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I know our exterior door is locked with a deadbolt, but I double-check it again, just in case. I’m on the third floor and our windows don’t open to prevent falling accidents.
There is no way for anyone to get inside of this apartment, unless they’ve got a battering ram.
But that doesn’t stop me from jumping in reaction when the phone vibrates again.
Unknown: …2
I check the door one more time. Still locked.
Outside, a fresh smattering of snow has fallen, making the light from the streetlamp hazy against a backdrop of darkness. I wouldn’t see anything moving out there, but that doesn’t mean I’m alone.
I shut the door of my bedroom and lock it, backing away like someone might be about to break it down. Even as I try to assure myself that this is all just Havoc House’s idea of a prank, I can’t help but focus on the fact that I’m the only person in the building.
What’s the polar opposite of safety in numbers?
Unknown: …1
The window glass rattles in its frame. I let out a surprised shriek and then realize that it’s only the wind. Every creak of the old building could be footsteps out in the hallway. My ears strain to catch any suspicious noises, but I can’t hear much past the blood rushing in my ears.
No matter how hard I strain to hear anything, there is nothing but the wailing wind outside.
My hand grips the curtain as I pull it closed. A reflection moves across the window glass, like a disembodied figure floating in midair.
A skull mask with its painted face twisted into a maniac grin.
Then the lights go out.
I try to scream, but a hand immediately clamps down over my mouth.
I’m spun around even as I try to fight off the hands clutching at me.
Like an idiot, I’m expecting a rag soaked in chloroform to be pressed over my nose. My hands go up to my face as I struggle to keep them from getting anywhere near my mouth.
I barely feel the prick of a needle as it enters my upper arm. The brief stab of pain is followed by a rush of cold that freezes my blood and sends a dizzying rush to my head.
When I open my mouth, nothing comes out but a slur of words that I can’t even understand. My vision wavers as a wave of nausea rolls over me.
Right before I pass out, a gravelly voice whispers harshly in my ear.
“Time’s up, pledge.”
* * *
I wake up to a blast of frigid air across my body.
“Up and at ‘em, sleeping bitchy.”
Fabric covers my head, so thick that I can’t see anything past it. When it’s ripped away, my vision fills with snow-covered trees lit only by moonlight. The view would seem pretty if I weren’t convinced that I’m moments from being murdered.
A Havoc mask fills my vision, different from the one that I saw reflected in my bedroom window. Though, it’s just as sinister.
Cold eyes regard me from behind the mask, but there isn’t enough light for me to make out the color.
Ignoring the cold splash of fear, I demand. “What the fuck?”
“That’s the spirit.” The voice is still gravelly and dark, like whoever it is thinks he’s gunning for a chance to play Batman. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
“Drake?”
