The Cruelest Kind of Hate (Riverside Reapers Book 3) by Celeste Briars

Author:Celeste Briars [Briars, Celeste]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

22

TRICK-OR-TRAUMA

GAGE

“Boo!” Cali shrieks from behind me, jostling my shoulders and relishing in horrifying eldritch laughter when I clutch my imaginary pearls.

Frozen, I’m like a deer trapped in the line of a hunter’s bow, and it takes a few seconds for my brain to reboot and assure me that the only plausible threat in the vicinity is a threat to my manhood.

“Jesus,” I breathe, feeling my poor heart spasm underneath my fingertips. “You can’t keep doing that, Cali.”

“I wouldn’t if you weren’t so easily scared,” she says, reaching for the lollipop she stowed behind her ear and slowly peeling off the red, cellophane wrapper. She nabbed it at the first house we visited, and she’s been secretly plucking a few unsuspecting candies from the bottom of Teague’s pumpkin pail.

I fiddle with the tube on my proton pack, which matches the Ghostbusters group costume Teague has orchestrated for all of us to participate in. I never really partook in trick-or-treating when I was little, partly because the Halloween decorations scared the crap out of me, and partly because my parents never volunteered to take me and my brother. But I’m glad to be here now, with Teague and Cali, facing my irrational fears of kid-friendly jump scares and house-sized animatronics.

Teague’s a fucking trooper. He’s way less afraid than I was when I was a kid. In fact, he’s gone up to every doorstep all on his own and broke out that pageant-winning smile of his. His pail’s so full that there’s barely any room left for more candy, and we still have a few more blocks to go until we’ve cleared the neighborhood.

Teague’s walking by my side and slowly making a dent in his king-size Hershey’s bar, while Cali’s taking up the front and inadvertently torturing me with the way her ass moves in her tight-fitting uniform.

The streets are overrun with tiny, colorful bodies, and every house is so backed up that we have to maneuver through flocks of first-time parents and disinterested older siblings, all being pulled by children who’ve reached max sugar capacity. A tapestry of darkness swallows the night sky, save for the full moon that hangs above us and casts ribbons of light over sprawling asphalt. Houses are lined with glowing jack-o’-lanterns, seven-foot skeletons and blow-up black cats occupy every lawn in sight, and fog machines exhale a sinister mist over fake gravestones. The skeletal limbs of molting trees sway with the last of autumn’s leaves, causing a few runts to fall to the ground in a flurry of crimson and canary yellow. It’s chilly out tonight, and I’m glad for the coverage of my costume to keep my balls from shriveling into raisins.

When Teague stops at an impressively decorated house—complete with a walk-through scientist’s lab—we stand in a fifteen-minute line full of overstimulated kids and the occasional fussy baby. Teague, however, bounces up and down with unrestrained excitement, which is probably a byproduct of the copious amounts of sugar he’s already ingested.

The line’s stopped moving, allowing my

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