Page 22 of Horror and Chill

Within ten minutes, notifications roll in like rain. Message requests. Payments. Tips. Comments with emojis and guesses and crude praise. I leave them unread. Right now, I don’t want their words.

This wasn’t for them, anyway. It wasn’t about pleasure either. This was a reclaiming. A reckoning. Maybe even a punishment.

I let him touch me. I didn’t fight him off. I didn’t scream when I should have. I didn’t tell the police what I really saw. What I really felt. I left out everything that mattered. And now Jay is gone. Cold. Buried. While I sit here pretending the world hasn’t changed.

But it has.

I should’ve fought harder. Should’ve said more. Instead, I stood in front of a badge and told half-truths like they were enough. Like they made me innocent. The pain in my thighs is the only thing that feels real tonight. It’s sharp. Earned. Honest. I can live with that kind of pain. It reminds me that I’m not numb.

I scroll through my phone and tap Lorna’s name. She answers almost immediately.

“Hey, babe,” she says. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got my calendar theme,” I say, not bothering with small talk. “National Horror Movie Day.”

“Oh, hell yes,” she laughs. “I love it already. What are you thinking?”

“My Bloody Valentine. Classic slasher aesthetic. The old-school gas mask. A pickaxe. Blood everywhere. Real horror house vibes. I want to shoot it myself. And off-site, if that’s okay.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “That’s fine. You want to handle the filming?”

“I do. Monty’s great, but I need control on this one.”

“Understood. Chad’s still handling the photo shoot portion, though. You cool with that?”

“Yeah. I’m still working out the look for the stills. I’m thinking me in black lace, soaked in blood. Holding the pickaxe like I just buried a body. Definitely the gas mask. Probably solo. Might add a partner. I’m undecided.”

There’s a quiet moment. I hear her inhale.

“You doing alright?” she asks. Her voice dips low, less producer, more friend.

I glance around my bedroom. The candlelight flickers. My favorite altar statue watches me from the dresser, half-lit in shadow.

“I’m pissed,” I say. “That’s all. Not broken. Not spiraling. Just… furious. My whole damn life I was raised to obey. To shrink. To take what I was given and call it a blessing. And for a while I did. But not anymore.”

“He tried to take something from you,” she says. It’s not a question.

“And I won’t let him,” I reply. “My channel is mine. My voice. My body. I didn’t survive my childhood just to break now. I’ve been through worse than some masked fuck in the woods.”

Lorna lets out a low chuckle. “You ever consider therapy?”

I scoff. “If I walked into a therapist’s office and unpacked even half of my baggage, they’d need a priest, a trauma team, and a bottle of tequila. The forest preserve isn’t the haunted part. I am.”

She doesn’t laugh, but I hear her smile. “Well, you’ve got me if you need anything. And I love the idea. Just send me the full concept by Friday.”

“I will,” I promise.

After we hang up, I stay seated for a while. I open the photo I took earlier and zoom in on the new piercing. It glints back at me like a warning. This isn’t just jewelry; it’s a talisman. A reminder that I’m in control now.

While I was on the phone with my boss, something started to take shape. It’s still forming, but the edges are solid.

I’m going to draw him out.

The one who stalked me. The one who touched me. The one who ran into the trees after stealing something I never agreed to give. I want to know who he is. I want to look into his eyes and ask him what gave him the right. I want answers. I want revenge. I want to carve out the guilt I’ve been swallowing ever since I found Jay’s body.

He could have left him tied up. He could’ve written a warning. He didn’t have to slit his throat like it was a goddamn performance.

And if he thinks this is a show… then he’s going to find out what happens when I flip the script.