People swarmed around. The sound of feet hitting the wooden stairs and shuffling up mixed with barked orders and the strain of a showtime countdown.
Caspian was suddenly close. His nearness distracted me momentarily from the sudden swept-up feeling and budding panic.
I looked at his long eyelashes and slightly parted lips as he bent over. He finished clipping the microphone on my shirt and brushed his fingers over my collarbone, his eyes tipping up as he gave a cheeky smirk. He was a constant tease, finding great pleasure in making me uncomfortable.
My cheeks heated since he’d caught me staring at himandbecause his fingers continued their trail over my collarbone. He brushed his thumb down the side of my neck before pulling away with a wink.
Stop, I told myself. My body didn’t listen though, my stomach fluttering weightlessly. Caspian was incorrigible sometimes. Even when we were step-siblings he was always doing things like this—flirting relentlessly just to see me blush and get angry with him.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me up the stairs towards the looming house that expelled a sense of foreboding and somberness. The top half of my body bent forward as my feet stumbled to catch up.
“It’ll be okay. I’m here,” he promised.
And that’s how I found myself corralled into a haunted house for a ghost hunting show.
My aunt and mother walked side by side in front of Caspian and me as we wandered deeper into the haunted house. A camera crew followed our progress, pushing lenses in our face and shooting enough light to blind us from actually seeing anything in the foyer. Our noises drifted up to a ceiling far above our heads as the show recording started.
The air smelled moldy and was cooler than outside. Darkness was all around. Underfoot the thin wooden planks of the colonial house creaked with every step. I watched my feet move one in front of the other as we ascended the grand staircase, frustrated I’d somehow been tricked into this.
Would my family never stop? Did they not understand how much I hated this?
Soft fingers slipped under my chin, pushing my face up. My mom smiled at me.
“Eyes up. I don't want you missing anything. Help your aunt find something good here.” She turned back forward and kept moving. I shot a glance at Caspian who looked entertained by my disgruntled nature about this whole thing.
It was amazing how five years apart from him felt like nothing now that we were back together. Of course, we talked every single day despite our physical distance. Maybe that was the reason why it felt so natural.
This was the grand finale of the tenth season for my aunt's ghost hunting show. My mother, a world-famous medium, had agreed to be in the episode. Fans were excited, their managers were pleased, and now, somehow, her niece and the lead singer of Nix were here too.
My aunt introduced us and I gave a tight smile at one of the cameras. Caspian, on the other hand, gave a smoldering wink that made even the burly cameraman blush.
I hated ghosts. Just the idea of them freaked me out. Of course, I never admitted this. Instead, I acted like the entire concept of them was ridiculous and beneath me. My aunt and mother always rolled their eyes when I said as such.
The truth was, I was terrified of ghosts. Which meant despite my grumpy face andbetter-than-thisattitude, my heart was thumping in my chest a million miles per minute and I had to keep dragging my sweaty palms over my shirt to dry them. I nervously nibbled the inside of my cheek, accidentally gnawing through skin and tasting blood. I hated the flavor. It tasted like something was wrong.
Somethingwaswrong.
The air inside this place felt thick and oppressive and the house continued to creak and groan as if complaining of our presence. It wanted us gone. I could feel that tension in the air like a hateful glare on the back of my neck.
I shot a glance over my shoulder at the closed front doors. There was a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, an anxious sense of dread that begged me to run towards those closed doors and leave. My instincts knew this was a risk we shouldn’t take but my feet kept moving.
Because of that, I kept gnawing at my cheek, making the wound worse—making more awful tasting blood fill my mouth, reminding me things were bad. I couldn't stop though, too anxious to control the compulsion. It made me feel mildly nauseated. I pressed my hands to my stomach and cringed, trying to will the feeling away.
Halfway up the grand staircase, a door slammed down one of the dark upstairs hallways. I wasted no time flinging myself at Caspian, clinging to his arm with wide eyes.
“What was that?” I asked in a panic. Both my aunt and mother looked back at me with identical expressions of perplexion and judgement. Caspian was unsurprised by my sudden reaction. He was the only one who knew the truth—that I was terrified of my family's calling to fame. He slid his hand over one of mine and squeezed, gentle at first and then harder. The small ache of his grip finally let my mind stop moving too fast. My body lost some tension and he loosened his hand but didn’t remove it.
“Are you…scared?” Aunt Maria asked as if the concept was hard to grasp. My eyes zipped between my aunt and mom. I was so not admitting to being afraid of ghosts.
“Of a serial killer,yes,” I hissed, pleased with my excuse. Honestly, a serial killer would be much more welcome than a ghost. A serial killer could be taken down by all the people standing around. A bullet would lay a man out flat but what defense did we have against an evil house and its parasitic ghosts?
My aunt shrugged and began talking about the history of the building to the cameras while moving towards the sound we heard. My mom raised an eyebrow at me, looking unconvinced.
"Hold on a minute," Mom said, touching my arm. She let the camera crew and members of my aunt’s team pass us.
“Why am I here?” I asked as the crew left us behind in the dark. My grip tightened on Caspian as he stood there silently. "You said you'd listen to me."
“You know why,” she said and I shook my head and sighed. Hopelessness came over me, dragging down my energy. I felt tired. She would never stop pushing. Never let me be free from this.
