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Why do I stop?
This is more terrifying than any of the scary stories I’ve ever heard.
Movement draws my attention and I catch sight of the cousin who ran away returning in the distance with something large bundled on his back. The chanting picks up in volume and chaotic energy until the entire crowd seems to be screaming the word chicken.
Wyatt hasn’t moved from his seat on his bench, but his eyes have grown wide, and his throat is working overtime as he tries to swallow his nerves. Wilder seems to be having the time of his life as he blindly joins in on the fun of cult chanting and stomping. He’s out of the danger zone and is clearly enjoying the hell out of scaring Wyatt.
The cousin with the bundle in his hands makes it back to the group, but the way the shadows are playing from the fire, I still can’t quite see what he’s brought back with him. Though I can tell it’s very large and very…yellow.
Roger raises one hand in the air and all the chanting and stomping immediately stops, with only a slightly delayed Wilder catching on to the switch in direction. “We’ve got a chicken shit, Sharpes!” There’s a few more shouts of excitement as he smiles devilishly down at Wyatt. “What is it we do with chicken shits?!”
“Chicken! Chicken! Chicken!”
“You heard them, son! Time to suit up!” The cousin who played courier brandishes the bundle out into the center of the crowd at the wave of Roger and shouts follow the big reveal of a…
A chicken costume.
What the fuck?
I glance around, finding Kat’s amused, sparkling gaze across from me, and she hides her face behind her hands.
Chapter 13
The chanting and stomping reaches a fever pitch as my cousin emerges from the shadows with the bright yellow bundle held high. Even knowing what's coming, I have to bite my lip to contain my excitement.
Wyatt's eyes are practically bulging out of his head in fear, though he remains stoically seated. Oh, this is too good. I let out a dramatic sigh and lock eyes with him, allowing my sympathy to show.
"I tried to warn you," I say with an exaggerated shrug. Wyatt swallows hard as the massive, plush suit gets tossed at his feet. He eyes it like it's a venomous snake poised to strike. I almost feel bad for him, but tradition is tradition. Plus, his dignified ass in that ridiculous costume is too hilarious an opportunity to pass up.
Emrys sidles closer to me, his hulking warmth strangely comforting amidst the chaos. He watches the spectacle unfold with guarded amusement flickering in those intense golden-green eyes. Meanwhile, Wilder whoops and hollers louder than anyone, clearly delighted he's not the one facing punishment. He catches my eye and winks conspiratorially. I have to fight back a grin. I hate to admit it, but his playful spirit is contagious.
Dad gestures for Wyatt to put the suit on as the chanting reaches thunderous levels once more. This is a Sharpe Clan classic. I lean towards Emrys, my lips nearly brushing his ear.
"Just wait until you see this," I murmur with unconcealed glee. His eyes instantly darken, but whether it's from my proximity or anticipation, I can't be sure.
Wyatt stands reluctantly, spine rigid, and begins to step into the puffy yellow suit as the bonfire rages on. His jaw is clenched so tightly I worry he may crack a tooth as he finishes zipping up the yellow monstrosity. Only his stern face peeks out from the fluffy fabric, the beak hanging limply under his chin. He looks like an ostrich with constipation.
I can't restrain my laughter any longer and double over, the uncontrollable giggles spilling from me. Even Emrys lets out an amused huff, his eyes creasing at the corners when I meet his gaze.
Meanwhile, Wilder is nearly rolling on the ground, slapping his knee as he guffaws loudly. "Well don't you look as snazzy as a June bug in a jug!" He crows, eliciting another round of raucous laughter from the crowd.
Wyatt's eye twitches but he remains stoically silent, refusing to acknowledge the humiliation. Gotta admit, the man has dignity in spades.
"Alright folks, you know the next part!" Dad reminds everyone gleefully. My cheeks are starting to ache from smiling so wide. This never gets old.
Right on cue, my family breaks into song, belting out a rousing rendition of The Chicken Dance song as Wyatt stands there awkwardly in full feathered glory. I grab Emrys' hand without thinking and make him join me in flapping our arms and shimmying along, a nostalgic warmth spreading through me.
Despite the chaos, Emrys' touch grounds me, his calloused palm pressed against mine. He eyes me with unrestrained fascination as I lead him along enthusiastically. By the end, I'm breathless from exertion and laughter.
Wyatt finally pushes back the chicken head, face flushed crimson beneath the stoic mask. Even he can't be completely immune to this level of gleeful absurdity. “Is it over? Please tell me it’s over!”
“Sorry, man. It’s only just begun!” Ethan yells as everyone else practically screams “Dun. Dun. Duuuuuuun!”
Horrified, Wyatt practically begs me with his eyes to put him out of his misery, but I simply shrug at him. A dark glint flashes in his steely, sharp gray eyes and my own widen in response. Swallowing thickly, I do the only thing I can do and duck behind Emrys’ massive frame to avoid the heated promise in his gaze.
Apparently Wyatt isn’t the only chicken shit in attendance. Shh, don’t tell my dad.
“Rule one of being a chicken shit,” Dad’s joyful voice booms out once more as he holds up one finger. “You must don the suit! Rule number two,” another finger springs up as he continues to speak. “You are forced to endure the chicken dance. Rule number three…”
