The Haunting

by Natasha Preston

What’s the best way to ask your boyfriend how he feels about the one-year anniversary of his father’s Halloween murder spree? Your ex-boyfriend, because, oh yeah, you’re forbidden to ever see or speak with him again. Nash never returned to school after five of our classmates were slaughtered by his dad, a man who made me hot chocolate with a mountain of marshmallows whenever I came over.

Dark gray clouds, the same color as my eyes, cover the sky, as likely to rain as I am to cry.

My feelings for him were supposed to disappear along with our contact.

Can’t eat properly because of the big ball of anxiety. Can’t sleep properly because of the big ball of anxiety. Can’t focus well at school or piano practice because…well, you get it.

Usually I can convince almost anyone of anything—you’ve just got to say whatever the lie is with conviction—but

The first thing that I see is an arm and my brain tries hard to convince me it’s a mannequin. But it’s not. I can tell from the red patch of blood seeping through his white shirt.

There’s actually a neighborhood group that will put passive-aggressive notes in your mailbox if your yard is overgrown.

We’re a cute, close-knit town…haunted by murder.

It’s only when I’m half a block away from home that I realize how incredibly stupid it is of me to walk around in the dead of night alone.

I step back into the doorway of the library, listening to the thudding of my pulse, and press my hand to my mouth. I’m hiding until I know exactly who it is.

I hate where my mind takes me.

“I can feel the awkward vibes radiating from you. Stop, okay? I’m fine. You’re fine.

“You’re eating, though, right?” “I’m eating,” I assure him. Chocolate and Jell-O count as a meal, right?