1 | The Party
ROSIE
“Still think it’s too childish?”
I clink my red solo cup against Anna’s and give her a wink.
Anna beams with pride, overlooking the chaos like a queen surveying her kingdom. Fake cobwebs hang from the banisters, strings of orange lights zigzag across the ceiling, and bowls of candy sit untouched in favor of the kitchen’s makeshift bar.
“It’s perfect,” she murmurs, cheeks flushed from heat and sugar-laced vodka.
We’re three drinks in, and the punch has finally stopped tasting like someone melted Jolly Ranchers into rubbing alcohol. I sip carefully, worried the concoction might just strip the enamel off my teeth.
The living room’s packed—too many bodies, too much noise, too little space. The bass thrums through the walls, rattling the picture frames Anna forgot to take down. People are dancing, grinding, and kissing on every available surface. Liquor sloshes from their cups, turning the hardwood floor into a sticky mess.
It’s funny, really—witches, zombies, sexy nurses, and vampires all melting together in one heaving, glittering mess.
A guy in a Frankenstein costume stumbles into us, sending a splash of punch down the front of my dress. I grimace and head for the faucet.
I don’t do well at parties like this one—too hot, too loud, too many eager hands grabbing my waist under the excuse of moving through a crowd. But it’s Anna’s party, and she guilt-tripped me with those damn puppy-dog eyes of hers. I couldn’t really skip out anyway—she’s my best friend, and she promised I could hide in her room if I needed to breathe.
Which might be now.
I glance toward the back windows, their glass reflecting the party so it looks twice as crowded. I wade through a gaggle of drunk nuns near the back door and swing it open.
The cold October air hits me like a blessing, slicing through the heat as it lifts the hem of my too-short skirt. The costume makes zero sense—I’m supposed to be a pumpkin, for crying out loud. But apparently, there’s a rule that adult women aren’t allowed to dress as anything that isn’t tight, short, or flammable.
So here I am. A sexy jack-o’-lantern. Because that’s a thing, apparently. It was this or a sexy ladybug, and at least this one screams ‘Halloween’.
Laughter and slurred voices drift over on the wind. I lean out to see the source—a group of tipsy partygoers shoving each other toward the cornfield.
Anna’s parents turn it into a maze every year—one of those seasonal money-makers where kids get lost and adults get overpriced pumpkin spice lattes. But at night, it’s different. The stalks ripple under the moonlight, pale and whispering, almost… alive. For a second, I get lost in the hypnotic sway of the stalks, the way they seem to beckon those tipsy pirates and Ninja Turtles closer.
“Corn maze’s closed!”
The shout startles me. I whirl and nearly crash straight into a wall of warmth and muscle.
Elliott.
Of course he’s not wearing a costume—just a black hoodie and jeans, looking infuriatingly casual. He braces one arm on the doorframe above me, grinning down with that lazy, dangerous confidence that makes my pulse forget how to behave.
“Hey, Rosie,” he murmurs. “Been a while.”
I swallow the rush in my chest and duck beneath his arm, muttering, “You really should put a bell on.”
He laughs, low and rough, and I bolt before I can do something stupid, like look back.
Cara and Anna are cheering on someone doing a keg stand, completing the full checklist of Halloween clichés. Honestly, the only thing missing is a masked killer and some ominous thunder. I wouldn’t be surprised if people started to go missing one by one—we’re basically begging for this to turn into a cheap scary movie.
I grab Anna’s arm. “Can I have the key to your room? I need air that doesn’t smell like tequila and sweat.”
She blinks, then hooks her arm through Cara’s. “We’ll come with you.”
Cara tries to protest, but there’s no point once Anna’s decided on something—she’s like a glittery little dictator in heels.
We fight our way down the hall, shoulder to shoulder, basically swimming through the crowd. I’m fairly certain we don’t even know half these people—someone definitely just shouted “Happy birthday!” to Anna—but that’s the thing about a party: everyone feels invited when the music’s this loud.
Which is great for extroverts, less so for people like me—someone who got excited for fuzzy socks and horror movies when Anna first mentioned a ‘Halloween party’.
Halfway to the stairs, we nearly trip over Dean. He’s slouched on the bottom step like he’s been sitting there since the dawn of time, one arm draped over his knee, beer dangling loosely in his hand. He looks far too old and far too bored to be surrounded by hoards of drunk college kids in polyester costumes.
“Upstairs’s off-limits,” he mutters, taking a lazy swig without looking up. “House rules.”
Anna rolls her eyes and shoves his leg out of the way. “I know, asshole. It’s my party. And frankly, I don’t remember inviting you.”
Dean arches a brow. “You didn’t. Elliott dragged me here.”
“Speaking of,” I cut in. “I ran into him in the kitchen. He was yelling at people trying to sneak into the corn maze.”
Anna’s brows lift. “Good. Last thing I need is someone wandering off drunk and freezing to death in my parents’ field. The lawsuit alone—” She glances at Dean. “I take it Owen is here too?”
Dean jerks his chin toward the front door. Through the window, I catch sight of Owen in the same ‘I don’t want to be here’ costume as his friends, stomping out cigarette butts people keep flicking onto the front porch with the quiet irritation of a man who’s already over this whole night.
“Huh,” Anna mutters. “Free bouncers. Who would’ve thought.”
She pushes past Dean—who tries to argue that he is, in fact, not doing this for free.
“Consider it community service,” she tosses over her shoulder, dragging Cara and me upstairs before he can come up with a comeback.
We stumble into Anna’s room and lock the door behind us, the muffled bass still pounding faintly through the floorboards. I kick off my boots and drop face-first onto her bed, completely forgetting the punch-soaked fabric of my dress. The world summersaults around me as I struggle to regain my sense of up and down.
Anna throws open her window. Cold air floods the room, rushing over my skin like an apologetic caress. She leans on the sill, resting her chin on her folded arms. Her cheeks are flushed, her damp curls sticking to her temples. “Remind me not to host next year,” she groans.
Cara flops beside me. “You’re lying. You live for this.”
Anna’s smirks over her shoulder, then looks out the window again.
I sit up slowly, grab a half-finished water bottle that may or may not be mine, and take a few gulps. My eyes drift to the cornfield beyond the yard. The maze looms there—pale in the moonlight, motionless for a moment, then shifting again, like it’s breathing.
Cara follows my gaze and smirks. “We should go.”
Anna turns, instantly suspicious. “Go where?”
“Into the maze.” Cara sits up, eyes gleaming with mischief. “First one to the exit wins. Losers buy breakfast tomorrow—Oooh let’s do Genie’s French toast and mimosas.”
Anna rolls her eyes and turns back to the window. “The maze is closed—I don’t want to fight with my brother tonight. And my parents would murder me if we got lost in there.”
I cock my head, teasing. “As if you’d get lost—you’ve lived here forever. Bet you know it like the back of your hand.”
She shakes her head, curls brushing her shoulders. “They redo it every year. I haven’t gone in—I’m not ten, Rosie.”
Cara bounces on the mattress. “Exactly why we should go! When’s the last time we did anything remotely thrilling? It’s Halloween—where’s your sense of adventure?”
“You’re joking, right?” I nudge her with my knee. “You just kissed Simon. That was the scariest thing I’ve seen all year.”
She smacks the back of my head, not gently. “He’s not that bad. And you’re deflecting.”
I glance back out at the maze. It feels like it’s waiting for us, but that might just be tequila talking.
Cara reaches over and tugs at the back of Anna’s dress. “So? There more than one way through?”
Anna huffs and pulls free. “There’s one entry at the side of the yard. The paths split and cross a few times, but there’s only one real exit—down by the gift shop at the far edge of the property.”
“Perfect,” Cara says, grin widening.
I glance down at my dress, the punch-drenched fabric still sticking to my cleavage. “Whatever we decide—I need to get changed.”
Anna gets up and pulls open her closet. She rummages through for a while, then pops back out with two equally hideous dresses. “‘Sexy cowgirl’ or ‘sexy cop’?”
I groan, digging through my overnight bag. “How about ‘sexy college student’?” I hold up a pair of jeans and a top. “I might even consider ‘freezing college student’ and toss in a hoodie.”
Cara gasps as if I personally insulted her. “Rosie, if you cover up those phenomenal tits of yours, I will personally cut that hoodie off you.”
I scoff. “Alright, ‘sexy bunny,’ if you want to hop around the maze in barely a yarn of fabric, be my guest. I’m personally not keen on freezing my phenomenal tits off.”
Anna cackles, tossing a pillow at me. “God, you two are insufferable.”
I roll my eyes, peeling the sticky dress off and tossing it into a heap near the bathroom door. My reflection in the mirror looks like a crime scene—mascara smudged, hair wild, lipstick faded. “I look like a mess,” I mutter, reaching for a makeup wipe.
Cara scoffs. “Girl, you look hot.”
“I look like a hot mess,” I correct, tugging on the jeans and a crochet top that’s seen better days. It clings in all the wrong ways, but at least it’s dry. The hoodie goes on next—soft, oversized, and warm.
Anna eyes me like I just kicked a puppy. “You’re really wearing that?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Boring,” Cara sings, flopping backward on the bed dramatically. “If we get kidnapped by masked men or chainsaw guys, they’re not going to waste their time chasing the girl in the hoodie. They’re going for the slutty bunny first.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I say, zipping up my hoodie with finality.
“It is,” she huffs. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a thing for masked men, Rosie—I’ve seen your feed.”
I pause halfway through finger-combing the tangles out of my hair. “No comment.”
Cara’s grin widens, all teeth and trouble. “Maybe we shouldn’t be too sneaky when we enter the maze. Let Elliot see. Maybe he’ll come chase you.”
Something in my chest does a little fluttery thing I immediately ignore. “Please. He’d watch us go and mutter ‘good riddance’.”
Cara leans on her elbow, studying me. “You’ve always had a thing for him, haven’t you?”
I laugh—too loudly. “Please. He’s Anna’s brother. That’s practically incest.”
“That’s technically not incest,” she fires back. “That’s just bad decision-making. And honestly? I respect that.”
Anna throws another pillow. “Stop corrupting her.”
“Too late,” Cara grins. “She’s already picturing him in one of those creepy masks, pinning her to the corn.”
“Jesus Christ, Cara.” I toss the pillow back at her, trying not to blush.
Anna stands, shaking her head but smiling. “Alright, sluts and scholars, let’s move. Before I sober up and realize what a terrible idea this is.”
We grab our phones and jackets, the bass from downstairs still vibrating the floor beneath our feet. The closer we get to the stairs, the louder the noise becomes—laughter, glass breaking, voices singing along to guilty pleasures.
By the time we reach the back door, the yard’s mostly empty. Just a few stragglers with drinks and cigarettes, their faces lit by the soft glow of string lights. The cornfield looms just beyond, tall and shifting in the wind. The entry gate creaks.
“Last chance to back out,” Anna warns, voice caught somewhere between excitement and terror.
Cara loops her arm through mine. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Famous last words,” I mutter.
And as the wind moves through the stalks, I swear I hear it whispering my name.
Ooooh ominous, huh? 😏🎃
