Ghosts of Halloween: A Dark Why Choose Romance

“And that’s not the only reason…” Silas says, but Jack doesn’t let him finish. He slams into him so hard, they both crash into a wall…

I blink. Not into a wall, but through it. They are gone, and muffled sounds of their fight come from the other room. I stare at Caden with wide eyes, everything I heard whirling in my head like a tornado. Noah’s murder. Their deaths.

Their promise to keep me safe.

A thought strikes me, and I can’t bear it. A hysterical laugh bubbles in my chest, and next thing I know, I cackle while Caden watches me warily, his hands loose at his sides. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, and I’m grateful, because I can’t even articulate the thought. It’s ridiculous and ungrateful considering how much they suffered because of a stupid promise… Because of me.

And yet, I laugh and laugh, because it’s just too funny.

Because apparently, they died too late. Too late to protect me.

By the time they woke up as spirits, I was already broken, and all that’s left to protect is a ghost, too. I’m alive, I breathe. I can walk out of here, but I’m a ghost. Just like them.

When my hysterical, sobbing laughter finally stops, Caden sighs and comes closer. He puts his rough, strong hands on my shoulders and peers into my face, head lowered to match my height. “It’s a lot to take in, I bet. Do you have questions? Would you like me to hold you?”

I shake my head to both, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with him. He just gave me so much pleasure, made me feel so utterly beautiful and wanted, and what did I do? I trapped him here. He can’t pass on because of me.

I feel ashamed and so small, I want to shrink away and never see him again. Never see any of them. Even though logically, I know it’s not my fault. I wasn’t the one who asked for that promise. Noah was.

But then, so what? Am I truly not to blame? I always relied on him. Sure, I tried to become independent. I tried to take care of myself, had a job, did what I could to get a good boyfriend so Noah wouldn’t worry… But in all that, he was my rock. The one person I could always trust.

I relied on him so much, he couldn’t even die in peace. His last thought was about me, and his last deed was to trap his friends while trying to protect me. It is my fault. I should have been less of a burden.

“Thank you,” I tell Caden, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll, um… The bathroom. I’ll go wash up.”

“Before you go,” he starts.

I look up, waiting for him to finish, but instead of saying more, Caden folds me into a hug. His strong, warm arms wrap around my shivering torso, and he presses me close until my face is buried in the crook of his neck, breathing in the clean scent of him. I shiver harder, wanting to fall apart so fucking much, but I force deep breaths down my throat, gritting my teeth until my jaw hurts.

I want to melt into Caden and let him take care of me, but I won’t do it. I can’t. I’ve already caused enough damage.

“Thanks.” I pat him on the back awkwardly and pull away, avoiding his eyes. When I turn, Caden doesn’t stop me again, and I pick up my dress and a candle on my way out.

I find the bathroom quickly. The toilet’s filthy, but the shower looks clean enough, so I take off my prosthetic, lay it on a chair, and step under the weak spray of cold water. In the glow of my candle, I can just see a bar of soap, still wet and a bit sudsy, and I pick it up with a strange mixture of sheepishness and pleasure at the thought Caden just used it.

But those feelings threaten the fragile equilibrium inside me. I’m numb, doing my best to wall off everything but the most immediate thoughts—like navigating to the bathroom, showering, looking for a towel. So I bite the inside of my cheek hard, swallowing the tears until I am calm again.

I wash with Caden’s soap, refusing to dwell on it any more than necessary. I haven’t found a towel, so I just shake the water off as best as I can, dry my stump with my dress, and put the prosthetic back on, cursing when my shaky hand can’t get the job done fast enough.NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

I was cold before. Now, after the chilly shower, I’m freezing. My teeth chatter, my body rigid with the loss of heat. But I don’t even think about getting warm. This biting cold grounds me, just like pain does.

All I want is to get dressed. I keep worrying one of them will come in or fall through the ceiling, and they’ll see me completely naked, without the arm. I can’t risk it now. Before, I might have let Jack touch my stump, but now…

I shake my head, barring those thoughts from my mind, and put the dress on my damp, shaking body. It does little to help me get warm.

Since I didn’t bring my shoes, I walk out on damp feet, cringing when dust clings to my soles. In the hallway, I stop, gripping my candle and doing my best not to freak out. But truth is… I don’t know what to do. A part of me wants to just run. Hide under my blanket on Janet’s couch and lick my wounds alone.

But I can’t. I owe these men, and I can’t just leave.

Or maybe I can’t leave, period. After all, they locked all the doors. They are keeping me trapped here, right along with them. And for what? Just to fuck?

I lean against the wall, my shaky exhale making the candle’s flame dance, distorting the shadows. What do they want from me? I ask myself this question properly for the first time since I arrived. First, I was scared shitless. Then, horny and overwhelmed. And scared again. And… yes, horny again.

I’d facepalm myself if I had the energy, but it is what it is. I am a slut, after all. At least I finally got to enjoy myself.

But even though I want them and love the things they did to me, I can’t help but think I’m not here just to get them off. I frown, thinking, until my eyes grow wide with realization, my heart beating faster when I finally guess what it is they must want from me.

I keep them here. So maybe, I’m also the one who can set them free.

Following the faint murmur of voices, I go up the stairs, bare feet silent on the steps. Candlelight flickers under the door to the room where they first tied me up. It’s closed, and I approach it, hands shaking with trepidation.

I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but I can’t help myself.

“…when she asked about Noah, I thought… with us… it’s the only other way.” Jack’s voice sounds urgent but low, only bits and pieces reaching my ears. Silas replies, so quietly, I can’t make out his words, and steps thud on the floor.

My breath hitches in my throat, but no one’s coming to catch me red-handed. It sounds like someone’s pacing. Jack, I realize, as the steps halt and he speaks again. “Tell that to him. Tell Caden you don’t want to be with him anymore.”

Silas’s reply is quiet, taking on a hissing quality. He’s pissed, but I can’t make out his words. Then Caden cuts in.

“I say we try. It should work either way, so what’s the harm? Who knows what will happen once she’s…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Silas interrupts, louder now that he’s talking to Caden. “It’s not that I don’t want you, you know that! I just can’t let her off the hook. If you want to try, do it. But I get to tell her first. I need fucking closure, and you do, too.”

There is silence, and in that utter quiet, a drop of hot wax lands on my finger. I hiss, the pain unexpected, and more steps thud inside before the door flies open.

“Hello, angel.” Silas’s smile looks demonic in the flickering glow of the candle. I shiver, but when he grabs my arm just above the prosthetic and drags me inside, I don’t resist. A cold, dank dread fills me, my heart fluttering desperately.

Something bad is about to happen.

Silas lets me go, and I stop in the middle of the room, surrounded. The three stand around me, their faces serious. I look at Jack, searching for the tender spark in his green eyes, but there’s nothing. His mouth is set, arms folded on his chest.

On my other side, Caden stands with his hands in his pockets, watching me with a mild expression, but he says nothing.

And finally, Silas. His eyes burn with hate, and the air around him crackles, a dark, menacing cloud of something half-transparent riding on his shoulders. I flinch, terrified yet unable to tear my eyes away from him. He has a knife in his hand, a long, vicious blade with a serrated edge. It gleams in the light of the flames as he turns it. He’s just playing, I think, but it looks threatening.

He makes my knees weak with dread.

Slowly, he rises, his feet leaving the floor, and I press my lips together to hold back a whimper. I glance at Jack, but his face is hard and closed off, the vein in his forehead jumping lightly with his pulse. Caden looks indifferent, his arms folded.

No one reassures me. No one offers to hold me, and after the treatment I got earlier, this change is striking. My hands shake as I turn to Silas, clenching my teeth to control their chattering. I’m still viciously cold, but I refuse to ask for help. I don’t deserve it.

“When I lay on that floor, my bleeding guts shredded with bullets, I found out something very interesting,” Silas says, watching me with narrowed eyes. “It’s a funny story, so listen closely. One day, a young, pretty man went to a bar where he met a girl eager to get fucked. She was just twenty, but she hung out there all the time, sipping soda and smiling at men. He found her willing and pleasant, and after he got off, they talked for a while. She was very talkative, that girl. Loved being listened to, and he was a good listener.”

My heart sinks. It drops to my stomach and lower, until I’m afraid it will fall out of me and roll down the dusty floor, beating wildly just as it does in my chest right now.

But it can’t be. There’s a twist, I know. It’s not going where I think it’s going. Just have to listen.

“A few months later, the pretty man joined Vladimir, and when they talked about the pussy they could get in this town, he mentioned the girl. He kept loose tabs on her, and she had a boyfriend now, but her reputation didn’t change. As they talked, he let slip something the girl told him. Vladimir got interested and pressed him for more details.”

He is silent, and I hiccup, all those trapped sobs, screams, and moans wanting out. I wait. The tension in the room thickens to tar, the air so heavy I can’t breathe. I suffocate, and I want to claw at my throat to get it to open, but I stand frozen. Time is so slow, it seems distorted, and Silas still doesn’t speak.

Until he does.

“That girl who led Vladimir to us. That girl who fucked every man who so much as looked at her. See, that girl wore a prosthetic. And because that pretty man was so kind to her, because he listened so well, she told him how much it cost. He wouldn’t have guessed it on his own. People know jack shit about amputees. But she told him it cost twenty grand, and he remembered. She told him lots of other things. How her brother got it for her. How he slaved away at a low-pay job to keep her fed. And she even told him when her brother took her for a fitting to get that expensive arm custom-made for her. Just before Halloween. Not even a month after Vladimir got fucked.”

I shake, unable to move, unable to draw in a breath. I know where this leads. I know how the story ends and what it means. But with every fiber of my being, I want it to be something else. Let there be a twist. A stupid, goofy twist that will make us all laugh.

“That guy told Vladimir all of that, and Vladimir may be stupid, but he’s cunning. He did some snooping into her brother’s finances. And that was enough. He knew. The little talk that slut had with that man after he fucked her is what got us all killed.”

He looks at me, eyes so cold, they burn, and I stand there, frozen, as the last dregs of my hope dissolve into nothing.

“It’s your fault Noah’s dead,” Silas says, his voice so soft. Almost kind. “It’s your fault we died.”