Page 319 of Primal

Bet Mom’s asleep in full witch makeup, her pillow smeared with glitter and fog residue. Dad’s probably snoring on the couch, three candy corn shots past his limit.

They’ll wake up to news alerts. To my name. Maybe my shoe in a ditch.

Should’ve gone to their place. Helped Mom string the lights. Handed out candy beside Dad in his bloody apron.

Should’ve crossed the street. Checked out Max’s ‘Garage of the Damned.’ Said hi to Kade. Maybe laughed at his moaning ghost impression. Maybe done some moaning of our own.

Should’ve invited Kristy and Lana over, argued about which horror movie deserved top billing—instead of starring in some straight-to-streaming slasher reject. The kind with no safe word and zero chance of a sequel.

Kade’s thigh presses against mine on the pew, warm through our ruined clothes. He’s sitting upright, shoulders squared like a guy who took a beating but still won’t admit he’s hurt. That shake? Not quite a tremor. More like adrenaline with nowhere to go.

Kristy’s on my other side. Pretty sure she hasn’t even blinked yet.

We need a plan. A way to get out … or survive long enough to make Derek and his psycho pet pig regret every fucking choice that led them here.

Thirty minutes. That’s all we’ve got. Derek calls it ‘intermission.’

He’s busy now. Dragging Noah’s body by the wrists, boots scuffing through the mess, humming that same shitty tune.

He props Noah up on a pew near the front, elbow-to-elbow with Mia. She could be asleep if not for the black-red canyon across her throat, the crater where her eye used to be.

Pigface emerges with a silver tray filled with plastic cups.

Here comes the Kool-Aid.

It stops at Wesley first.

The tray hovers under his nose until he gets the message. Wesley takes the cup, knocks it back in one swallow. His face does this twitchy thing—bracing to drop dead or start speaking in tongues.

Nothing happens.

The tray shifts sideways—next stop, Leatherface. He takes a cup, stares into it. Glances at Wesley. Then gulps it down.

Pigface moves on to the college girls. One of them chokes it down like she’s doing a keg stand. The other starts crying and shakes her head.

“Come on now,” Derek drawls, smoothing the party hat over what’s left of Noah’s skull. “Drink up. Wouldn’t want to piss off our lovely host.”

The girl sobs harder, shoulders caving in.

Her friend grabs a cup and presses it into her hand. “Chloe. Please. It’s fine. We’re gonna be fine.”

“You p-promise?”

Derek strides over.

“Drink it,” the other girl snaps. “Just fucking drink it.”

Chloe’s throat works as she forces it down.

Derek saunters past them, pausing only to adjust the party hat over her matted hair.

The tray appears between Kristy and me.

I peer into a cup. Looks like the same neon punch they served us at check-in.

“Bottoms up,” I mutter, reaching for one.

Kade snatches it first and drains it.