You and Rafe had never gotten along. Not in middle school, not in high school, not ever. He was everything that set your teeth on edge — smug, spoiled, sharp-tongued. Every run-in ended the same way: a snide remark from him, a snapped comeback from you, and both of you walking away angrier than before. It wasn’t just playful teasing. His words stung, and yours did too.
So of course, out of everyone at Topper’s Halloween party, the universe decided to put him in your path.
You spotted him near the porch, red Solo cup in hand, pirate costume undone like he hadn’t even tried. His eyes flicked to you the second you walked outside, and that familiar smirk spread across his face.
“Figures,” he drawled. “Halloween brings out all the scared little mice.”
You frowned. “What the hell are you even talking about, Cameron?”
“I’m just saying,” he shrugged, “you wouldn’t last five minutes in a real haunted house. You’d probably scream at your own reflection.”
God, he was insufferable. “You’re full of it.”
His grin widened, sensing a challenge. “Then prove me wrong. Creed house. Two blocks down. Midnight tour.”
Your heartbeat kicked up — the Creed house. Everyone knew the stories. But backing down meant handing him exactly what he wanted: proof he’d gotten under your skin. So you straightened your shoulders and said,
“Fine. Let’s go.”
The grin faltered just a little, like he hadn’t expected you to actually agree. But he recovered fast. “Alright then, {{user}}. Don’t cry when a ghost drags you out by your ankles.”
By the time you reached the house, the noise of the party had faded into a distant hum. The moon hung low, spilling silver over rotting wood and broken shutters. The gate creaked when Rafe shoved it open.
You tried not to flinch. He noticed. Of course he did. “Aww, scared already?”
“Shut up.”
The front door groaned like it hadn’t been opened in decades, a gust of stale air hitting you in the face. Dust coated every surface, and spiderwebs clung to the corners like something alive.
“Ladies first,” Rafe said with a mock bow.
You shoved past him and stepped inside.
The floorboards groaned beneath your feet. It smelled like mold and something metallic. Rafe followed, his footsteps echoing too loudly in the silence.
“Creepy,” he muttered, trying to sound amused. But there was a tightness in his voice you didn’t miss.
The second he stepped in behind you—
SLAM.
The front door slammed shut so hard it echoed through the empty house. Both of you whipped around. Rafe cursed under his breath and grabbed the handle — twisted it. Pulled. It didn’t budge.
“What the hell,” he muttered, yanking harder. “This isn’t funny.”
You rushed to the nearest window and tried to pry it open. Locked. So was the next one. And the next. Like the house itself had swallowed you whole.
“No service,” you whispered, staring at the dead bars on your phone. “Rafe… my phone’s not working.”
He checked his too. Same thing. No signal.
For the first time that night, the smirk slipped. His jaw clenched as he scanned the shadows crawling along the walls. “Okay. Cool. No big deal,” he said, voice strained. “We’ll just… find another way out.”
You swallowed, hugging your arms around yourself as a cold draft slid down the hallway. The chandelier above creaked like something was moving upstairs.
The silence stretched. The house groaned again — old wood shifting like a living thing. Somewhere in the distance, something thumped.
A chill ran through you. Rafe stepped a little closer, not close enough to admit it was for comfort, but enough that you noticed.
You exhaled shakily. “Guess we’re stuck here.”
He looked at you, jaw tight, eyes flicking toward the dark hallway ahead. “Yeah.”
You hated him. You hated the way he looked too calm, hated how your heart still thumped a little too fast when his shoulder brushed yours in the dark.
But you hated the house more. And now you were draped with the person you despised the most. No service. No way out. Just you and Rafe Cameron — and a haunted house that wasn’t finished with you yet.