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As our truly inconsequential leader begins running through her notes on a glittery clipboard, the double doors suddenly burst open with a dramatic flourish. Cornelius sweeps into the room, his flowing black cape billowing behind him as he strides to the center of our group.
“What a spectacle you have prepared, ladies and gentlemen! Bravo!” he coos. “Now, before our guests begin to arrive, gather round, for I have a tale to tell. A tale of horror, of bloodshed, of a phantom so vengeful it returns year after year to claim new victims!”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Shiloh warned me the eccentric caretaker had a penchant for theatrics, but I’d hoped not to be subjected to a private performance.
“In these very hallowed halls,” he goes on, gesturing wildly, “the Fairchild family once employed a butcher. A man of great skill with his cleaver but possessed by a cruel and twisted mind. Legend has it, he would lure unsuspecting victims to his chopping block, promising the finest cuts of meat money could buy.”
The old fool pauses for dramatic effect, his eyes scanning the faces of his mostly bemused audience. I glance at Shiloh out of the corner of my eye, expecting to see the same placating smile lifting her lips, but her expression surprises me. She's gone weirdly pale, her eyes darting nervously around the room.
She can’t really be swallowing this bullshit, can she?
“But indeed, it wasn't animal flesh he was after, was it? Oh no,” Cornelius builds up to his finale. “It washumanmeat the monster craved. And on one fateful All Hallow’s Eve, he was caught in the act by none other than Nathaniel Fairchild himself. The townspeople of our dear Avalon, in their rage and disgust, took justice into their own hands. It is said they used the Butcher’s own cleaver to end his reign of bloody terror!”
A collective shudder runs through the group, peppered with the occasional amused snort. I have to admit, Cornelius knows how to command a room, even if I find his over-zealous fanaticism incredibly grating.
“But of course, as is so often the case with truly malevolent souls, death was not the end for the Butcher.” The caretakerdrops his tone to a stage whisper. “Every Halloween, as the veil between worlds grows thinnest, he returns to the Fairchild Estate. They say you can hear the scrape of a whetstone across his cleaver, the heavy thud of his footsteps through the cellars. And if you're not on your guard, if you wander these halls alone... well, let's just say the infamous Butcher is always on the hunt for fresh meat to add to his larder.”
Once Cornelius finally finishes his tale, a slow clap ripples around the room. I join in only for the sake of not being called out, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. But as I turn to share a pointed look with Shiloh, I notice her eyes are fixed on the ceiling. Her pale face is pinched with thinly veiled anxiety.
“Shiloh…you okay?” I murmur, leaning in close enough that no one else will hear the concerned edge to my voice.
She jumps, as if she's forgotten I was standing right next to her. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine! Just, um... you know, last-minute jitters about the ball and stuff.”
Her smile is wide and forced, not reaching her wide eyes. I raise an eyebrow, as unconvinced by her assurance as I was by Cornelius’ ghost story. But before I can press further, Melanie claps her hands to demand everyone's attention again.
“Alright, enough tall tales,” she chirps. “We've got a Halloween Ball to throw, people! Everyone go and do your last checks on your stations and then you can all go and change. Let’s make this a night to remember!”
As the group disperses, I can't quite let go of the feeling that something's off with Shiloh. Her eyes keep darting to the ceiling, and she seems distracted, jumpy even. I want to pull her aside and demand to know what’s wrong, to find out if there’s anyone I have to stab for bothering her. But I know she wouldn’t want us to appear too close in public. Not after the disaster in town with our parents.
When her eyes flit to the ceiling for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes, I follow her gaze with my own. I see nothing but ornate moldings and crystal chandeliers. Whatever's spooking her, it's not visible to the naked eye.
“Okay seriously, you sure you're alright?” I ask. “You seem freaked out. Don’t tell me the old crank got to you.”
Shiloh's snaps her head towards me. “Of course not,” she answers, her voice a touch too bright. “I’m just excited to finally see it all come together. You know it’s my favorite night of the year.”
“Right.Because nothing says 'excited' like repeatedly checking the ceiling for...what, exactly? Stray cobwebs?”
She laughs and swats at my arm, but the sound is brittle, and I don’t miss the slight tremor in her fingers. “Don't be silly, Dom. I'm just making sure everything’s perfect. You were literally teasing me about it ten minutes ago.”
“Well, if Avalon’s judgment is all you're worried about, I'd say we're in pretty good shape. You’ve thrown together an event I wouldn’t mind being seen at.”
The taunt earns me a genuine chuckle this time. “Speaking of getting into shape,” she says, brushing my arm again in a gesture that seems casual but leaves me aching for so much more, “we should probably start getting ready. Could you grab our costumes from the car, please? I said I’d help Jemma bring some dishes out from the kitchen before I get changed.”
“Sure. But try not to rearrange the entire manor while I'm gone, okay?”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile as I turn to head back towards the front door. The weather is uncharacteristically mild for this time of year, but as I make my way down the gravel drive to where I parked my car, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand on end.
I stop, that uneasy feeling of being watched settling over me like an itchy blanket. Slowly, I turn back towards the manor, my eyes scanning the windows for any sign of an observer. But the facade is still, the windows dark and empty, save for the flickering glow of candles on the ground floor.
Shrugging off the eerie sensation, I continue to my car. Shiloh's strange mood clearly has me on edge–I’m honestly starting to wonder if I know who the fuck I am anymore. I came to this town as a notoriously unshakable character, lording over every aspect of my life with confidence and precision. And now, here I am, feeling nervous before a damn costume party because the woman I care about will be devastated if it doesn’t go off without a hitch.
The woman I care about…
The title rings hollow. Shiloh is so much more to me than that. Shiloh iseverything.
I retrieve our garment bags and masks from the trunk, reminding myself that this is the man I have to be to make her happy. Maybe one day it won’t feel like the role requires a mask of its own.
As I stride back to the house, I find myself mentally bracing for the night ahead. It's going to be a long evening of playing our parts–the barely cordial stepsiblings, the dutiful committee members. Every fiber of my being wants to wrap my arm around Shiloh and claim her in front of the whole town at once.
