Haunting-Adeline

Sighing again, I pluck the pack of cigare es from the console, bring it to
my mouth, and slide out a cigare e with my teeth.
I grab my lighter and flick the flame, inhaling deeply as the cherry blares
red.
“You’re smoking, aren’t you?” Jay says. I offer a noncommi al
confirma on as I roll down my window and blow out smoke.
The raging hard-on is gone, but my dick s ll hurts.
“You said you were going to quit,” he whines. “Do you know how many
chemicals are in that? According to the—”
“Jay,” I snap, cu ng off his tangent. If I let it go on, he’d list off the
ingredients in a cigare e like he’s lis ng off all the components in the
periodic table.
Nobody. Fucking. Cares.
He sighs like an angry teenager on their period. “Whatever,” he
mumbles.
“Update me if anything else comes up,” I say before clicking off the
phone.
I drag in another inhale of smoke and turn my a en on to my laptop.
The inside of my Mustang is decked out in gadgets. A laptop sits on a
pla orm, a mechanical arm a ached to the dash so I can push and pull it
towards me for convenience. Dash cams, an alert system for law
enforcement, and other illegal shit decorate the interior of my car.
I pull the laptop towards me and fire it on. The bright screen stabs at my
sensi ve eyes. Squin ng against the light, I pull up my programs and get to
work.
In pure curiosity, I want to know who is a ending this haunted fair.
It comes to town every single year, and I’ve never bothered to go.
Haunted houses don’t scare me. Not when I see true horror every day.
There’s nothing a couple of made-up monsters can do to horrify me
more than the actual monsters pollu ng this world.
Humans don’t need to decorate themselves in gory make-up and fake
blood to be scary. It’s the insides of us—the darkness that lurks beneath
the surface—that’s what’s truly fucking terrifying.
That’s what leads people to commit heinous crimes every single day.
That’s what leads innocent li le kids to die horrific deaths for no fucking
reason at all.