Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(68)

Tate cussed. Hide and seek, hide and seek, in the dark, they all will shriek. I hummed the notes to my little ditty.

Crouching down, I pulled out the monitor and scanned the frames for Jessup. I saw him climbing a ladder, up and up, to the third story. I grinned, returned the monitor to the backpack, and began scaling a different set of rungs, beginning to fancy myself a bit of a ninja.

I could already feel the sting of the tattoo needle on my arm. Two more tally marks, then a diagonal cross over the top to make five. And then and only then would I deserve her. Keres. With her tattered faerie wings and blood-soaked scythe.

The closer to the top I got, the slower I made my approach, careful not to let the cold metal under my hands and boots creak. I heard a clang from above.

“Oof!” a voice said. Once on solid flooring, I jerked my head to see Jessup, both arms out, feeling his way around in the dark. The sound of the machinery was more muted here. “Who’s there?” Jessup hissed, sensing my presence.

I didn’t respond. I moved in a wide arc around him, circling, beginning to close in.

“I know you’re in here. I can see you.” But he kept whipping his head back and forth. His long hair kept getting stuck to his lips and his eyes were wide as saucers. “Don’t try anything. I’m trained in karate.”

Doubted it.

I tapped my fingernails against metal siding. He jumped and turned in the direction of the sound. He was standing precariously close to one of the open silos. I circled back the other way, then I sprinted the last few steps to him. His hands flew up protectively. I came to a hard stop an inch away from him. “Boo,” I whispered. He lowered his hands from in front of his face, a look of surprise. Then I pushed him.

He fell without a scream. At least until he landed on a pile of grain.

“What—what is this stuff?” He was beginning to fight it. He was swishing his hands and feet through the grain in the silo like a swimmer and as he did so, the grain began to swallow him.

He thrashed harder.

“Did you know,” I said, “that eighty percent of workers buried in grain up to their knees are unable to get free without assistance?” I peered down the barrel at him. The grain was already up to his waist and rising. He stared down at the grain creeping up his body.

He began to jerk, trying to wrench himself free. “That’s not true,” he shouted. “That can’t be true!” But he pushed at the grain, trying to sweep it away from him. But that only opened up a larger hole for him to sink into. “Relax, Jessup. Chill out. It’s not a big deal. Besides, don’t you know that grain is like quicksand? The more you struggle, the faster you’ll suffocate.”

“Wait!” he screamed. He punched at the grain that was pushing against him on all sides. He struggled to yank out a leg at a time. “Wait! Don’t leave me here! Where are you going? Help!”

I brushed my hands together, enjoying the show. He was tossing his head. He was pushing his elbows out, fighting against an opponent that was too strong for him. His chest and neck were already disappearing beneath the collapsing surface. He twisted. His long hair fell into his eyes. Within a few seconds, I couldn’t hear him at all.

Back down the ladder I went. Come out, come out, wherever you are, I thought, while at the same time telling myself to be cautious, to be careful. I was so close to perfection. I couldn’t get sloppy now.

“Jessup?” Tate’s voice crackled. “Jessup, are you there?” No answer. Jessup was gone. “Shit.” A pause. “I’m going to kill you, little girl,” Tate said. “Just you wait. I’m going to kill you.”

Not when I kill you first.

The sound of Alex’s intermittent screams rose and fell through the mill. I didn’t know if he was still bleeding out freely or if Tate had managed to tie a tourniquet. On the second story, I knelt and fished through the remaining supplies in my bag, finally pulling out the rope. I stretched it out between my hands and gave it a sharp tug. The rope snapped with tension. The perfect strings for the group’s puppet master. Now look who was in control.

I pulled out the monitor, checked for his whereabouts. I didn’t see him the first several glances. And then I did. Back pinned into a corner. His chest rose and fell. With fidgety fingers, he was unfurling his belt from his waistband. He was looping the end through the buckle, testing its strength.

Points for improvisation, I thought drily.

Tate picked the lantern back up and began treading his way through the maze of grain bags and silver silos on the ground floor.

I pressed the button on the side of the walkie-talkie and sang to him, “Hide and seek, hide and seek, in the dark, they all will shriek; seek and hide, seek and hide, count the nights until they’ve died.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Tate shouted. He held his hands to his ears.

I went down to join him.

The grain dust floating in the air smelled sweet and old and tickled my nose when I breathed it in. Tate was easy to spot by the light of the lantern he was carrying like it was the thing that could keep him safe. That and his belt, apparently.

I bent down and scooped up a pebble that I’d stepped on. I threw it and it pinged against one of the silos. Tate spun and the lantern bobbed wildly.

“Show yourself,” he demanded. Because he was used to being the type of person who could make demands and people would listen. I wasn’t listening.