Horrorscape Read online

  Eventually, she found a doorknob at hip level. Breathing out in relief, she twisted it open and found herself in another room. A bedroom—or a study, maybe. Her eyes had adjusted somewhat and she could make out silhouettes of furniture. A long table in the center was covered with faintly glowing outlines suggesting tanks or aquariums. She wondered what kinds of creepy-crawlies they contained and then decided she didn't want to stick around long enough to find out.

  She started to back out of the room and came into contact with something solid, mobile, and very much alive. With a hissed scream of fright, Val drew back and ended up falling further back into the room with a heavy thud. She was sure the sound had carried well into the floors below, but her far more pressing fear was that the intruder was now between her and the door.

  “Who's there?” Val demanded. “J-James? Is that you?”

  “My God, you're noisy,” the female voice said irritably, closing the door with a muted click. “Stomping around like a fucking elephant. How have you not been captured already?”

  “Ch-Charlie?”

  “No. It's the tooth fairy.”

  “Oh—thank God.” Val rubbed at her thigh. She was going to have a bruise there tomorrow. “I thought…I thought you were someone else.”

  Charlie did not comment, though if silence were capable of sounding like it was rolling its eyes, she had that particular talent down pat.

  Val felt cold displaced air as Charlie strode past her. The dim light caught on her white clothing, suffusing it with an eerie blue glow before the shadows consumed her once more. She sat down on the edge of a surface—a bed, perhaps, or a couch—crossed her legs, and leaned back in an easy slouch somehow managing to make the gesture regal.

  “Um. You really scared me.” Her voice sounded too loud in the silence. “Sorry I kind of freaked out there for a moment…but I didn't expect anyone else up here.”

  “Well, I didn't expect anyone to steal my hiding place.”

  “Steal? How did I steal it? I was here first. What makes it your hiding place?”

  “I thought of it when he first mentioned the game. When did you?”

  She has me there. Though I wouldn't put it past her to lie. “I don't know,” Val said at last. It seemed like a neutral enough thing to say without granting too many concessions.

  There was a long silence as Charlie studied her in the dark. It was an invasive inspection that had Val edging closer to the door, halting only when the other girl said, suddenly, “Do you like GM?”

  Her tone was different—pleasant, low, confiding. It instantly set Val on edge.

  “You're kidding, right? I hardly know him. I have a boyfriend.”

  “That has nothing to do with it.”

  And Val supposed that, to a girl like Charlie, it didn't.

  “No. I don't like him.” She said it a little too vehemently. It came across as defensive.

  “You seemed pretty cozy with him earlier.”

  When he was invading my personal space? “You're wrong. There's nothing between us.”

  “Nothing?”

  (I wanted her.

  I still do.)

  “Nothing,” Val repeated.

  “Good. Make sure it stays that way.” It sounded more like a threat than kindly advice.

  The two of them are made for each other.

  “I'm going to find another hiding place,” said Val, struggling to keep her own true feelings concealed as old fears bubbled up from her subconscious like monsters from the deep. “You can have this one. Oh, and good luck with GM and all. I think you're going to need it.”

  Charlie grunted. It was a surprisingly unattractive sound from such an attractive girl. Val carefully shut the door on her. There was another door just across the hall so she wouldn't have to scurry around the giant house looking for another hiding place. Good thing, too, since James was still seeking—hunting …

  Was this really an act, a theme party, or was GM actually dangerous? So far, with the exception of the awkward silences, cold guests, and cryptic exchanges, it had seemed enough like an approximation of a normal party. GM could pass as a blasé, world-weary rich boy. Then again, Gavin had, too, at first.

  The letter she received had been a convincing imitation of Gavin's style. Too convincing, far better than others. If she didn't know the writer, why was he sending her letters telling her how much he wanted to hunt her? To play with her? Maybe it was a prank—but then why would the letter fit in so well with the theme of the party?

  It didn't make any sense. None of this made any sense. She was starting to doubt the other guests' sanity, never mind her own. Especially that Charlie. She seems capable of anything.

  Val pulled out her phone, trying to see if she could call her mother and arrange for an early pick-up. James would think she was a total wuss but she could fake sick. Sick in the head. The bright glare of the phone made her eyes water and she swiped at them, irritated. “No signal?”

  “Why, hello, Val.”

  She shrieked, backing away from the door so fast it felt like her feet were on fire. How had he gotten up here so fast, the person she wanted most to avoid? How had she come so close to crashing right into him?

  Maybe he's the one who was following me in the hall.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “The door, I believe.”

  “That's n-not what I meant.” She snapped the phone shut, shoving it in the pocket of her jeans. “I meant, w-what are you doing up here?”

  “It's my house. Why shouldn't I be able to come and go as I please?”

  She couldn't find anything to say to that. He did have a point.

  “Why aren't you hiding? Do you want to be caught?”

  Val took another step back. “No.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Charlie's looking for you,” Val blurted. He tilted his head, quizzically, prompting her to add. “I think she's in one of the bedrooms—the one with the tanks. Maybe you should go see what she wants.”

  “I know what she wants.”

  “You do? But you—” And then she broke off, horrified, as Charlie's cryptic remarks and earlier jealousies became clear. Oh…my.

  “Please.” He took a few more steps into the room, stretching against the doorway. Blocking her exit, she couldn't help but notice. “If it was obvious to you, then of course it was obvious to me. In any case, I expect she's going to have to remain disappointed, because I have no wish to see her.”

  He paused.

  “But that's not what you wanted to talk to me about, is it?”

  “I don't want to talk to you at all.” She looked for another exit, but he was blocking the main one and his posture suggested that he'd follow if she ran.

  “You seemed rather intent on speaking to me earlier.”

  “I changed my mind.” Where is everyone? Don't tell me I'm alone with him. Up here. In the dark. “You're hiding something from us.”

  “We all have something to hide, don't we, Val?”

  “You must have some pretty big skeletons in your closet considering that you won't even tell us your name.” She folded her arms, trying to put the focus back on him. To distract him. “Is there a reason for that, GM? Or should I say, grandmaster?”

  She wondered if she'd played her cards too soon, too fast. Or was just plain wrong. She wasn't.

  “You're good.” He didn't look worried or angry—that was what she remembered later, that her obvious discomfort had amused him—“but I'm afraid you're going to have to be better than that.” A beat of silence. “This time.”

  And in that moment, when he had her backed against the wall, her world threatened to burst apart. “It's you,” she said faintly. “It's you, isn't it?”

  He didn't respond, but the corners of his mouth lifted a little. She felt like throwing up. For a moment, she honestly believed she would.

  “Tell me your name.”

  “Ask me nicely—you owe me that much of a courtesy, don't you think?” He rested his
arm against the wall. “Or perhaps you'd like to take a wild guess. I won't even hold the first two against you.”

  No. No, no, no, no, no, no.

  “Y-you said—you said your name wasn't Gavin.”

  “No.” His other hand brushed the wall beside her shoulder and her knees buckled. “I didn't. If you recall, I merely said that GM stood for something else. Which you guessed.”

  “Grandmaster.” She mouthed the word. She realized, suddenly, just how close his face was to hers. Her heart lurched, and she said, “You were following me in the hall.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “No,” she whispered, and the “no” meant so many things to her—and absolutely nothing to him. She felt the stab of tears and turned her face away, unwilling to look at him. Unwilling to watch him watch her cry. “I'll scream.”

  “Spare me, darling. You will do no such thing.” His fingers traced the tracks of her tears. They were rough, warm—real. He lifted her head. “Don't make hurt you,” he said softly. “Don't make me hurt your friends.”

  “You wouldn't…” She drew in a breath. He would. “Let me go. Let me go right now.”

  The door opened behind them, sending a sliver of yellow light shooting across the room.

  “As you wish.”

  Before she could protest, he gave her a casual shove that sent her sprawling into the light. The rose in her hair (she'd forgotten about that) came free, and fell softly to the floor without a sound. Val didn't have the same pleasure. She landed on her side—hard, and with a loud thud that shook the boards—causing an immediate, throbbing ache.

  She felt two hands clamp down on her shoulders, effectively shooting the last of her nerves to pieces. She inhaled sharply, making a strange noise, like a backwards scream.

  “Val? Jesus, Val. Are you all right?”

  Val was vaguely aware of her boyfriend's presence as he knelt down beside her. “F-fine,” she said, raising the hem over her shirt a few inches. A nasty bruise was forming just above her hip. Her green eyes went to GM—Gavin—who was still leaning against the wall, as silent as death.

  Why did he push me? He wasn't the—

  Oh no. No. She turned towards James with her heart in her throat. “Did you find anyone else?”

  “What?”

  “Did you find anyone else?”

  “No. This was the only place I hadn't looked. I—”

  Val let out a sob.

  “Val? What's wrong?”

  He planned it this way. He planned everything.

  She opened her mouth, to tell James, warn him, but she didn't get the chance. A soft sound, like the jingle of bells, drew her attention back towards the shadowed doorway as GM stepped out from the shadows. The faintest of smiles was on his lips as he said, “I'm afraid you lose. Penalty, Val.”

  Chapter Seven

  Hanging Pawn

  Penalty, Val.

  The words rocked her at her very core.

  James's hand squeezed her shoulder. She leaned against him, grateful for his steadying presence. Gavin studied first James, then her, starting at her flats and slowly climbing to her face. He didn't bother with subtlety and the obvious appraisal made her flush with angry humiliation and fear.

  (I wouldn't mind if she caught a glimpse of the animal in me)

  It appeared he no longer cared whether or not she saw the darker side of him. And why would he? She was here.

  When his eyes locked with hers she could read nothing in his face about his intent. But she could guess, oh, she could guess. Without looking away, he spoke to James. “You've served your purpose. Go find the others. Have them assemble for the next round. Tell them I'll be down…presently.”

  Oh no. “James, please—” Please don't leave me alone with him!

  “Not now, Val.” He twined his fingers with hers too tightly. She winced. “Later.”

  “But—”

  “Later,” he repeated. “You can tell me on the way back.”

  Relief trickled through her. Yes. On the way back. Away from this dark and desperate place. She'd tell him the truth and then they'd all get into his car and leave.

  “You may go.” With a twitch of his fingers, GM flicked his hair out of his eyes. “She stays.”

  Val's relief dried up, leaving vapors of pure, unadulterated terror in its wake. Whatever he was going to do to her, he didn't want to do it in front of James. She clung to his hand tighter.

  “Ouch—cut it out, Val, you're hurting me. What?” James said, and while he didn't quite sound scared or uneasy, he was definitely annoyed.

  “You heard me.”

  James glanced at her briefly. “And what if she doesn't want to stay? Who died and made you king?”

  I can speak for myself.

  But no, she couldn't. Her mouth wouldn't move. Her tongue was leaded down by old memories.

  (I think I might hurt her if I get too close)

  His voice was in and outside her head, and she couldn't breathe. Don't make me hurt you, he'd said, don't make me hurt your friends. What had she gotten herself into? What had she done?

  A chuckle escaped him, slipping through his perfect mask like water through cracked stone. Then he straightened, all traces of humor abruptly vanishing from his face before either of them could think to ask what, exactly, he found so amusing.

  “Do you want a penalty, too?”

  “No.” James had released Val's fingers but still made no move to leave. Since he was facing away from her now she could only imagine his expression: haughty, defiant, wounded. Gavin knew which buttons to press. “But—”

  Gavin's black boots echoed hollowly against the wooden floorboards as he closed the distance. He didn't look at her, but she knew he was aware of her presence in the same way that a mouse knows that a cat's apparent disinterest is only pretend.

  “Go.” The lone word dropped like a stone in the darkness. She felt James flinch. Nobody ever told him to just get out—especially not in a tone like that. “Now,” he added, adding insult to injury by punctuating the order with James' name. She felt him flinch in surprise.

  Like her, his tongue appeared to be iced over by shock. She never had been able to stand up to Gavin. Neither as often, or as well, as she should have. Now she was expecting a boy to fight her battles for her? And besides—that was what he wanted. A fight, before he destroyed her.

  The moment of disbelief passed, and soon James's words were flowing far too quickly. “What did you—?”

  “Leave.”

  James jerked his hand away from her. Val spun around to face him. He was looking at GM petulantly, but to her dismay, the expression didn't fade or soften when he turned towards her.

  “James—”

  “It's fine. Everything's fine.” She could sense the stress behind every vowel, every consonant as he spoke; weeks of annoyances and petty resentments bubbling up behind the force of his words, to the point where it made her flinch at his words as she had at GM's. He was so angry. “Stay. I'll be waiting outside.”

  “But I don't want to!” James stalked away. “James! James, no! Please. Come back! Don't leave me—”

  The door slammed behind him.

  “—alone with him,” she whispered.

  “He doesn't appreciate you, you know.”

  His words struck a chord deep inside her; an atonal chord that perfectly matched her own secret fears in tone and pitch and echoed dully inside her. “Shut up.”

  She took a quick step backwards, when GM walked towards her but he veered suddenly to the left, forming a half-circle around her. His steps carried him to the wall, which he leaned back against. “Brave of you, speaking to me like that,” he said mildly. “Or foolish.”

  “You planned this,” she said. “Everything.”

  “You're giving me entirely too much credit.” He smiled, lowering his arms in a gesture of peace. “Although, now that you mention it, I have been meaning to speak to you—alone—for quite some time now.”

  “About what?” H
er voice came out strangled.

  “Oh, I think you can guess.”

  He was right; she could. She edged closer to the door. “You wanted me to lose this round.”

  “Close, but no. You don't know what I want.” He spoke quietly, but his voice carried in the otherwise silent room, and it carried a hint of threat. “You never did. Because you never asked. Would you like to?”

  “What do you want?” Val said, in spite of the fearful voice that was warning her to quit while she was ahead. She stared into his pale eyes, trying to find something to hold onto: anger, cruelty, or perhaps insanity—some familiar danger that took at least some of the edge off her fear for the unknown—but there was nothing there except the shadows of the room.

  Instead of answering, GM bent down to pick up the yellow rose that had fallen from her hair—when had it come loose?—and he twirled in his fingers. “I think,” he began, “That you're a weak pawn. Impossible to protect and open to assault... I think I need to take you off the chessboard—at least for now.”

  “Y-you're going to kill me.”

  “Kill you?” He repeated. “When did you get so morbid?” Though there was no actual physical contact between the two of them, he was still close enough that the breath behind his little speech stirred the loose strands of hair around her face. She instinctively wanted to look away, to break eye contact, and had to fight to keep her eyes level with his. It had been a long time since a boy besides James had been this close to her, and he wasn't stirring up fond memories. “No, think of this as an opportunity to get your priorities straight.”

  “Stay away from me.”

  He paused, regarding her face, and then opened one of the doors beside her—perhaps it was the one he'd first come through—and a rusty creak made her look into the total darkness, bracing herself for a push that did not come. “You're terrified, aren't you?”

  And then his arms were wrapped her, and she felt him breathe in against her hair. For one long moment, she stood stiffly in his embrace, with her arms at her sides. A picture of a fly came to mind, wrapped in the spider's clutches.

  “No,” she cried.

  “Don't lie to me.” A new emotion had seeped into his voice like darkness after sundown. A painful hitch sliced into her breaths like a knife when his mouth ghosted over the place where he'd bitten her, almost four years ago. Marking her, like an animal.