Page 14 of Your Masked Haunting

Not when dusk falls, and I have no choice but to face my fears if I want to sleep somewhere warm tonight.

I’ll be fine. I’m sure I just worked myself up over nothing, and now I’m making myself paranoid.

“Shit,” I whisper as I wrap my hand firmly around the wooden railing, my stomach climbing up my throat with each thumping second.

My skin is humming, each nerve standing on end as I try to anticipate what’s to come. I take my first step, trying to swallow my fears.

“It’s fine,” I whisper nervously to myself.

My voice turns internal as I ascend the tall staircase step by step to the second floor.

If I’ve avoided being caught by people thus far, I can avoid a possible ghost. Besides, ghosts aren’t real, right? Okay, I think they’re real, but they’re not real here. This is an off-limits area. No ghouls allowed.

If there is a real ghost here, it’s probably a super-nice one who totally isn’t trying to scare me. What if it just wants a friend? Someone to chill with? Maybe I should sing it a song. Selflessly, of course, for the ghost and not to give me some ounce of comfort.

My mind is blank, and I rack it for any song I can. The second my brain latches on to one, the words are already flowing from my lips. Hopefully, the spirit likes “A Thousand Miles” by Vanessa Carlton because that’s what they’re getting. The normally upbeat tune sounds stressed and squeaky, coming from my whispered voice as I reach the second floor and turn to go up to the third.

The light from the second floor gradually fades away, and by the time I’m halfway up the staircase, I can’t see a foot in front of me. My heartbeats pulse heavily in my ears, the swooshing blood somehow heightening my paranoia. It’s so quiet up here that the silence almost has a droning noise of its own.

Each breath is faster than the last as I tiptoe across the hardwood floor in the pitch-black with my hand on the wall—my only navigation tool. The wallpaper is soft beneath my fingers, guiding me along the curve to the opening of the hallway, with my hidden room at the very end.

Ten more steps, and I’m there. Maybe a few more than ten, given how short my current strides are.

I trail my hand over the wooden oak door of the room I thought was open earlier, and thankfully, I find it closed.

“Oh, thank God.”

Maybe I really imagined it. A lot of changes have happened in my life lately, and maybe this is how my brain is coping—by creating a narrative about this spooky house. I need it to get itself worked out because I’m over it.

A wave of relief washes over me, and my shoulders gradually relax as I take another step into the void. My body senses the danger before my mind, freezing in place as a wooden creak sounds behind me.

My bones rattle, and my breath halts mid-inhale.

I’m just imagining this. It’s not real. That would be ridiculous. There’s no one or nothing behind me⁠—

“Leave,” a deep voice echoes down the silent corridor, the eerie sound snaking its way around my entire body and tightening around my throat in a deadly threat.

Another creak groans from the floor, closer than before.

“Leave.”

My steps fall heavily on the wooden floor as I race blindly toward the end of the hall, my instincts kicking in. I fumble for the button hidden on the sconce, but all I can feel is the stupid metal backplate.

“No, no, no.” I’m panting, completely out of breath and terrified in a way I didn’t know was physically possible.

Gripping the winding arm of the light, I follow it back to the base, searching for the flush button that sits above it. I don’t feel it, but I must’ve hit it because the door clicks out of place.

A purple light emanates from the gap in the door. Suddenly, the opening widens, and a hand reaches out from within, big fingers stretching out toward me.

A guttural scream tears through my lungs, giving the ghost time to fist my shirt and yank me inside. The ghost seals the door behind me and flattens a hand over my mouth at the same time.

“Ahhh!” I scream into the soft, warm flesh … which I am starting to doubt belongs to an actual ghost.

My shoulders rise inches into the air with each gasping breath. It suddenly dawns on me that my eyes are shut, and I don’t even remember slamming them closed. But again, it’s just my instincts overriding my conscious actions.

Gradually, I become more aware of both my body and my surroundings. A weird sense of security wraps around me with my next breath. Apple orchard, vanilla, and burning wood emanate off the person before me. I inhale it deeply once more.

My head is cradled against the door, a hand holding me softly in place. The other hand, the one covering my mouth, isn’t forceful or painfully tight. There isn’t malice in the embrace or in the energy radiating off of the large mass before me.