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We turn the corner, and the house we’re heading to comes into view. I’ve walked past it a couple times, but I haven’t ventured this way in months.
“It looks…wow,”Haven breathes.
I have a similar reaction. The old Victorian house used to have faded paint, crooked shutters, and boarded up windows. Now, it’s nothing short of a Gothic masterpiece.
The whole house is black, a deep contrast to the whites and grays of the surrounding houses. Some of the decorative accents have been painted gold, but not enough that it’s overwhelming. In fact, it’s quite tasteful.
Candles glow in most of the windows, some of which have diamond-patterned grilles. That’s definitely new. The curtains in the turret are all drawn shut, but that doesn’t take from its glory. It stands tall and proud, and I wonder what’s hiding behind the dark red curtains.
“Holy fuck,” Haven mutters.
I don’t realize until she speaks that we’ve both stopped to stare at the house. It’s gorgeous, and it’s the exact opposite of what I thought it would be—haunted house, watch-out-part-of-the-ceiling-might-fall-down-on-you kind of vibes.
People are milling about the property and hanging out on the front porch. There are a couple familiar faces, and thankfully, I don’t see any of the people we’d like to avoid tonight.
A wrought iron fence has been installed around the property, with a gate opening up to a path lined with glowing jack-o-lanterns. The yard has been turned into a makeshiftcemetery, full of tombstones and skeleton hands reaching out from their graves.
“Whoever is hosting this put a lot of effort in,” I say.
Haven nods silently, still surveying the party from afar. Then she shakes her head as if she’s breaking herself from a trance. “You ready?”
I smile. “Yeah.”
We grab each other’s hands again and head for the party. A couple people wave at us, and we wave back. Music is coming from somewhere in the house, and it sounds like a Korn song is currently playing.
“Hey,” Angie calls from the porch as we make our way up the path. She jumps from where she was perched on the railing and sprints toward us. Her red Solo cup is empty, and based on how she sways, I don’t think it was her first drink.
“Hey, Ange.” Haven grins and throws her arms around our friend.
“I didn’t think you guys were coming,” Angie says, “but I’m so pumped you made it. Wanna get some drinks? They’ve got everything inside.”
Haven and I exchange a glance. I’m still a little wary considering we don’t know who’s putting this all on, but fuck it.
“Let’s go,” I say.
There are more people inside, which makes sense since it’s warmer in here. It takes a while to maneuver through the crowd, but I don’t mind. It gives me more time to take in the place.
The house is as gorgeous on the inside as it is on the outside. What makes it better is that it’sexactlymy style. Oddities line the shelves and cabinets, and the walls are almost completely covered.
As we make our way toward the kitchen, I fall behind, distracted by all the art. Some of it’s blood- and gore-filled, some of it’s erotic, and some is just plain cool. Pentagrams, crows, framed poetry, moths, the phases of the moon—I could go on.
Whoever owns this place is my type of person.
I bump into Haven right outside the kitchen. She’s staring at a large framed painting that’s hanging by itself, and Angie is giving her a concerned look.
“You good?” I ask when I realize how stiff she is.
Haven blinks once, twice, before twirling her hair around her finger. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I was just… thinking.”
I take a closer look at the painting. It’s of a small white church that’s burning to the ground. Dark plumes of smoke fill the air, tainting the blue sky.
“Retribution,” Haven murmurs, tracing the bottom of the painting where the title is written out. “How fitting.”
“Hey.” I nudge her gently. “Don’t let your mind go there. Tonight is about having fun, remember?”
She swallows before turning to face me. “Right. Yeah, let’s just… forget, okay?”
“Sounds good to me,” Angie says before pulling us both into the kitchen.
