Carved

Please note: For now, this is exclusive to the top two tiers as a thank you to their support. Read the trigger warnings. This book will get pitch black. It mixes rituals with obsession and stalking. This isn't about just a person stalking his stepbrother, it's about something far darker.

Last Halloween

Hunter POV

This is so fucking stupid. I’m drunk, and even drunk I know how stupid this is. But the guys think it’ll be fun, or that’s what they say, when in fact they just want to fuck around.

“Come on, Hunter, it’s just for fun.”

“Just for fun, he says. While we’re… why the fuck are we in a graveyard?” I hadn’t even noticed until now.

“Is he for real? It’s Halloween, and we’re bored as shit,” Elliot says.

“Fine, how about we go back and drink more, leave him to mope,” Sam stands up.

Elliot nods, and the guys walk off, leaving me sitting on a fucking grave with God knows what spread out in front of me. They said they wanted to do a ritual, summon the dead. Typical drunken Halloween bullshit.

Those idiots are the type to watch Hocus Pocus, find out it’s real, and light the fucking candle just for fun.

My phone buzzes, and I snatch it out of my pocket, squinting at the name.

Zander.

Where the fuck did you disappear to? I swear down, if our parents have me fucking searching for you tonight, I’ll stab you.

Always a pleasure. Still, my brain twists immediately to how good those same words would sound if he was choking on my cock. Fuck. I groan and rub my face. That will never happen.

Perfect Zander, role model of all things holy and pure. Perfect primed girlfriend, perfect flawless grades, perfect fucking results. God, I want to choke him on all that perfect.

My fingers fly over the keypad.

Not even drunk. Tell our parents I’m good.

Sighing, I glance at the pumpkin mask Sam left behind and pull it on, considering heading home and scaring the living shit out of Zander. My gaze drifts back to the stuff spread out for their ritual.

Fuck their ritual. The thought dies as another takes its place. I don’t even know why, but the next second I’m typing into my phone: ritual to make him love you, ritual to make him obsessed with you.

I don’t even remember how it ends up in my lap, but there it is, a small animal, limp and warm, with its fur matted where the guys must’ve caught it earlier. A rabbit maybe. My stomach twists, though I’m too drunk to tell if it’s from the booze or from staring at something that should be breathing and isn’t.

I set it down on the cracked stone of the grave and swipe through the ritual instructions on my phone. Half of it is bullshit blog talk, but it feels real enough when the night air presses heavy on my shoulders. The wind rattles the bare branches overhead, like bones knocking together.

“Blood ties bind. Heart calls heart. Flame carry my want.” The words slur off my tongue as I read them aloud, and I almost laugh at myself, but my chest tightens instead.

I strike a lighter and set the corner of a paper scrap on fire. The flame eats fast, curling black and orange, and I drop it into the cheap bowl the guys left behind. I smear a streak of red across the animal’s fur, God knows if it’s theirs or mine, but it shines wet under the moon.

“Hunter to Zander. Flesh to soul. Mine to his. Until the grave.”

I can’t believe I’m saying this shit, yet the words come easier the longer I go. I tear out a strand of my own hair and toss it into the fire. The smell is sharp and bitter. I cut my palm shallow with the pocketknife and let a few drops of blood fall onto the rabbit’s still body.

“Take my blood. Take my want. Chain him to me.”

The wind gusts hard enough to make the flame jump. I nearly snuff it out with my shaking hands, but instead I adjust the mask on my head. For a moment, I swear I hear something shift in the dark around me, something not my imagination, not the booze. The night feels too quiet, like it’s holding its breath.

My pulse hammers as I whisper the last line.

“Zander is mine.”

Now I just stare. What the fuck is this shit? Goddamn it, I need new friends, ones that don’t shove bullshit like this into my head. First they wanted to summon the dead, and here I am actually doing… yeah, I’m drunk.

Standing, I sway and stumble my way out of the graveyard. My phone buzzes again, and when I pull it out and see Elliot’s name, I swipe it away. I need to sleep this off, because what I just did proves I’m too far gone.

By the time I make it into the house, it’s quiet. I walk to my room, rip off the mask, and toss it into the back of the wardrobe where everything goes to die. I’ll have to remember to give it back.

Stepping back out, I head down the hall. I’m not even sure what I’m going to say to him, probably something that’ll start another fight, because that’s all we ever fucking do.

As I get closer, I hear the soft, pathetic whimpers of Sarah. I don’t wait. I fling the door open, and they both jolt.

“What the fuck, Hunter!” Zander snarls, throwing the cover over Sarah. Yeah, he thinks I’m about to stare at her. I’m not interested in her one bit. “Get the fuck out before I knock you out.”

Leaning against the frame, I grin. “You could try. But didn’t your mom and my dad specifically say you two were on a fucking ban? Sounds like perfect Zander is breaking the rules.”

Chuckling, I walk back out, leaving the door wide open. He hates me, but I love it. That’s just how it’s been for five years, ever since he moved in. The truth is, my dad’s the one with the money. His mom has nothing. Yet somehow he’s treated so much fucking better. Sure, my constant drinking, fighting, and general screw-ups don’t help, but still… this fucker walked into my life like he was the best thing that ever happened and could replace me.

Fuck, I’m drunk. I drop onto my bed and shut my eyes. I’m done, at least for tonight.