Page 26 of Your Masked Haunting

“I do not—oh. My. God.” I burst into laughter, keeling over until my abs hurt and eyes burn. “That’s fucking hilarious. I totally do!”

“I know!” She’s in a fit of giggles, pride in her voice. “But I still think it’s hot.”

I finally start to settle down. “I’d be offended if you didn’t think so. It’s custom-made.”

“Where from? Etsy?” she asks.

My heart sinks. I freeze, wondering how in the hell she knows that. Has she been watching me more than I realize? Does she have any clue as to who I really am? She must sense my anxiety.

“I’m just guessing because that’s where you got Penelope’s enclosure from. I also think it’s hot that you shop on Etsy.”

“Hmm. What else do you think is hot about me?” I tease her, feeling better that she didn’t somehow magically figure me out.

“Oh no. I’m not allowed to give you any more compliments today. Your ego will get too big.”

She nibbles on her thumb, all cute-like, and the aggression overtaking me is overwhelming. I want to tackle her on the bed and snuggle her to death.

“Tomorrow. I’ll have your costume delivered, and I get to see you again.” My heart skips a beat.

“Tomorrow,” she hums. “And what will you be dressed as?”

“Apparently, the purple devil emoji as I plan on wearing my mask.”

“Ooh, shirtless with fake blood? I mean, you might as well go all out with some gray sweats,” she urges, her face lighting up.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I tell her, knowing damn well that I’d do anything to make that dream of hers come true. “Now get some sleep. I’ll text you in the morning.”

“Good night,” she murmurs, and when she glances over to Penelope on her nightstand, her face is void of any guards, vulnerable and soft as she ends the call.

My beautiful girl.

“There you go! You’re all set, sweetie,” I tell the little girl whose face I just finished painting a unicorn onto.

Annoying kids aren’t my favorite kids, but when they are polite and sit nice so I can do my job, I don’t hate them completely. And, God, watching her eyes and her whole body light up when she sees the pink glitter and colorful paint on her cheek, temple, and forehead makes my heart melt.

I wanted to work here as one of the makeup artists for the cast, not for the guests. But moments like this make it almost worthwhile. In a way, this is a little kid’s version of makeup, a way to transform their face so they feel beautiful or creative or scary or however the hell they want. That’s what I love about makeup.

My next client steps forward—a little boy with a toy dinosaur in his hand.

“Hey, buddy. Which one do you want to get?” I hold the poster up with the eight options for him to pick from. A butterfly, a cute dragon, a unicorn, and a fox for the non-spooky-themed options. And then the spooky options: a skeleton, a jack-o-lantern, a spider in its web, and a vampire.

He chooses the vampire—a solid choice, if I say so myself.

“Hop on up here, buddy.”

I pat the little stool, and thankfully, he obeys, jumping onto it. Raising it up with the hydraulic pedal until he’s tall enough for me to comfortably reach, I grab my brush, ready to draw the best vampire face paint ever.

Two minutes later, he’s got the veiny stripes under his eyes, sharp white fangs, and a blood trail. After I lower him, he rushes to his parents, who greet him with wide arms and smiles bigger than the whole world.

They wander off, striding over to the corn maze, and I turn my attention to the next kiddo in line. Another vampire. I start moving through the motions, thoughts of the masked man who’s taking over my life shifting to the forefront of my mind.

I can’t help it. He invades my every waking moment of every day. Staying at this house is only making it worse because all I can picture is him waiting around the corner, lurking in my room and ready to pounce.

It’s becoming too much, too intense. But I’m obsessed. I’ve never had a relationship with anyone like this before. He sees me, and not just because he’s stalking my every move. But like his soul recognizes mine, like our paths crossing was written in the stars.

He’ll never be too much for me. He’ll never cross a line too far because the limit doesn’t exist. I’m free with him. No judgment, no wondering if what I’m doing is right or wrong. I can just be, and he loves it all the same.

I don’t feel self-conscious or shy—at least not in the negative ways I’ve felt most of my life. I want to be bold around him because he makes me safe enough to try.