequel. “This one almost made me piss myself,” I snap, storming up and ripping the mask off without thinking.

Underneath it is our friend, Christian. His shy, wide-eyed expression spreading across his face tells me everything.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I hiss. “What the hell, Christian?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his voice low and way too casual for someone who just aged me ten years in thirty seconds. “I was just waiting for Robert. Wasn’t trying to pull anything on you. Scouts honor.”

Robert—the guy who’s always been obsessed with trying to pry me away from Tony. No matter how hard he pushed, I never even gave him a second glance.

“Right. Well, maybe don’t stand in a dark hallway dressed like a murderer?” I fire back. “Just a thought.”

Jade’s still laughing as she tugs on my arm. “Come on. Let’s find Tony and Derrick. Pretty sure Tony was going as Leatherface, wasn’t he?”

“No, he changed it last minute,” I say. “He’s David Hodo from the Village People. Construction worker edition.”

We make our way toward the kitchen, squeezing past a pirate with a weapon that keeps jabbing my thigh and a person in a taco costume who’s extremely intoxicated.

The kitchen’s a mess; red solo cups scattered across every surface, pizza crusts on the counter, someone passed out against the fridge. Don’t even know how that is possible.

I glance around, and that creepy feeling returns in my body, like I’m being watched. Each time I see another Michael Myers, my fists clench. Christian better be the only one I have to deal with tonight, because I’m one more sudden scare away from swinging at someone.

The whole house is alive with noise and chaos.

The music is pounding, people are shouting over each other, and it's that kind of sweaty, messy energy that only hits at parties like this. All I want is to find my friends, get a drink that doesn’t taste like shit, and maybe make it through the night without punching someone in a plastic mask.

The bass vibrates through the damn floor like a sledgehammer to my spine, this relentless thud syncing up with the chaos of the Halloween shitshow happening all around me.

The fake cobwebs are sticking to my eyelashes like spider snot while I shove my way through a group of drunk assholes in face paint and overpriced Spirit Halloween costumes, all of us clawing toward the sad excuse for a bar crammed into the corner of the room.

I’m hunting for something stiff enough to knock the sound of this bastardized ABBA remix out of my head before I lose my mind, when suddenly the lights pull some horror movie bullshit—flickering once, then twice, before cutting out entirely and drowning us in darkness thick enough to choke on.

And then, as quickly, they sputter back to life, stuttering like a dying flashlight, throwing these warped, twitchy shadows across rubber monster masks and clown-white makeup that’s already starting to melt under the heat and booze.

I stop in my tracks, frowning like a pissed-off cat.

“What the actual fuck?” I mutter, my voice getting lost in the noise, but my irritation is very much alive and kicking.

“I mean, Jesus, I know it’s Halloween, but this is some over-the-top haunted house bullshit. ”

The lights remain stable this time, but the room’s atmosphere grows colder than before—as if someone breathed down the back of my neck.

It’s no longer only the fog machine haze and the cheap skeletons.

There’s something crawling under my skin, something sour and wrong that I can’t get rid of, no matter how many drinks I haven’t had yet.

I lean toward Jade, practically yelling in her ear to break through the wall of noise.

“I’m gonna find the damn bathroom,” I say, and she barely glances at me, already deep in a flirty back-and-forth with a pirate who looks as though he glued his costume on ten minutes before showing up.

She waves me off, not even breaking eye contact with Mr. Plastic Sword .

The hallway I step into feels like it was ripped straight out of some low-budget slasher movie.

Black walls absorb the light, and the only thing guiding me forward is this shaky light fixture hanging at the far end, its flames throwing weird, twisting shadows that jerk like they’ve got somewhere urgent to be.

I catch a glimpse of a dusty-ass suit of armor slouched against the wall and, for a split second, I’m dead sure it’s about to come alive and split me in half.

At the end of the hall, I find a row of doors and pick one, heart pounding for no good reason. I twist the knob and push.

“Get the fuck outta here!” someone shouts from inside, their tone unclear and pissed as hell.

I don’t even hesitate—I slam the door shut so fast it nearly bounces back at me.

My stomach drops and my face lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

Fuck. I just walked in on two people mid-whatever-they-were-doing, and now I’ve got an unwanted snapshot of sweaty bodies and bedroom eyes burned into my brain forever.

I mutter a shaky apology to the closed door, because apparently that’s who I am now, and stagger a few steps back, cringing so hard I feel it in my teeth.

There’s another door farther down, and I pray to every half-drunk party god that this one’s the bathroom. I don’t even care if it’s clean—all I want is a sink and no human genitalia.

I push it open and practically moan with relief.

Tile floor, mirror that’s seen better days, sink crusted with mystery gunk—perfect.

No moaning. No panting. No eye contact. I’m in the clear.

I step inside, shut the door, and lean back against it, trying to catch my breath and push the horror of that last room out of my head.

The air in here is stale and reeks faintly of bleach and whatever cleaning product they half-assed this place with, but I’ll take it.

I grip the edges of the sink like it’s the only thing keeping me upright, splash cold water on my face, and just breathe. Just fucking breathe.

I step out of the bathroom, still embarrassed, the image of that couple tangled up like they forgot where they were. It is now seared into my brain. I head back toward Jade, who’s exactly where I left her.

“You were in there forever. You good?” she asks, eyeing me like I might be hiding a secret.

“Yeah,” I mutter, heat climbing up my neck. “Just...awkward. Walked in on a full-blown hookup. Like, no shame at all.”

Jade’s eyes go wide, her mouth turning in disgusted amusement. “Ugh, I hate that. Makes you want to bleach your eyes and start over.”

Before I can say more, Tony slides up beside me and hands me a drink. “Hey, I was thinking,” he says, casual as ever. “What if we hit the movies? Not this Friday, next one. That new movie Don’t Watch Alone drops. Already checked the times at the mall’s theater.”

I blink, trying to dismiss the mental image still burned into my mind. “That the slasher with the kids trapped in the mall? All getting killed off one by one?”

“That’s the one,” he says, grinning like it’s the best idea he’s ever had. “Figured we could go all out and watch it in the mall. ”

“That’s wrong,” I laugh, my anxiety seeping into it. “Super crazy. Slasher horror movie in a mall. What could go wrong?”

“What are y’all plotting?” Jade asks, nosey as ever, sliding back into the conversation.

“Tony wants us to see that mall massacre movie,” I say.

Jade lights up. “Hell yes! I’m so in. We’re getting a huge popcorn with extra butter too, right?”

She and Tony are already off and running, talking about snacks and seats like it’s all finalized. But something shifts inside me. It starts small—a weird flutter in my chest, then a slow roll of dizziness. The conversation fades, the music becomes fainter. Everything feels... distant.

I try to focus on Tony’s voice, but his words twist around each other. My vision starts to blur.

“Guys…” I say, or try to. My own voice sounds muted, as if my head is under water. “I... I do n’t feel right…”

Jade turns, a worried expression fills her face. She reaches for me, saying something I can’t catch. Then the floor drops out from under me.

Darkness crashes in.

The noise, the lights, the movie talk, even the gross bedroom memory, all gone. Swallowed by blackness.

Where the fuck am I?