Haunting-Adeline

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I sigh when I see it’s my mother.
Despite my brain screaming at me not to, I click the green bu on and slap
the phone on my ear.
“Hey, Mom,” I greet, trying to keep my voice from betraying how I
actually feel.
“Hello, honey. How are you doing?” she asks, her prim voice ghtening
my body into stone. It’s a trained reac on when passive aggressive insults
are being slung my way most of the me.
“I’m good, just ge ng ready for the fair,” I answer, glancing over at Daya.
We’re in my room ge ng dressed, a heady sense of an cipa on in the
air.
Satan’s Affair is tonight, and we always have the best fucking me. I
know tonight won’t be any different. I’ll finally have a night where my
headspace isn’t filled with dangerous men and a murder gone cold.
Or maybe a par cularly dangerous man I haven’t seen in a week.
“That haunted fair you go to every year?” she asks derisively. “I don’t
understand why you like going to those things. I swear there’s a mental
condi on associated with finding enjoyment out of horror.” She mu ers
the last part, but not quiet enough for it to clearly transmit through the
phone.
Pesky radio signals.
I roll my eyes. “Was there a reason you called, Mom?”
Daya snorts, and I shoot her a glare.
“Yes, I wanted to know what your plans are for Thanksgiving. I expect
you and Daya will be visi ng?”
I suppress the groan working its way up my throat. Daya and I are like a
married couple and split holidays between our families.
She has a large family, and they’ve always welcomed me with open
arms. Their get-togethers are loud with laughter and games, and I die of
bliss every me I eat their food.