I don't know why I always liked the cemetery. Maybe 'cause it was quiet. Or maybe I liked watching people get scared.
"I'm not going in there," Carol said, crossing her arms.
"You are," I grinned. "C'mon, it'll be fun."
Tim just sighed. "If we get haunted, I'm blaming you forever."
He said that, but he was already walking next to me.
Carol held my sleeve tight. Tim didn't touch me, but he stayed so close our steps matched. Always did.
I never asked him to come.
He just did.
——————
The night was too quiet.
Even the wind sounded like it was holding its breath.
I drove through it, steady hands on the wheel, while Tim sat beside me like a secret waiting to be opened.
He looked out the window, eyes glassy, lost in the black trees rushing past.
"You still trust me, Tim?"
My voice cut through the silence like a whisper made of ice.
He didn't answer. Of course he didn't.
I smiled. Not because I was happy, but because I liked the way silence fit between us. Like a blanket I could pull tighter.
"You'll lean to kiss me before you learn the truth," I said, soft. Like I was singing him a lullaby.
Then I looked at him—really looked at him. The curve of his cheek, the way he blinked slow, like he was trying not to fall asleep.
Poor thing. He had no idea what we just drove past.
No idea about the girl in the field.
No idea her jaw was missing.
No idea her hands were still moving.
No idea her blood left patterns on the wheat like symbols.
No idea I'd carved them.
"Or maybe the truth will kiss you first," I added. My smile grew sharper.
Tim didn't flinch. He still didn't know.
And wasn't that beautiful?
I kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting loosely by the gearshift, fingers still damp.
I didn't want to wipe them clean.
There was something soft about the blood when it dried—like velvet if you ran your fingers the right way.
It clung under my nails, and I liked it there.
Like a secret only I could carry.
Tim shifted in his seat.
He yawned. "Are we close?"
His voice was soft. Tired.
I glanced at him, and I saw the sleep fighting in his eyes. He had no idea what kind of night we were really driving through.
"Almost there," I said, and I wasn't lying.
But we weren't heading home.
We were driving toward something hungry.
And I'd already fed it once tonight.