Page 13 of Your Masked Haunting

Given the track record for people entering and exiting my life, it’s not a wild assumption that he will inevitably be yet another disappointment. Like my parents, like any man I’ve ever opened up to or let in physically and emotionally. Like any friend I’ve ever kept. All relationships inevitably end, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure that I’m the reason why. Not to pity myself because I know who I am and how I come across, but I think that’s the truth. I don’t hide my emotions, and I certainly don’t cater to others. But it’s part of what’s kept me safe all these years.

Living out of your car is dangerous, especially when you’re a young woman or a seventeen-year-old girl in high school. There were many times I had to escape uncomfortable or predatory situations. Thankfully, I was able to slip away each time. I think part of that reason is because of my shell. It’s not going to fall away easily, not until I’m certain in my soul that I don’t need to run anymore.

In the meantime, I’m grateful to the Halloween gods for giving me this delicious, spooky treat. I haven’t even had a taste, and I know it’ll be good and sweet.

My timer goes off on my phone, and I groan, knowing that I have to head downstairs for the morning meeting. And that hours of painting bratty kids’ faces will follow.

I kill the repetitive noise and see I missed a text from my mystery man.

Spooky Boy: Good morning. Have a good day. Tell me if I can make it better ;)

I heart the message with a stupid smile on my face and tuck my phone into my chest bag, along with my lipstick and wallet. On the rare chance that someone other than me and my masked man knows this room is here, I want to keep my absolute necessities on me. The only thing I’m leaving are my car keys, but I have them hidden, so I think it’ll be fine.

“Bye, Pen. I’ll be back later,” I tell my girl Penelope before I press the release button next to the invisible door.

My mystery man made good on his word about providing for my little girl. When my Spooky Boy texted me, I went to pick up a delivery downstairs. Some assistant with the world on his shoulders gave me a box of goodies. The present had everything I could need and then some.

A misting bottle to spray in her marble shell. A hygrometer. Mealworms. Tweezers so I don’t have to touch them. And a printout receipt of an enclosure he ordered on Etsy, of all places.

Of course, no identifiable information was on the paper, but honestly, it already told me everything I needed to know about him.

Not once did he bat an eye at the mention that I had a pet spider. Instead, he provided everything I’d need to keep her safe. He cares about the small creatures of the world, too, and that tells me a lot about his empathy and who he is.

I don’t hear anyone after a moment passes, so I pull the door back and slip into the well-lit hallway, ready for work. My room sits at the very end of the east wing, and I make sure the door is secured behind me before I spin on my heel.

As I stroll down the long hallway, the old floor creaks beneath my boots, and a breeze hits the side of my neck. Not once since I moved in here have I felt wind on the third floor.

In a split second, I’m incredibly aware of everything around me. The two doors on opposite sides of me that have been locked since I moved in. The dark wallpaper with glowing golden lights, positioned on the wall beside the doors.

Everything is the same to my left. Not a speck of dust out of place. The same crown molding, the same large oak door—they are as they should be. But as I glance across the hall to my right, my blood runs ice cold, because something’s different ...

The door isn’t locked anymore. It’s not even latched.

My breathing hitches, and my body angles toward the dark inch gap in the door. Maybe it’s a storage room, and someone needed to get in this morning, and they forgot to shut it. That’s easily explainable.

Maybe my masked man is hiding inside. With flowers and another one of those cards that I’ve come to love.

Maybe it’s a ghost, and this place is really haunted.

“Mona.”

The voice comes out of nowhere, and I jump ten feet in the air, every hair on my body standing on end.

But my fears are instantly calmed when my brain processes who’s now standing a few feet away at the top of the staircase. My eyes are forever grateful to see that it was Shelly, one of the managers, calling out to me.

“Whoa. Are you okay?” she asks nervously, and then a playful smile drifts onto her face. “Careful, creeping around up here. People say this is the most haunted floor.”

Great. That’s super reassuring.

“I’m f-fine.” I run my hands down my hair, smoothing my anxiety and the waves. “The door was …” I glance over, my words dissipating. My head straightens atop my spine. No fucking way. With absolute disbelief and a breathy whisper, I continue, “The door was open.”

Shelly giggles like I’m playing a joke on her, and I really, really wish I were. “I doubt that. I’m pretty sure it’s full of old furniture from when this place was a hotel. It’s been locked for decades. I don’t even know where we’d find the key.”

My body is crawling, like a thousand maggots are burrowing under my skin. And I suddenly have a desire to sleep in my cold car tonight rather than wander back up here alone.

Trying to appear like I’m not losing my mind, I try to play it off. “Right. That makes sense. I must’ve imagined it.”

But the unsettling feeling of fingertips trailing down the back of my neck doesn’t leave me as we walk downstairs together. Not during the staff meeting. Not during the six hours I spend painting faces and helping around the festivities, avoiding retreating to my room.