Page 92 of Your Masked Haunting

The stamped phrase in the letter flashes in my mind—We’re getting near.

For a second, his voice softens, Casper comforting me rather than my masked man. “What’s your safe word?”

“Ghostface,” I murmur, confused on why he asked when it has nothing to do with my question.

“There’s five of us.” I can’t imagine what four people are with him, other than his best friends and teammates. “I’m wearing my mask⁠—”

My mouth interrupts him with no go-ahead or green light from my mind. “The Barney one.”

He chuckles darkly, scolding me, “Mona.”

“Sorry.” My playfulness is gradually coming out more and more, which brings another level of comfort. “I mean, I’m not sorry, but continue.”

He clicks his tongue between his teeth, and I know he has a thousand words on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back, letting my sass slide.

“I’m wearing my mask, and the other four are wearing Ghostface masks. It’s both your safe word and your indicator that they are safe and won’t hurt you. They will not touch you; they will not speak to you.”

“Why are they here?” My curiosity gets the best of me.

“This is a big house, Mona. They’re helping me cover ground. And they won’t be staying once I catch you. What happens between us stays between us.”

“Okay,” I murmur, running my hand up and down my neck nervously.

“Why are you rubbing your neck?” he asks, and I freeze, remembering that his cameras cover almost every inch of this place. “You’re one hundred percent safe. But all you need to do to stop this from starting or to stop it at any point during is to say that word.”

Silence finds my mouth—for once in my damn life. I want this. I want to face my fears and be rewarded with Casper’s kiss, dick, and tongue. What more could a girl ask for?

Inhaling, I hold my breath for a second before forcing it back through pursed lips. “I want to play.”

A growl of satisfaction rumbles out of him, boosting my confidence in my decision. “That’s my good, brave girl.”

This is a role-play. Trauma exposure sex therapy.

I’m safe, I remind myself again, but it does little to calm my racing heart. Although I think that’s just getting started.

A creak sounds ten feet from me, and my eyes bounce upward. I peek through my lashes at the hidden door that is now open by a few feet, a man in a Ghostface mask filling the frame.

“Better run, Scaredy-Cat,” Casper sings into my ear, making me jump ten feet in the air because, somehow, in the span of four seconds, I forgot about the earpiece.

The man takes a big step out of the room, and light flickers off of something in his hand, drawing my attention to the very real knife.

It’s fake. This is all fake. He’s absolutely not going to stab you.

Or your manifestation skills are once again miraculous, and you’ve conjured a masked killer.

Shut up! I shout back.

“Five, four, three.” Casper counts down slowly, and it lights a fire under my ass.

Spinning on my heel, I rush out of the room and burst into the hallway, a whole new wave of fear washing over me.

The lights are all dimmed, the house lit only enough to see a few feet in front of me. In the shadows, I see a boot move, and another Ghostface emerges from the hallway where my room was.

“They won’t touch me?” My voice quivers, fear gnawing into my bones as I hear the one in the library behind me drag something along a countertop or the wall. I wonder if that rule applies both ways.

“Do not hit the Ghostfaces, please,” Casper groans, reading my mind. “Or punch or kick. I promise you, you won’t overpower them. Keep moving, Scaredy-Cat, or you’ll force my hand.”

I don’t ask what that means. I accept my fate and carry on, moving the only direction that isn’t blocked by a white-and-black mask, toward the stairs.