Page 59 of Kiss Slay Replay

All at once, the ravens begin to caw.

“Danny?” I squeeze his hand.

“Do you see that? Willa. Willa, look.” He angles me away from the cabins toward the field. In the distance, down by the shore of the lake, stands a tall figure dressed in all black.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

He doesn’t wear a mask. Not that I can tell. No balaclava with a duct tape zipper mouth, fake eyeballs. Nope. None of that.

He wears a black top hat with a feather sticking out, tipped down so the brim hides his face. A black full-length wool overcoat with a high collar. Black slacks. Black dress shoes. A black shirt layered underneath a black vest. A badly frayed black scarf. There’s a glint of silver across his waist from what’s maybe a watch chain.

He’s surrounded by fog. It twists around him in thick tendrils.

The birds caw louder and louder and louder and louder.

The man looks up.

I can’t see his face from here, but I can see that his eyes are glowing red.

“What is that?” Danny asks, fear cracking his voice. “Who is that?”

“It’s…it’s not…it’s not even the same guy!” I laugh in spite of myself, in spite of the obvious danger. The horror. “It’s a different fucking guy!”

7

“What? What do you mean it’s not the same guy?”

“It’s a new guy.” I’m still laughing, even as the birds take flight, circle overhead. “It’s a different guy. This guy…this guy has red glowing eyes. And fucking ravens. Probably no utility belt of weapons, though. So, there’s that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s worse. Maybe he’s got a musket.”

“Do you know him? Is he a magician or some shit?” he asks. “What’s going on with these birds? We should get out of here.”

He takes off, pulling me along behind him. It’s easier to keep up in my flats.

Don’t leave me, I’d said.

I’m not going to leave you, he promised me, and he kept his promise. But that was then. Last night. Or tonight, the first time I lived it.

I knew it. I knew something bad was going to happen.

“I don’t think I was dreaming,” I mutter to myself. “Or maybe I’m still dreaming? Maybe I’m in a coma.”

“Huh?” Danny heads toward the reception hall. “What should we do? Is that just some random guy? A wedding crasher? I hate that I’m saying this, but should we call the cops?”

As we get closer, I can hear thumping bass rattling the windows—everyone inside probably on the dance floor jumping and spinning and singing along to whatever crowd-pleasing, wedding-friendly Billboard hit is currently blaring through the speakers. They’re completely ignorant of the turn the night is about to take, and I’m so jealous.

The lights flicker.

Above us, the cawing ravens seem to take up the whole sky. There’s no discerning their dark feathers from the dark of night. The stars have all retreated, forsaking the moon—a waning crescent, white as a fang.

Danny can call the cops if he wants. It won’t make a difference. It might have last time, but not this time.

I like it better when there’s something supernatural, Luke said earlier. More Freddy than Jason.

The unkindness descends on the reception hall, covering the roof. The lights flicker again, then go out. The music cuts. No more thumping bass. Even the birds fall silent.