Scream For Us: Chapter 1

Jack-o-lanterns are spread out along the sidewalk and leading up to the front door. I’m hypnotized by the flickering flames behind the precisely carved faces. Cobwebs cover the bushes, neon spotlights illuminate the front entrance, and there are bloody footprints spread across the pavement beneath my heels.

Blasting music bursts through the house as I enter, along with a thick layer of smoke from a fog machine hidden beside the door, creeping its way through everyone in sight. There are people everywhere, and it seems like everyone is in costume. They weren’t kidding when they said this Salem Halloween party would go down in history.

This was a bad idea to come here alone. A cold shiver shoots down my spine at the thought. Swiftly turning on my heel to make my exit, Jenna nearly knocks me backward.

“Quinn!” she exclaims, pure vodka on her breath, as she grabs onto my arms to keep herself steady. “You’re here!”

“Somehow.”

“I had no idea you were coming,” she drunkenly babbles. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

She’s probably shocked to see me at a party, instead of my typical “snuggling in bed at our sorority house, reading smut books, and avoiding social gatherings”.

“Have you seen Stacy?” she asks.

“Not yet. I just got here,” I tell her. “Sorry.”

With that, she scurries away.

Making my way down the crowded hallway and into the kitchen, loud conversations drown out the Halloween-themed music from the other rooms. Flickering candles create the perfect amount of light for me to figure out my options for booze.

Beer. More beer. Hard liquor.

Spooky Halloween party punch, it is.

“Good choice,” a voice says from behind me, before he enters my view. “Really does pack a punch.”

Snorting from his corny line, I roll my eyes. “The stronger the better,” I say, nearly overflowing my solo cup in the process. “Cool Joker makeup.”

“Thanks.” He raises an eyebrow. “What are you supposed to be?”

Glancing down at my black, corset-style bodysuit, fishnet tights, and black combat heels, I cringe. This was my last-minute effort to try to throw a costume together, except I still have no idea who or what I am.

“That’s a great question,” I sheepishly reply.

“Kevin,” someone says from across the room. “You coming with us?”

Joker looks their way and nods, before turning back to me once more. “What’s your name, again?”

“Quinn.”

“See you around, Quinn.”

The Halloween punch did in fact, pack a punch. Joker was right.

A thin film of fog creeps its way from the ground, surrounding everyone on the dance floor. Making my way to the center of the room, I sway my hips to the beat of the music, enticed by the strobe lights that seem to be coming from every direction. Lifting my arms into the air, and shutting my eyes, I submit to the new carefree feeling that rages through me.

Thank God for alcohol in social settings.

Suddenly, hands are on my waist, guiding me to the rhythm. I continue to dance, not giving any thought to the person behind me, until they slip their hands to the front of me.

Lower.

Lower.

Swatting them away, an uncomfortable feeling creeps up on me, although I pay it no mind at first. Until they grab onto me, forcing themselves against my body. Groping my breasts, trailing their hand down to my lower waist.

“Stop,” I rush out, trying to break free from their hold.

They breathe heavily against my ear. “You like it?”

“No, you creep,” I shoot back, trying to pull away.

But they’re too strong.

“No! No! Stop!”

Sloppily kissing my neck, they attempt slipping their fingers beneath the material of my corset. Finally, I break free from their grasp, bumping into several people dancing beside us. To my dismay, they ignore us entirely. My heart hammers. There are so many people. It’s so loud. The smoke is so thick, I can hardly see, let alone breathe.

Turning to face the person who would not accept no for an answer, anger and disgust consume me. He steps forward, reaching out for me again. Slamming my hands against his chest, I shove him away, and this time he gets the hint.

And it’s clear that he has taken offense to my rejection. His eyes turn dark. Cold. He becomes as still as stone. Fear settles in, and before I can even make sense of it, he’s grabbing a red solo cup from someone’s hand.

Within seconds, my upper body is drenched with beer. My jaw nearly drops as I stare at him in disbelief, horrified at the fact that he has just splashed a drink in my face.

“Bitch,” he laughs.

A tall, dark figure lurks from the corner of my eye. Suddenly, he has my assaulter on the ground, and he’s towering over him. Leaning down, he slams his black, gloved fists against his face, punching him.

Over and over.

He grabs him by the throat. “If you ever fucking touch her again, I’ll put you down like a sick dog.”

You can almost hear the crippling sound of his face crunching from each blow, as dark, red blood pours from his nose like a faucet.

The lyrics boom from the speakers, “I can’t wait to hear you, I can’t wait to hear you, scream.”

Everyone scurries out of the way, watching in horror and disbelief as the scene unfolds right before our eyes. Several people try to step in to help deescalate the situation. Yet, as soon as they try to pull him off, he jerks toward them, taunting them.

They immediately step back, not daring to be his next target.

My heart is pounding against my ribcage, and I finally realize that this was all for me. He helped me. He protected me.

The outline of his backside is daunting. Primitive. It’s as if he’s hunting his prey, and he doesn’t stop beating him until he’s knocked out cold.

The tall, dark figure dressed in all black slowly turns to face me, and the moment I see the Scream mask hiding his identity, I’m left a hot, quivering mess.

There’s just something about this moment that mesmerizes me. He approaches me, now towering over my small frame. He’s at least six foot three, and even though the dark fabric of his costume hides his body, it’s obvious he’s built like a God.

He tilts his head to the side, studying my reaction, and my body reacts right on cue. My nipples pucker, straining against the material of my corset. My inner thighs become drenched. My face is flushed, and my breathing is labored.

“Thank you,” I unthinkingly say.

“His face!” A guy in cowboy attire shouts, kneeling over my assaulter, who is still unconscious. Bleeding profusely, might I add. “You broke his face, man! I’ll kill you!”

Ghost snaps his head in his direction.

The cowboy rushes to his feet, bolting toward us, when fear overtakes me. With one, swift motion, Ghost swings, and his fist collides with Cowboy’s jaw.

He collapses onto the floor next, and remains there, completely motionless.

Everyone begins to scream. It’s a real-life blood bath, yet I don’t make a sound. Silently observing the blood as it spurts from his nose, I watch as it then trickles down his face.

Another tall, dark figure appears from the corner of my eye, bringing me back to reality. He grabs onto Ghost’s shoulders, trying his best to hold him back. Right there, it becomes evident that they know each other.

Without thinking it through, I push my way through the crowd of people, some laughing, some crying, and I lock my fingers around Ghost’s wrist. He looks back to his friend, who is wearing a Jason Voorhees mask, and in unison, they both nod.

Forcefully pulling him along with me as we exit the room, we turn a corner, nearly knocking someone onto their ass. Once we spot a large, spiraling staircase, I lead him to the top. It’s now much darker on this floor, although a bit less crowded, and the music only seems to grow louder. It echoes through the hallway, sounding like a beating heart.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Pushing open the nearest door and stumbling into the room, a pair of shoes knock me off my balance. Before I even have the chance to trip over them, Ghost catches me, bringing me close to his chest. He’s so firm. Masculine. Staring up at him through my lashes, I gaze helplessly into the large, black eyes of his mask.

Jason closes the door behind us.

Here I am, alone with Ghost and Jason, two people I’ve never met until only minutes ago, yet I’ve never felt so safe.

What does that say about me?

There’s red-hot sexual tension, an electrical current in the air, and my inner thighs once again become slick.

Well, shit.

I’m infatuated, on cloud nine. Over the moon.

Maybe it’s because Ghost is nearly crushing me against his body, and his cologne smells so goddamn seductive it makes my head spin. Or maybe, it’s the fact that he just kicked the shit out of some guy who wouldn’t take his hands off me when I told him to stop.

Suddenly, the rush of adrenaline makes me feel sick, and I peel myself away from him.

“There was so much blood,” I stutter, attempting to run my hand through my hair. Although it’s a sticky, tangled mess from the beer that was splashed in my face.

“You good?” Ghost asks me.

That voice. So powerful, so throaty, it makes me weak.

“Yeah,” I say, brushing out a knot with my fingers. “I’m fine.”

“I have this urge to kill—” he hesitates, his voice low. “—anyone who touches you.”

My eyes widen without my permission, and my lips part.

Holy shit. Did he really just say that?

“Do I know you?” I ask.

He steps forward, closing the small space between us. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t recognize your voice,” I let out.

With that, he turns toward his friend.

The Jason Voorhees mask he’s wearing is frightening. I’ve never been a huge fan of Friday the 13^th, or any horror films in general, for that matter. Yet, there’s something about his broody, mysterious presence that has me completely aroused.

He’s tall, too, although maybe a bit shorter than Ghost, and his build is huge. Even though he’s wearing a bulky jacket, it’s not hard to tell.

“Did that guy hurt you?” Jason asks.

His voice also sends a chill down my spine. God help me.

Although, there’s a voice in my head that says, “God isn’t here right now.”

Now I know how Elena Gilbert felt, torn between two men.

“No. He didn’t have the chance to hurt me,” I anxiously reply, gazing up at Ghost with gratitude. “Thanks to you.”

“He knows what he wants,” Jason speaks up.

“Oh?” I sheepishly question, taken back. “And what does he want, exactly?”

Ghost steps toward me, inching closer. Closer.

Staring up at his mask, I swallow hard.

“Don’t ask him, little Quinn,” Ghost says. “Ask me directly.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling washes over me from his seductive tone. “What do you want?” I finally ask, barely any sound to my voice.

“Silly girl,” he smugly retorts. “I want what every other guy in this party wants.”

He reaches to my hair, brushing it over my shoulder, his black, leather gloves lightly brushing against my neck. I feel so exposed as he stands over me.

Vulnerable.

“Say it,” I urge, gathering the robe over his chest in my hands. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

Without warning, the door opens, slamming against the wall with a loud thud. The music pours into the room, completely ruining the moment.

Someone dressed as Michael Myers stands in the doorway. How is every one of them taller than six feet? I’ve been reading too many smut books lately, and I clearly haven’t gotten out enough.

“Got your text,” Michael says, revealing that he is their friend.

“Couldn’t have been any better with your timing,” Ghost dryly mutters, dismissing them with a single wave of his hand.

The second the door shuts behind them, he gazes down at me in silence. I can almost make out the outline of his eyes from the dim light on the other side of the room. Suddenly, my heart begins to pound at the thought of us finally being alone with one another.

What am I doing? What am I thinking?

This is so unlike me.

Although, that’s the thing. Tonight, I can be whoever the hell I want to be.

And for once in my life, I choose to be reckless.