Welcome to another stop for the second annual YASpooktacular, hosted by Frenzy of Noise and Wicked Awesome Books.
This year, there are three stories written by some of your favorite authors that will be posted throughout the week. Each story is a choose your adventure, where you get to decide what path to send the character down. Sometimes you live, sometimes you die, and sometimes you fall into a pit of no return.
There are also some TRICKS or TREATS scattered throughout the story, where you can enter to win prizes and get bonus points toward the prize packs. The prize pack for Story 2 will be up tomorrow! On Halloween day, the grand prize pack will be posted. You can click the banner above to see a full list of the YASpooktacular prize packs!
My part of the story is written by the even fabulous, extremely adorable Leigh Fallon!!!
Leigh Fallon was born in South Africa, raised in Dublin, Ireland and moved to Cork in her 20’s. While living in beautiful Kinsale, Co Cork she discovered a love of writing. She writesfor the young adult market. Her current book, The Carrier of the Mark, prompted her to abandon my ‘riveting’ career in corporate treasury and she has been writing ever since. She has three more books in the Carrier series and a few other projects. Leigh and her family share our time between Ireland and the US.
You can find Leigh on Website, Twitter, on her blog, and on Goodreads
You can order her book at the following places:
Amazon: B&N: The Book Depository:
You can pick up at the beginning of the story by clicking on the banner!!
Leigh Fallon – Stay with the stranger
Or, you’ve got to start believing in things that just aren’t possible.
The hulking figure moves slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The shuffling sound triggers the hairs on the back of your neck to stand to attention, each one demanding you get the hell out of the room, and fast. But you can’t move, you’re rooted to the spot. Your feet feel like they’ve melted into the floorboards. His eerie glowing eyes boar into yours.
You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. “This isn’t funny.”
His bloated lips twist upwards. There’s something oddly familiar in the gesture. He gags, coughing up water; it continues to dribble from his lips as he moves forward.
Your eyes flicker to the hatch where the soft light filters up from downstairs. If only your feet would work, you could make it. The doorbell rings, you can hear laughter outside on the street. Your friends are down there. They’re calling your name.
“Don’t answer it,” he growls.
You try your legs again, this time they respond, but the heels catch in the floor boards. You twist your ankle and suck in a sharp breath as your back smacks the floor. The figure looms over you. His black cloak, dripping with pondweed and stinking like stagnant water, hangs at your eyelevel. His blue swollen hand reaches down and takes yours. You feel a scream building, but all that escapes your throat is pitiful rasping sound. Gasping for breath, your heart beats frantically in your chest, clawing at your insides. You back away on your elbows, your feet desperately looking for grip. The stupid six inch heels make it impossible. You twist your head and find your face pressed up against the limp hand that had fallen from the sheet. But you notice it’s plastic. HA! They nearly had you fooled, but wasn’t that sitting in the popcorn down stairs? How did it get they get it up here?
The figure crouches down beside you now. “Don’t do this again.”
The doorbell rings in short bursts. Muffled voices drift upwards on the crisp night air. You’re seriously annoyed now, this isn’t funny anymore. You call out to Stace and the others, but his hand closes around your mouth. You bite into his skin; your teeth sink deep into his flesh. There is no resistance until you hit bone. Overwhelmed with nausea you pull away, spitting out the flaccid flesh that sticks to your teeth. You wretch, finally finding your feet, and make a run for the window. You smash against the glass and call out to Stace. She looks at the house wistfully. You beat your fist on the attic window, but she just walks away.
“She can’t hear you. She never hears you. Every year it’s the same. ” He smiles. It’s a smile you know only too well. It’s the smile you’d been hoping to avoid tonight. Michael Stearne was giving you his placating smile.
Relief floods through you. It’s a joke. It’s your friggin friends playing a sick joke. Bastards! “Michael! This is way beyond sick. You scared the shit out of me. Your makeup is freaking awesome though. You peer closer at him. Are those contacts?”
He sighs and gently pushes you away. “It’s not makeup.”
You laugh, picking at the last bits of his fake hand from your teeth. “No? Well what’s this then?” You hold out a piece of the pale, flesh like substance.
His face remains still. “I can’t do this anymore. I need you to remember.”
“Remember what? What’s wrong?”
“You’re what’s wrong.” He sighs. “Look at yourself, can’t you see?”
You look down at your French maids costume, it was pretty tight when you’d put it on early this evening. You’re desperately hoping you haven’t burst a seam or anything.
“Not the costume. You! He grips your shoulders and guides you to the mottled cracked mirror that’s leaning against some boxes. Through the dust and the grim you smile at your reflection. Your makeup seriously rocks this year, zombies were so in right now, and you had to admit, the maids outfit looked hot.
You shrug him off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I look good. What? Does zombie French maid not do it for you?”
“You didn’t dress up as a zombie French maid!”
You feel irritation creep over you like a rash. Michael’s smoking hot and all, but his creepiness was outweighing his hotness right now. “Look, whatever. I’m going after Stace. She’ll kill me for not answering the door.”
“You can’t kill what’s already dead.”
“There’s something seriously wrong with you.”
He throws his arms in the air and groans. “Yes there is! I’m dead! Can’t you see that? So are you. We have been for three years. Don’t you remember the party?”
“No, we’re just about to have the party.”
“Yes, the same party you’ve been making me live through for the past three years. You never dressed up as a zombie maid. You dressed up as a chamber maid. We had that stupid Halloween partying with those ridiculous peeled grapes!
You cringe. He knew about the grapes.
He takes you by the elbows and pulls you closer. “You’re not listening. Des, that fecking idiot spiked the punch. We all got rat arsed drunk. Do you remember that?”
Your stomach twists with a familiar burning sensation and your head gets dizzy and light.
“You’re starting to remember!” Michael’s pallid face looks a little animated. “We went to the pond to make out. Do you remember that?”
A warm feeling spreads through you, mixing with the hazy drunk sensation that already tickles your senses. You shudder as an icy chill grips you.
Michael lowers his face to yours. “You remember, don’t you?”
You fight the freezing floating sensation that has you ensnared. If what he’s saying is true, if your memories are real, it can only mean one thing…you’re… “You kissed me…we fell.”
Michael lifts your chin, tilting your face to his and nods. “We were sitting on the dock. I lost my balance and fell in. You tried to pull me out, but I was too heavy for you. You fell in too. “
Your eyes flicker to the floor, darting from the boxes stacked around the attic with your name on them, to the white sheet full of Halloween decorations.
“We died. But you never believed it, you brought us back here, we’re trapped, reliving that night. ”
You look down at your pale-greenish skin and gasp as the memories come flooding back. “There’s no party tonight?”
“Not if you don’t open that door.”
The attic steps suddenly retract, blocking out the soft light from the house. You’re immersed in darkness, wrapped in silence.
You’ve reached a dead end to the story. Go back to the beginning at Reading Teen
Or back up a step and choosing a different path by going to Read This Instead