Page 161 of Phobia

I pick at the frayed end on my drawstring, pulling a thread loose and winding it around my finger until the skin turns white beneath. “Oh, totally.” My voice quivers a bit, and I’m forced to suck in a breath to keep the panic from my voice.

“It’ll be fun.”

“And scare the piss out of us—literally,” Lenny cackles after he finally catches his breath.

“Wait, are you serious?” I balk at him. He nods enthusiastically.

“Oh, yeah, dude. One hundred percent. Mayhem is famous for a reason.”

“It’s famous?”

“Have you never heard of it before?” Collin asks. I shake my head. I’m regretting my decision more and more with every passing second.

“Welllll, shit, dude. You’re in for a treat tomorrow.”

“Um… Usually, a treat implies something good.” I laugh lightly just as the doorbell rings.

“Pizza!” Lenny shouts and scrambles over Collin’s spread legs as he races for the front door. He comes back, carrying in two large boxes, and bringing the smell of tomato sauce, meat, and melted cheese.

He plops them down on the table, flips the lid on the top box, and dives right in. Everyone else follows suit. I stay in my spot, my mind reeling with questions. It’s not until a slice of pizza is being waved right in front of my face that I blink through my stupor with a sheepish smile.

“Thanks,” I mumble and take the floppy piece from Kane before taking a hesitant bite. The second the tangy sauce explodes on my tongue, I nearly groan.

I can’t remember the last time I had pizza—it’s been so many years.

The evening passes quickly. The chatter amongst my new roommates is fun and teasing. It’s actually very weird to observe the banter between them, but I find myself smiling more often than not.

I think I’ll really like it here.

“All right, well, I’m gonna head to bed. Goodnight.” The soft cacophony of mumbled replies follows me as I make my way up the stairs to my new bedroom. Once the door is latched behind me, my eyes flutter closed as I take a deep breath.

My hands tremble slightly against the door at my back. My lungs deflate as I push out every ounce of breath inside my chest. I wait until my head swims with pressure before I gasp in more oxygen.

The relief in my chest is instant, and it nearly makes my legs buckle.

With a near-silent grunt, I take the few steps to my new-to-me twin-sized bed and flop down face first. My blanket smells like the flowery laundry detergent my mom uses, and my stomach flips with the vacant feeling of missing home.

Which is ridiculous because I don’t miss anything about it—especially my parents—but my brain doesn’t seem to care.

Still, I allow myself a few extra inhales before I’m pushing myself up and shucking my clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a pile I promise myself I’ll pick up first thing in the morning.

Lying beneath the now warm sheets, I stare up at the foreign popcorn ceiling, my mind churning with the events of the day. How rejuvenating it felt to drive my very own car here that I spent nearly five years saving up to buy, packed with everything I own—which, pathetically, isn’t much.

How I’m now living in a strange house with people I barely know. Howgoodit feels to be on my own with no one to tell me what to do—except, apparently, my own subconscious and my deep-seated desire to be accepted.

Which has,sofortunately, landed me in a very precarious predicament.

I agreed to go to the state’s most haunted house—or whatever—when just the sound of the wind blowing against the windows wrong nearly sends me into a panic.

Not my brightest moment, but I’m hoping once we get there, my resolve will steel, and I’ll at least be able to walk inside without peeing my pants.

I know for a fact I won’t make it longer than two minutes, but I think if I make the effort, that will be okay. I’ll just go in last so no one else knows how much of a pansy I am.

But first, I need to know all that I’m getting myself into.

Rolling onto my side, I reach toward the small stand near my bed and grab my phone. I pinch my eyes closed as the brightness of my screen temporarily blinds me. I type in my password and open the browser. The search bar stares back at me, taunting me. My thumb hovers over the blank space, trembling a hair’s breadth away from the screen.

The haunting picture of the motel flashes through my mind’s eye, and I shiver, nearly choking on the lump lodged in the back of my throat.