Sixteen-year-old new girl, Alaska, seems shy and jumpy. So Lash and his friends decide to take her under their wing and make her a part of their friend group.
But when one of their friends ends up dying, and a mysterious figure keeps showing up aro...
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#Alaska
I take one look at the inky black interior of that mansion, and warning bells go off in my head like the lights and sirens of the firetrucks from a four-alarm fire wailing at me to move along. Shaking my head, and backing away from the house I say, "Nope. I think I'll pass."
Cameron's hand darts out grabbing my arm before I can hit the sidewalk and start running.
"C'mon," Cameron says. His voice isn't much above a whisper, but loud enough that I can hear him. He shoots an ook at Angelina. "We've done this a ton of times. Angelina was just trying to set the mood. The place is not haunted."
"Not haunted my ass," Luke mutters. Luke coughs and looks away when Cameron shoots him a look too.
Staring into the shadowy darkness of the house, I shake my head again.
"Please?" Luke bats his eyes at me. "We'll be on our best behavior."
Some of the fear inside me uncoils from my lungs, allowing me to breathe a little easier, and I chuckle before rolling my eyes. "Fine. But if I end up dying, I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your lives!"
Angelina snickers. "Is that a threat or a promise? Cuz I'm down for it."
"Of course you are," Cameron mutters, shaking his head.
Luke ushers us all inside then unzips his backpack, pulling out several flashlights and handing one to each of us. "I came prepared."
I fumble to get my light on, but not before Lash flashes his in my face, practically blinding me.
"Op. Sorry!" he says, yanking the beam away from my face and positioning it to aim at the wooden staircase just inside the building.
My flashlight finally switches on, giving me a better view of the inside of the mansion.
"You want a tour of the mansion?" Luke asks.
"I do," Angelina says.
I let my beam flit around the room. Resting briefly on the mannequin in the window, dressed in period clothing, its face looking ghostly and pale from the moonlight reflecting on it through the window.
Wide, wooden stairs, half hidden in shadows, are swallowed into indistinct darkness above us. Faded rugs cover the creaky wooden floors. Dominating one wall, some sort of display case filled with antique artifacts sits sentinel, drawing my attention.
I step closer, looking at the musty contents of the shelves, and my flashlight stops on a row of creepy porcelain dolls with eyes that stare vacantly in the distance and lashed lids designed to open and close.
A shiver runs down my spine as I imagine one of them turning to me and blinking.
"Not today, Chucky. Not today," I mutter, then back away from the dolls to the safety of my new friends.
