Chapter 67: Peeking

Chapter 67: Peeking

[Jason’s POV] [Same time frame as Chapter 66]

The red glow of “YOU DIED” flashes across the screen for what feels like the millionth time. I groan, tossing the controller onto the plush velvet couch beside me.

“Screw this,” I mutter, turning the playstation off. “I grow bored of Elden Ring.” I declare to no one in particular.

As the TV screen fades to black, the silence in the room hits me like a truck. Without the constant clashing of the waterfowl dance, the mansion feels suffocatingly quiet. My eyes dart to the ornate grandfather clock in the corner, its steady ticking seeming to mock my growing restlessness.

Erica’s words from this morning echo in my head, “Stay put, Jason. No one is allowed to watch me cast my spell. Got it?” Her beautiful blue eyes had bored into mine, daring me to object.

But damn, the boredom is killing me. My leg bounces nervously as I scan the room, desperate for something, anything, to distract me from the gnawing anxiety in my gut.

“Come on, Jason,” I mutter to myself, running a hand through my messy brown hair. “You can handle a few hours alone.”

But can I? The walls of the room seem to close in, the shadows growing longer with each tick of that infernal clock. I pace the length of the room, my footsteps muffled by the plush carpet.

“What’s the worst that could happen if I just... took a peek?” The thought slips out before I can stop it. I freeze, shocked by my own daring. “No, no, bad idea. Erica would be disappointed.”

And yet... the temptation grows.

Suddenly, a burst of raucous laughter cuts through the oppressive quiet, making me jump. I strain my ears, picking up the muffled sounds of animated conversation drifting up from downstairs.

“What the hell?” I mutter, creeping towards the door. My heart races as I crack it open, peering into the dimly lit hallway. The voices grow clearer, two distinct feminine tones, their words slurred and punctuated by fits of giggles.

As I near the living room, the voices resolve into familiar timbres that make my stomach drop.

“Oh Em, you’re such a strong woman,” comes Vivian’s sultry purr. “Why don’t you slap some cuffs on me?”

Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and step into the doorway. The scene before me is surreal. Mom and Vivian sprawled on the leather couch, both as drunk as skunks. My mom’s usually stern face is flushed and grinning, while Ms. Knight’s perfectly kempt hair is in disarray.

They spot me simultaneously, their expressions morphing from surprise to drunken delight.

“Jason, sweetie!” Mom calls out, her voice uncharacteristically warm. “Come join the party!”

I notice mom is wearing a shirt that says ‘I'm Not the Step Mom, I'm the Mom That Stepped Up.’

I cant help but wonder if this has any meaning or if she’s just fucking around.

Vivian giggles, raising her glass in a wobbly salute. “Yes, come in, darling! We were just... reminiscing about old times.”

I take a tentative step into the room, my eyes darting between the two women. “Hi, Mom,” I say, offering Mom a small wave. Then I turn to Vivian, an awkward smile tugging at my lips. “Hello... future Mom.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before both women burst into uproarious laughter. Emily slaps her knee, nearly spilling her drink, while Vivian throws her head back, her throaty chuckles echoing off the high ceilings.

“Oh, that’s rich!” Vivian gasps between fits of giggles. “It’s... it’s actually quite nice to hear a boy call me Mom.” Her eyes soften as she looks at me, a warmth I’ve never seen before radiating from her usually stern features.

I get a little nervous because I don’t want her to piss Erica off in the future, so I feel I should warn her just in case. “Don’t tell Erica you said that,” I quip, winking conspiratorially.

This sets them off again, both women howling with laughter. Vivian clutches her sides, tears streaming down her face, while Emily nearly falls off the couch.

“Oh, darling,” Vivian wheezes, wiping her eyes, “I didn’t mean it like that!”

Mom, still chuckling, reaches out to steady herself on the coffee table. “You know,” she says, her words slightly slurred, “I finally got it out of Vivian. How they made all their money.”

My third eye is goatsed open as I am encased in ecstasy. ‘This is it. My biggest mystery. Finally.’ I shine like a lighthouse within my mind palace.

Mom smirks wide and says, “Can I tell him?”

Vivian drunkenly sighs and says, “Since he’ll be my son-in-law, it’s fine.” She pauses, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “I’ll tell him though.”

Mom feigns a frown while she looks at Vivian with sultry eyes. “Fine.”

I lean forward, my heart pounding with anticipation. Vivian takes a long sip of her drink, savoring the moment.

Vivian looks at me, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief and alcohol-induced pride. She leans forward conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper.

‘Huh?’

I look up and see Riley tied down to the creepiest-looking chair I’ve ever seen in my life. A chair made of twisted wood that looks right out of a horror movie. Erica has a knife stabbed right into Riley’s toned abs.

“Did you really think I was a witch, you fucking moron?” Erica yells at Riley with madness emanating from her very soul.

Riley looks terrified and speaks through tears. “I... I don’t understand,”

‘I’m too late.’

I stand frozen at the bottom of the stairs, my mind struggling to process the horrific scene before me. The flickering candlelight casts grotesque shadows across the room.

My eyes are locked on Erica and Riley, their forms etched in stark relief against the dancing flames. Erica’s blonde hair gleams like spun gold, her pale skin luminous in the eerie light. Even as she commits this unspeakable act, she’s breathtakingly beautiful. The knife in her hand glints wickedly as she twists it deeper into Riley’s flesh.

Riley’s face is a mask of agony and confusion, her eyes wide with terror. Blood seeps from the wound in her abdomen, staining her shirt a deep crimson. The sight of it makes my stomach churn, yet I can’t look away.

Time seems to warp as I watch, paralyzed by horror and a strange, sick fascination. Erica’s movements are fluid, almost graceful, as she pulls the knife free only to plunge it in again. And again. And again. Each thrust is punctuated by a wet, squelching sound that turns my insides to ice.

The symbols on the walls pulse and throb in my peripheral vision, seeming to grow more vivid with each spurt of blood. The candles flicker wildly, their flames stretching towards the ceiling as if feeding off the violence before them.

Guilt washes over me in crashing waves. I should have done something, I should have stopped this somehow. But even as self-loathing threatens to consume me, I can’t tear my eyes away from Erica. Her face is transformed, lit from within by a manic glee that’s both terrifying and mesmerizing.

Blood spatters across her cheeks and forehead, leaving crimson constellations on her porcelain skin. Her blue eyes blaze with an inner fire, reflecting the dancing candlelight. She’s like an avenging angel, terrible and beautiful in her fury.

As Riley’s struggles grow weaker, Erica’s attacks become more frenzied. The knife rises and falls in a blur of motion, each impact sending a fresh spray of blood into the air. The droplets catch the light as they fall, looking for all the world like rubies scattering across the stone floor.

I’m vaguely aware that Erica is speaking, her words a steady stream of vitriol and madness. But the sounds wash over me without registering, drowned out by the pounding of my own heart and the wet, meaty thuds of the knife finding its mark again and again.

As Riley’s struggles grow weaker, her eyes glazing over with the approach of death, I finally snap out of my horrified trance. My legs tremble as I turn and silently stumble back up the narrow staircase, my hand gripping the rough stone wall for support. The flickering candlelight fades behind me, replaced by the musty darkness of the storage room.

I emerge into the cluttered space, gasping for air that doesn’t reek of blood and madness.

My mind reels, struggling to process what I’ve just witnessed. Erica’s face, contorted with manic glee as she plunged the knife into Riley’s flesh, is seared into my memory. The wet, meaty sounds of the blade finding its mark echo in my ears, drowning out the creaking of the old house around me. It reminded me of the joy I had when I did the same to Lindsey’s skull.

Suddenly, a moment of clarity pierces through the fog of shock and horror. ‘This is my fault. Riley is dead because I wanted to be with a Yandere.’

The weight of my complicity crashes down on me like a physical force. My knees buckle, and I collapse onto the dusty wooden floor. The grit bites into my palms as I brace myself, my body wracked with dry heaves.

I retch violently, my stomach clenching painfully, but nothing comes up. The bitter taste of bile burns the back of my throat as I gasp and choke. Tears stream down my face, leaving tracks in the fine layer of dust that coats my skin.

Finally, I resigned myself to the fear, curling into a tight ball on the dusty floor. Guilt and horror wash over me in waves, threatening to drown me in their depths. I feel terrible for letting Riley die such an awful death, my inaction sealing her fate. The image of her terrified eyes, wide with pain and betrayal, is seared into my mind.

But even as self-loathing threatens to consume me, another emotion bubbles up from the depths of my psyche. A sick fascination, a twisted admiration for Erica’s raw power and dominance. ‘Why did she look so beautiful to me, covered in Riley’s blood?’ The memory of her face, transformed by manic glee, sends a shiver down to my cock, and that scares me.

My body trembles, torn between the urge to flee and the desire to stay, to bask in Erica’s presence. The conflicting emotions churn inside me, making me dizzy and nauseous. I press my forehead against the cool wooden floor, trying to ground myself in reality.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the chaos of my thoughts, sending ice through my veins.

“Jason, I told you to stay upstairs.”

Erica’s voice is flat, devoid of emotion. I freeze, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure she must be able to hear it. Slowly, painfully, I force myself to look up at her.

The sight that greets me is both terrifying and breathtaking. Erica stands before me, her blonde hair wild and matted with blood. Crimson splatters cover her face and clothes, a Jackson Pollock painting of red on her skin.

I feel my breath catch in my throat, terror and awe warring for dominance in my mind. She’s like a vengeful goddess, terrible and beautiful in her fury. My body trembles, caught between the instinct to flee and the overwhelming urge to worship at her feet.

Erica moves towards me with predatory grace, her movements fluid and purposeful. I flinch as she reaches for me but make no move to escape. Her blood-stained hands grip my arms tightly, leaving crimson smears on my skin. The warmth of her touch sends electricity coursing through my body.

Erica’s eyes flick downward, widening slightly as they land on my dick. I follow her gaze, shocked to see the largest erection I’ve ever had in my life, tenting the fabric obscenely. Heat rushes to my face as I realize just how aroused I am by this horrific situation.

My body trembles with a primal need, every nerve ending crackling with electric desire. I feel like a dog in heat, consumed by an overwhelming urge to breed. Shame and lust war within me, leaving me dizzy and panting.

Erica’s bloodied hand cups my face gently, her touch igniting a fire beneath my skin. I lean into her caress, desperate for more contact. Our eyes meet, and I see my own manic desperation reflected in her gaze. The world narrows to just the two of us, everything else fading away.

“Come on,” Erica says softly. “Let’s go to the bedroom. It’s too dusty to make love here.”