Page 121 of Haunted Spurs

I am absolutely not convinced of that.

A mechanical squeal of audio feedback pierces the hum of the living room, interrupting our conversation.

Aunt Tina's megaphone always has perfect timing.

"ALL CONTESTANTS REPORT TO THE STABLES," it squawks. "I REPEAT: ALL CONTESTANTS ARE EXPECTED AT THE STABLES."

We walk as a group down the dirt path leading to the old stables. It's almost pitch black, broken only by the crew's flashlights tracing the perimeter. Selene and I end up sticking close to each other without even trying. It's pure magnetism. The back of my hand brushes hers, our hips collide softly with every step. It's become automatic: where she is, I am. Her heat has become my center of gravity.

Six weeks have passed since the start of this reality show. We've faced absurd challenges, sleepless nights, sensory deprivation, and masterfully orchestrated jump scares. And yet, looking around, I smile.

None of us survivors have gone crazy being locked in here. The couples still in the game right now are us, Emma and Levi, Melusine and Lucien, and the unlikely, fiery trio of Carolina, Cole, and Cade. Making it this far without tearing each other apart—and actually forming bonds that feel like real family—is a massive victory in itself.

We walk into the stables. The earthy, pungent smell of old hay, worn leather, and damp wood fills our nostrils.

Suddenly, the large sliding barn doors roll shut behind us with a metallic thud.

Production's white floodlights click off at once. The darkness lasts only a second, then a thick, terrifyingly creepy beam of red light illuminates the center aisle between the empty stalls. The fog machine works in overdrive, vomiting a low-hanging mist that swirls around our ankles.

From the depths of the fog, Aunt Tina makes her entrance.

I stare at her, trying to process what I'm seeing. She's wearing a late-seventies prom dress, pale pink, or at least I think it was originally pink. It's soaked, drenched, and dripping with blood. The fake blood smears her face, her arms, and her blonde hair, atop which precariously balances a silver plastic prom queen tiara. She clutches a bouquet of dead roses in her hands.

Behind me, I hear a rustle.

"What the hell is she dressed as today?" Cole whispers, his voice cracking with a laugh he is desperately trying to hold in.

Lucien, beside him, crosses his tattooed arms over his chest. His face is impassive, but his deep voice gives him away. "I have no fucking idea..." he shrugs, deadpan. "Samara from The Ring?"

"Hmm..." Cade leans forward, squinting to bring the scene into focus through the red smoke. "Or the creepy chick from Silent Hill?" he chuckles.

Fake blood drips from Aunt Tina's nose. The diabolical, proud expression she had plastered on her face a second ago crumbles miserably. She lowers the bouquet of dead roses and glares at the three cowboys with a look that could incinerate them on the spot.

"I'm Carrie!" she snaps, her shrill, deeply annoyed voice echoing through the stable, completely shattering the horror tension. "You ignoramuses! You're ruining my performance!"

Carolina has to bite her lower lip to keep from bursting out laughing right in the host's face. Selene, beside me, lets out a silent snort against my shoulder.

Aunt Tina clears her throat, closes her eyes to find her zen center, and strikes her pose again. The red light pulses.

"Citizens of Haunted Spurs..." she resumes, dropping her voice into a cold, vibrating, theatrical whisper. "The end is near. You have survived the darkness, but the darkness is not done with you yet. Tomorrow night, our cursed ranch will host the Ball of the Damned."

She spreads her bloody arms, a smirk painting her lips.

"You will be required to dress up. You must get into character and put on a real show. We want intrigue. We want terror. We want... passion."

Okay, this challenge actually has me pretty hyped.

"But beware," Tina warns, raising a red-stained finger. "It will be the televote that decrees who put on the best performance... and which couple will be permanently eliminated."

The word eliminated sends a real shiver of tension through the group.

"But do not despair," the showrunner concludes, her smile stretching to show her teeth. "At the party following your performances, the gates will open once more... and all your eliminated companions will return from beyond the grave to attend the ball!"

A murmur of pure surprise and excitement ripples through the stable. I turn to Selene. Her dark eyes are shining in the scarlet light; her mind is clearly already spinning the plot for our performance.

I lower my head, grazing her hair with my lips.

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