Page 8 of Your Masked Haunting

This isn’t exactly the job I was shooting for when I showed up to the walk-in interviews. I wanted to be on the actors makeup team. I might not have experience with the gore side, but I can crush the glam side. However, those positions had already been filled, and in between a rock and a hard place, I took whatever job I could.

They offer good money and free boarding, unbeknownst to them. So, here I am, a professional brat wrangler.

I don’t hate kids. They’re fine, but I have never felt innately comfortable around them, like other women I know. I don’t think I was born with that instinct. Or maybe it’s just reserved for tiny little creatures like Penelope.

“I’ll see you later, Pen.” I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder.

Being a face painter here also means that I have to dress up in costume every shift. It doesn’t have to be elaborate, and it’s not supposed to conceal our faces or have the risk of scaring the kids off.

Black eyeliner and my everyday wardrobe, and, boom, I’m a black cat with drawn-on whiskers and a nose. Complete with a pair of tights and my Doc Martens, which have been around as long, if not longer, than Ginny.

I take a few quick breaths, hyping myself up before leaning against the piece of wall that doubles as an inconspicuous door to listen for any movement in the hallway. The coast is clear.

Even though I now know it’s a masked man following me and moving throughout the house, I think the old rumors of this place being haunted still might be true. Because it never fails that I always have this eerie, weighted feeling in my chest when I roam around, especially at night. It feels like I’m constantly being watched. I just can’t tell if it’s anxiety or something deep in my soul telling me to run.

Iwonder if she noticed me today, hidden among the party as if I were focused on anything but her. Although, I’m sure if she had seen me, maskless like I was, she’d tell me to fuck off again like she did the first night we met at Moore’s.

I didn’t have to sneak into this group though since it’s all for the Ridleys and my parents’ foundation … or one of the many. I don’t keep track of that side of the family business like my sister does. This is her realm.

Thankfully, my parents are super understanding when it comes to my hockey career and my disliking anything that has to do with business. They’ve always encouraged us to follow our passions and dreams with abandon.

I’m well aware that I hit the parental lottery. They’re the reason I’m successful, that I was able to attend camps across the country when I was a kid, that I could focus on my game and not my next meal. Their love doesn’t pass me by.

Neither does the love of my two best friends, who are hell-bent on making this day miserable for me.

Bates leans over the picnic table toward me, which sits perpendicular to the face-painting booth. “Are you just going to stare at her all day or go get a butterfly on your face?”

“Why must you insist on being a pest?” I groan, not tearing my gaze from Mona, who’s currently swiping a brush with green paint across an ornery boy’s cheek who is not great at sitting still.

Her tapping toes are barely containing her frustration, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she held him still with a hand on his throat at any second.

Over the last few weeks of watching her every move inside the house, I’ve learned that she has quite the temper and attitude. She’s incredibly impatient and stubborn as a bull.

Yet she has consumed me completely and unabashedly. I can’t get enough of her, no matter how hard I try to distance myself for a few hours at a time. On the ice, scrimmaging with the guys. At Bates and Serena’s place for a movie night. Working out at the gym. Nothing takes my mind from her.

I’m fucking addicted.

Having constant surveillance in her room and around the house only fuels the fire burning inside of me.

Is it possible to go insane because of how much you like someone? Because I think they’d have to lock me up to get me away from her.

With each passing day, I’ve watched her walls soften. Soon enough, when I think she‘s ready, we’ll finally come face-to-face. She’s holding the throttle, and I’m at her mercy.

The cameras have not only given me access to every second of her day and night, but also a new perspective on The Schrader House, like the fact that there’s a hidden room in the east corridor that I don’t think even Veronica and Clara know about.

I’d have offered a better room, but knowing Mona, she would’ve declined it immediately and told me where to shove it. That’s just part of her charm.

Worst of all, I still don’t even know what she feels like. Cupping her face. Brushing my thumb along her collarbone. Her tongue dancing with mine, my hand buried in her silky hair. I’m desperate and pathetic, and I don’t fucking care.

Soon enough, I’ll know all of that and so much more. But there’s not a chance in hell that I’m going to risk scaring her off before she’s ready for the next step.

Which is exactly why I started with notes and gifts before letting her see me in person, which didn’t go great, given that she sprinted in the opposite direction when she saw my purple mask across the yard. I don’t know whether she was just spooked by someone staring or if she knew it was me, but I didn’t push her.

It wasn’t hard to blend in and keep an eye on her with a bunch of scare actors always wandering the place, both for events and rehearsals for when we open for the season.

Right now, we’re only hosting one-off events and corporate parties. This is the first year the house has done this, but from Cambrie and Clara’s feedback, it’s been a killer success and a huge income boost for the business.

I think Mona’s probably less enthused about the added parties, especially last-minute ones. But it sure helps my cover. My real self gets me past security, but my mask gets me closer to her, to places only employees go.