Page 8 of Horror and Chill

Shoes are the most important part. I need to be able to run, so I lace up my black Converse and call it a night.

Jewelry is the final step. A casket shaped ring made of real bone, a few silver ones with bats and moons, and last, a black velvet choker that’s snug around my throat. I buckle it in place and wink at myself in the mirror.

Hot.

It’s quarter after nine. Perfect.

I grab my bag and toss in a water bottle, portable phone charger, my ID, and debit card. Then I head out, scream singing along toWhoreby In This Moment while I drive. I stop at a gas station about halfway there, snag a Full Throttle from the cooler, and sip it like it’s holy water.

By the time I pull into the parking lot of the forest preserve, my stomach is dancing with nerves.

I text Jay.

Me: I’m here.

He responds instantly.

Jay: Go hide, pretty girl. I’m coming to find you.

I laugh and text back.

Me: Phone’s charged. Making this as real as possible.

The phone is how I film my chase scenes. Gives everything that shaky, panickedBlair Witchvibe. Viewers eat it up. I lock my car, hide the key in the gas door, and head into the woods. The night is quiet, every leaf rustle and distant hoot magnified tenfold. My Converse crunch against the trail as I slip deeperinto the trees, until I reach the exact spot Jay and I picked earlier this week.

It’s dark. Perfect.

I go live.

“Hey, you creepy little shits,” I whisper, aiming the camera at my face. “I’m taking a moonlight stroll and I swear I keep hearing things. So you’re coming with me. If I die, you better call the cops and make sure my next of kin gets my toy collection.”

The chat lights up.

Sk8rSlut97:OMG YESSSS IT’S STARTING

ChurchOfAgatha:Walking into the woods alone? She’s insane. I’m obsessed.

ThighHighPriest:This is how religion starts. Praise be.

I giggle and keep moving, reacting to every little snap of twigs and shifting breeze like I’m genuinely terrified. Which, honestly, I kind of am. It’s really fucking creepy out here. But I know Jay is coming. I know it’s just a game.

That is, until it doesn’t feel like one.

I freeze and the skin on the back of my neck prickles.

An owl hoots somewhere above and to the left. I spin, camera shaking, and catch a figure in the distance. About fifty yards out. Still. Watching. The mask looks so much worse out here in the dark.

Jay.

I pan the camera, let the viewers see him, and whisper, “You guys... I’m not alone. I don’t know what to do.”

Then, out of frame, I give him the signal. The small wave we agreed on.

But Jay doesn’t wave back. He lifts his hand and slowly holds up three fingers. Then he starts counting down.

Two.

One.