Page 88 of Your Masked Haunting

After a quick goodbye with the Ridleys, I lead Peyton and Brett down the winding hallway, following the map Casper drew out on his phone for me to use.

“Mona?”

My head snaps up from my screen, and I find a very large security guy looming over us. I slowly nod.

“I’m escorting you. Casper wanted to make sure you made it safe and sound.”

My heart fucking explodes, as do the hearts of my two best friends beside me. “Thank you so much.”

The man has to be at least six foot four, three hundred pounds. He’s gigantic, and the crowd parts for him like a sea. I was going to make small talk with him, but he’s all business, leading us toward an elevator and taking us to the parking garage floor.

“He’ll be right out,” the security guard instructs us before slipping away without another word.

“He’s friendlyyy,” Brett sings nervously. “Kind of cute.”

Peyton laughs. “You think everyone is kind of cute.”

His face sours with disgust. “Oh, sue me for appreciating the beauty in every human. What a crime.”

She rolls her eyes, at her capacity with him, and strides a few steps away before turning back. “I can’t believe we get to ride in his Porsche. Ugh, it’s hot.”

I know. The things he and I could do in there … grocery shop, adopt a few pets, fuck our brains out in the back seat. Balance.

“There she is.” Casper’s deep greeting sends delicious shivers down my spine, and I spin, finding him strolling out of a door, wearing joggers, tennis shoes, and his jersey on top, a hoodie beneath it. “God, you look good in that jersey,” he exhales, closing the distance between us.

“Thank you. It was a gift.” I smile up at him, twisting side to side all innocently.

He takes the final step toward me and bends down, wrapping an arm around my waist and hauling me up, my legs finding their home, my feet crossed behind him. “Oh, yeah? Who is possibly giving you so many gifts?”

I bite on my bottom lip, staring down into his pretty eyes. “This super-cute boy.”

“Hmm. How are you going to thank him?” His other hand slides over my tights, hiking the seam of the jersey up a couple of inches. Thankfully, I wore spandex shorts underneath so I wouldn’t accidentally flash anyone.

Pursing my lips, I lean my head down, brushing them against his. “I already did. I came to his game.”

“Sounds like a solid exchange, my love.” Tightening his arm around me, he tugs me just enough to seal my lips against him, kissing me deeply and passionately.

But before we can get too carried away, I rear back, unable to hide my love for this man, the one who saved me when I hadn’t truly realized how far beneath the surface I had sunk, slowly drowning. I plan to show him every day just how much he means to me—well, unless I feel like being a brat and want to draw out his darker half.

“Season of the Witch” by Donovan plays through the massive speaker system as I pack my makeup bag up and station for the last time until next fall.

I can’t believe it’s already Halloween. Between Casper’s busy schedule and the festive chaos around here, the last two weeks have flown by. But the day of honor has finally arrived for the lovers of all things scary.

Thankfully, I don’t have to work into the late hours, but all of our actors and actresses were scheduled to be done with hair and makeup in advance. And if they have any beauty emergencies, Peyton’s staying late to soak up the extra hours.

Which means I can head back upstairs to the library for the next few hours and dive back in.

After the aftermath of the attack settled and we reopened, Casper and I came here, looking at the house in a whole new light. We discovered that my room was one of many hidden in plain sight, a few scattered between each floor. There are corridors running between most of them, narrow passageways and staircases to navigate the house without ever being seen. There’s even an exit from the house that’s not visible to the naked eye. We gathered that’s how Edgar moved in and out of the house undetected from us and Casper’s cameras.

The rest of the details? We filled in by devouring the journals in the library, including the one Casper took home and forgot all about amid chasing me around. But we had help from someone else, unexpected help—Edgar himself.

I received his letter a week ago from The Minnesota Forensic Psychiatric Hospital.

Mona Greer,

I hope you’ll read this.

I am truly sorry for what I did. I know you can never forgive me for my actions at the house, nor can I ever forgive myself. I wasn’t in the right state of mind, not that that lessens any of your pain and experience.