Page 35 of Terror Tuesday

Probably just the pledges resetting things for the following group.

Still, I glance at the camera again. My skin itches with the feeling of being watched too closely. But not by the recording… No. Something else is digging deep, like sharp teeth.

Theta’salways been good at staging fear. But this year? This feels…unsupervised.

Solving the remaining clues, I move with purpose around the room. A sealed recipe box. A bone-handled corkscrew. A tin can of fake tiny toes.

With one last look at the figure on the counter—still motionless—I press forward.

As the door shuts behind me, I pull it tighter. Just in case.

Immediately, I step in something wet. Sticky. Red.

My heel slips for half a second before I catch myself. Like syrup, the fluid coats the floor. Arterial patterns spray the walls of this mock hotel. A silent chainsaw lies on the bed, dripping crimson. In the center of the room, three women posed like mannequins in torn lingerie and Halloween costumes. Blood cakes their hair and the carpet beneath their legs.

Perfume and gasoline fill the air. Foundation is caked over glassy eyes.

It’s difficult to recognize them under the pancake makeup and masks, but two of them might beOmegas.

DidThetarecruit them, my sisters, this year? Or is this some elaborate joke just to get under my skin? If so, I’m going to kill my brothers.

I whisper as I pass, “You’re all doing great.” As their president, I should encourage them.

The doorknob rattles again, and every muscle in my body stiffens.

“I’m almost out! You can have the room when I’m done, asshole!”

No answer. Only the faint creak of floorboards and another twitch of the knob.

ProbablyDeltastrying to sneak a shortcut. Still…my stomach won’t settle. Whoever it is, they’re not laughing or responding. They’re just…waiting.

My brain hurts like it remembers something I haven’t caught up to yet.

When I have to shift one of the girls to get to the nightstand, her arm flops loosely. Her skin is tepid. A gasp gets caught in my throat.

I spin around, hands on hips, eyes raking over the room. I count them. Three bodies. Three frozen, painted faces. Three women who don’t blink.

And their chests don’t rise.

The doorknob rattles again.

“Fuck!” I jump back.

This... This can’t be real. Right?

The smell. The copper. The plastic. Something is?—

I grab the final code from the dresser and crouch beside a brunette dressed as a sexy prisoner. Blood beads on her lip, stiff and unmoving. I reach down, trembling, and press a fingertip into the puddle under her head.

It’s warm.

And thick.

It reminds me of last Saturday night. When I first metVanq. On my knees. Hunter’s draining life soaking through my skin. Bryce’s body jerking beside me.

My chest aches.

Panicked, I look up through tears at the camera in the corner. “Aiden?” I shout. “Aiden! Henry!”