HauntingAdeline {1}

C14

The Manipulator

Daya put some type of block on my phone to prevent further hacking. While
my brain kept circling back to the nudes, Daya’s concern was the guy having
access to my phone in general. He’d be able to see all my messages, have access
to my bank information, track my phone and find me wherever I go.
It seems every day, my appreciation for Daya grows. She gave me a sense of
safety I didn’t realize I was missing.
I’m going to have to propose to her soon or something.
Still, I will never take another nude in my entire life, but that’s a small price to
pay in the grand scheme. I’ve decided to remove the camera from my room to
allow me at least some semblance of comfort. I’ll just have to hold off on walking
around the house naked until something is done about this creep.
Now, if only Arch’s best friends weren’t up my asshole, then maybe I’d get an
extra hour or two of sleep at night.
The rest of the day was spent in silence, both of us lost in our work.
While Daya did whatever she does, I pulled out every picture in this house and
picked through them. I’ve no idea what I’m actually looking for. Maybe Gigi with
another man besides my grandfather.
After an hour of looking, I realized that she tended to write the names of the
people captured in the photo and the year on the back of each picture.
I searched for the name Ronaldo, but never found it.
“Halloween is coming up. We’re going to haunted houses this year, right?”
Daya asks. She’s standing at my front door, about to head home for the night.
I give her a droll look. “Halloween is my entire life, Daya. Of course, we’re
going to fucking haunted houses.”
For as long as I can remember, Halloween fascinated me. The creatures and
creepy faces. The jump scares and impending dread that something horrific is
going to happen. I’ve had an unhealthy obsession with it all.
Mom sent me to therapy specifically for my fascination with gory horror
movies. She thought I was a psychopath. And really, I just get off on being
scared.
I think it’s a step up from being a psycho, but the therapist disagreed.

Too often, I’d hear my mother telling my father that I was a freak. That
something was wrong with me. No one in their right mind likes being scared.
But I do.
I love it.
Which is why having a stalker is the worst thing for someone like me. I’m
susceptible to enjoying the fear a bit too much. My love for horror is going to get
me killed one day. It’s like I was meant to be hunted.
Little mouse.
That name is going to haunt me.
I’m not prey. I’m not.
“Satan’s Affair is coming to town again, and they have new haunted houses,”
Daya reminds, bringing me back to the present.
Satan’s Affair is a traveling fair that comes to town every year, staying for two
nights before moving on to the next town. They set up loads of haunted houses
and thrill rides. Daya and I go every year religiously.
After the first few years, the haunted houses became predictable. Since then,
they change them every year, and now the traveling fair has some of the best
haunted houses in the country.
“You already know I’ll be the first one in line.”
“Yeah, we know, freak,” she teases. Despite the fact that it used to be my
mother’s favorite slur, I don’t let it bother me anymore.
Plenty of men have called me the same, followed up by desperate begging to
fuck me again. Being a freak took on a whole new meaning a long time ago. I
tend to enjoy the name now.
Daya leaves once we confirm plans for the fair night. It’s not for another few
weeks, but the event has garnered a loyal fanbase and sells out every year. It got
to the point where so many people would come, they had to limit the number
allowed in.
They treat it like a concert to avoid lines forming outside the fairgrounds. Once
tickets sell out, you won’t be able to enter. Luckily, I have a computer genius on
my side, and she gets tickets for us before they even go live.
The moment the door clicks shut behind Daya, my phone buzzes. Thinking it’s
Daya texting me that she forgot something, I slide my phone out and open the
message without registering who it is.
The second I see the text, my heart drops.