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I glance at my wrist, wishing I had my watch. If I’m to be trusted with time, I’d say it’s only been a few minutes. I’m sure most people have spent a little while wandering around before deciding what to do. However, his tone and imposing demeanor shows he wants to be in the lead.
“Don’t worry, ladies, we’ve got this.” Almost like he senses that none of us girls buy his bigmachobehavior, Jock Two squeezes between us and pats his buddy’s shoulder in a supportive way.
“There are different paths, asshole,” Jen points out, raising her jaw defiantly. “Do you want to make the wrong choice so early?” She arches a brow and purses her lips.
His mouth curls into a snarl.
He doesn’t love that we don’t fall to their feet.
I find it ironic that we’ve barely started the game and we’re already distrusting and fighting each other over a stupid decision, such as going up or down.
I glare at the guy, daring him to say anything in return. He’s the tallest among the guys and appears to be the leader of the clan. His skin has a slight olive undertone, and his eyes are dark brown. A mop of golden curls falls over the base of his neck, and his fingers rake through them. I recognize him as the one who pushed me.
“What? Choose already.” The blond turns, moving a hand around. “It’s simple. Up or down?”
“We don’t have to stay together,” I remind them matter-of-factly. “You heard the instructions. We’re bound to split ways. Might as well start now.”
“Nah, fuck the rules. We stick close until a nutcase with a knife chases us,” Jock Three states. “Until then, Sean and Ty can control themselves.”
At leastoneof them has half a brain cell working. I wouldn’t say he’s smart by any means, but his approach is better—only partially—than his friends. I don’t give him much credit. After all, he laughed when his friend pushed me.
Remembering what he called them, I decide the blond is Sean, and the other is Ty. I can’t care less, but it’s easier than calling them Jock One and Two in my head.
“They better keep it together,” Jennifer warns with a scowl.
“Bite me, spitfire.” Sean hisses, flaring his nostrils at her. “Let’s go up.”
“Actually…” I interrupt, stepping forward with my spine straight in aim to appear taller than I am. Not that it makes a difference because their frames tower my five-foot-five figure, but it matters to me. “I think downstairs might be good.”
Nancy stiffens and digs her nails into the back of my hand, almost cutting the skin. Though everything inside me is screaming at me to wince and pull my hand back, I refuse to do it. I don’t wish to appear fearful. I want to look fearless in front of these douches.
“It’s dark,” Ty mumbles, clearly less concerned about being pegged as a coward. “Upstairs seems like it would be easier.”
My eyes fling up to confirm his words, and he’s not wrong. The second floor doesn’t have the same illumination as the foyer. It’s not an overhead bulb, but purple neon lights. An odd choice for a Halloween attraction, though who am I to criticize? That part of the house is giving an 80s slasher movie.
The darkness downstairs… I’m not sure. But I didn’t want to follow along with the guys’ plans, so I go against them, even when my friends shoot daggers in my direction.
“What, afraid of the dark?” I tease with a childish grin. “ThinkEl Cucowill get you?”
“Down,” Jock Three intervenes. “We can go to the basement. I’m Steve, by the way.”
The other guy, Ty, hoots and laughs at Sean.
“Fine. Downstairs it is. Don’t forget to hold my hand when you’re afraid you’ll piss yourself.”
He wishes.
I nudge at Nancy’s back. “Come on.”
Nance spins on her heels, panic adhering to her soft doe-like features.
“No, you go first, Miss I’m-Not-Scared-Of-Anything.”
Playfully, I poke my tongue out and call her a crybaby before leading the group to the basement.
Jen stays behind Nancy, imitating my actions of guarding her from the guys, and we all move down.
The stairs are steep and dark. Blinking, I do my best to command my sight to get used to the obscure thickness around my body, yet it’s not enough to see the space. I can barely make out the silhouette of the railing next to me, thick and in rough shape. My right hand squeezes it. The crispness of the old wood scratches my skin.
