Page 13 of Kiss Slay Replay

I close my eyes, press one hand against the tree to keep myself steady, hold the other to my diaphragm and attempt to breathe normally. Inhale. Exhale. I summon my friends, their voices telling me that I’ll be fine. Inhale. Only way out is through. Exhale. Inhale. What story worth telling starts with a retreat? Exhale. You’re going to be okay.

I just need to survive the night. That’s it. Survive.

Breathing now under control, I open my eyes and turn my attention to my ankle. I reach down and massage it. It feels all right. That’s one crisis averted. Imagine? Adding injury to insult?

Another deep breath. Inhale…Exhale…

It’s sudden, the sound. A rustling somewhere. The ugly snap of a twig pops my head right up. Disorienting, what’s in front of me. The image unplugs me from reality, so uncanny I can’t really process what it is I’m seeing. I’m off-kilter. My brain doesn’t know what to do with the information. It takes a while for it to register. For me to understand that there’s a figure standing in the distance. Beyond the clearing, up on a slight hill, between the trees. They’re partially obscured by shadow, by the shade of the woods.

I can’t tell what’s most disturbing. The shade, or the angle they’re at, which makes them seem freakishly tall. Or that they’re dressed in all black—combat boots, what might be coveralls, and a mask, a black three-hole balaclava, with silver duct tape over the mouth. There’s a red smile drawn on, with a zipper between, like metal teeth. And the eyes…I can’t see its actual eyes, I’m too far away, but I can see that there are big fake eyeballs adhered to the mask near where its real eyes should be.

The figure has one hand hidden behind a tree. With the other, it waves. It wears black utility gloves.

I stumble backward. Into something. Someone. I whip around, a scream tripping across my lips.

“Whoa, whoa.” A guy in a navy blue suit. He puts his hands up. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I…”

“I’m Danny. Jason’s friend,” he says through awkward laughter. He has a goofy half smile. Dimples. Messy corn silk hair he attempts to tuck behind his ears that immediately spills free. High cheekbones. Thick brows. Sea green eyes. He’s cute.

Very cute.

“I…I’m…” What the fuck is my name? “I’m…Willa. Willa. I’m sorry, I just…”

I turn around, back toward…toward nothing. There’s nothing there. No one.

“You just?” Danny asks.

I just saw a masked figure in the woods.

I can’t say that out loud. It sounds crazy. Is crazy.

It’s the stress of the situation. Emotional exhaustion. Anxiety. Angst. It’s having overdosed on horror these past few months, thanks to Cassie’s questionable advice. That fucking podcast. Bingeing entire slasher franchises, falling asleep to obscure independent zombie apocalypse B movies viewed on a new-to-me streaming service I absolutely should not be paying for. I’m out of my head; my nerves fried to a crisp. I didn’t see what I thought I saw.

“Nothing,” I say, facing Danny again.

He smiles that crooked smile. “What are you doing out here?”

“Running away,” I say. “What about you?”

“Satanic shit, mostly.”

I laugh. “That so?”

“Nah,” he says. He takes a flask out of his suit pocket. “Unless you consider drinking whiskey satanic.”

“I do not.”

“Knew you were cool.” He passes me the flask. “How do you know…”

“Also a friend. Bride and groom. We met in college.” I take a swig. The whiskey travels smooth down my throat. I’m grateful for it. The pregame at the cabin wasn’t sufficient.

“Ah, right. The college crew. Willa, you said?”

“That’s me.”

“So you were there at the beginning. When they met.”