Theirs to Chase

Chapter 2

Eveline

One year ago. Halloween night.

“Get a grip of yourself,” I mumble to myself, shuddering in my tight black dress clinging to every curve as I approach the small cottage on the outermost edge of the town. It’s a peaceful evening, yet the buried memories try to resurface. A shiver runs down my spine as I look around, a prickling feeling making me aware that someone is there, ominously watching me.

But as I turn around, no one is—as usual.

In the heart of autumn’s tender embrace, the night of Halloween befalls with its enigmatic spell on the thirty-first of October every year. It’s a holiday bathed in an eerie excitement that sends shivers cascading down your spine. The leaves fall from the trees like a heartbroken lover, collapsing in a pool of despair as the October wind drags them away, and they will never reunite again. This is the night of horrors, the kind that makes you seek sanctuary behind locked doors, amplifying your senses and endowing you with a sense of paranoia. But for me, this day has always been a reminder of the parents I lost in a car crash.

A shaved man driving a truck.

Tires screeching.

My parents’ car swerving right over a bridge.

A loud splash and thud as it hits the water’s surface.

My scream piercing the air.

That awful night three years ago, I’d been waiting for Mom, Dad, and my brother to pick me up after a Halloween party with some old students from Dimlokka University—we’d just graduated at the age of twenty-three. I’d been drunk, stumbling closer to where the bridge across town lies. I was right there when the accident happened. Those memories are etched into my mind like a goddamn tattoo. They never found the truck’s driver, but I remember his face clear as day—the distinct features and the registration plate burned into my memory.

Someday, he will have to pay. That’s just the circle of life.

Since that night, that sensation of being watched has stuck with me, as if I’m under constant scrutiny. It wasn’t just the accident that changed things—something else started that night, a presence I can’t shake. Someone is always watching. The same feeling wraps around me now as I try to outwalk the feeling, but it’s futile.

The pumpkin field looms in the distance—the only reason I’m even here is because my mother loved Halloween, especially carving pumpkins. We always went to this cottage together, once full of life, but now stands in eerie tranquility. It has weathered and worn with age and the passage of time.

Couples gather at the front lawn to pick their pumpkins for the year. With a subtle wave toward the always-silent man in the chair by the door, I make my way to the back of the cottage. This is where the best pumpkins are hidden, as the older man had once told me.

Dawn is on the horizon, leaving a crisp chill in the air. The trees rustle with the breeze, but I pay them no mind. There is something in the air on this cold day that makes me uneasy, and suddenly that prickling sensation returns, making the hair on my arms stand on end, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. It’s him—I know it.

He’s been watching for years now, never close enough to see clearly, but always there, waiting. His presence is enough to make something coil deep inside me—a curiosity to know who he is.

The thrill of being watched, wanted , claws at me, even when I know it shouldn’t.

I ignore it, continuing my search for a pumpkin. It takes some time, but I finally find the one with the most vibrant orange color, the largest of them all. A branch snaps behind me, and I whirl around, tightly clutching the pumpkin in my hands. All I want now is to return home, carving this pumpkin in memory of my mother with a glass of red wine in hand. With this thought in mind, I head back toward the cottage.

But when I look around, I realize I’m farther away than I thought. With each step, it seems the cottage only recedes farther. I swallow hard, picking up my pace, when the enigmatic presence I felt lurking in the shadows finally takes shape. My mouth falls open, paralyzed, as I stare at the man in the shadows, not able to avert my gaze from his imposing figure.

He takes a step closer, a long coat draping over his body, and despite that, I can still discern the definition of his muscular frame. My gaze shifts to his face, obscured by shadows, yet his green eyes seem to pierce through me. A masculine five-o’clock shadow graces his chin, visible in the moonlight, and fucking swoon , I can’t help but imagine how it would feel like to have that stubble brushing against my clit.

A rush of exhilaration surges through me, tangled with the sharp edge of terror. I knew this time would eventually come. Though paranoia coils in me, there’s a dark and twisted sense of thrill rising alongside it.

I look around again, noticing that the cottage has vanished entirely. Icy fingers reach out to me, poised to tear me apart. I take a step back, but the shadow only comes closer. Did I venture too far?

Out of nowhere, the surroundings plunge into complete darkness, and my only source of guidance in the starless night sky is the moon hanging low overhead. The tranquility I felt just moments ago evaporates as if blown away by the wind.

Am I losing my mind?

Fear poisons my veins with its eerie presence, because I can no longer see the man, but I can hear his footsteps coming closer. Each step is like a countdown to my end, and the unsettling feeling washes over me as I start running, but I don’t know where I’m going.

It’s a desperate attempt to flee him, leaves crunching under my feet as I approach a place I’ve never been to before—the cornfield.

My breathing escalates as the tall corn stalks loom above me like sentinels, and somehow, as I step deeper into the cornfield, the sounds around me become muffled, as if the outside world has fully disappeared.

The towering rows of corn become an unnerving labyrinth of shadows and half-seen shapes—a maze I’m not sure I’ll escape.

There is nowhere to hide, the leaves themselves conspire to conceal my presence, and each thud of my feet is audible against the soft soil. I know he can hear me, trailing behind in the darkness, and I hate that he’s pursuing me. His presence feels closer, almost suffocating— knowing that he’s right behind me, yet I dare not turn around.

“Little pumpkin,” the man calls out, his voice husky and dark, with an alluring tone that wraps around me like a shroud.

It sends shivers down my spine, tendrils of unwanted desire reaching into a sensitive part of me.

I run without a goal in sight, knowing that he’s been hunting me for the past five minutes, and soon, there’ll be nowhere else to go.

“Little pumpkin,” he calls out again, much closer than before.

It isn’t long until I stumble on a root in the ground, falling forward with the breath caught in my throat, the pumpkin slipping from my grip.

I immediately sit up, pain spreading through me as my knees scrub against the gravelly ground. In an instant, he is upon me, roughly pushing me down so I’m lying on my back.

“You can run, but you can’t hide,” he whispers, his words carried away by the breeze.

My eyes meet his, compelled to see who the incredibly attractive yet menacing man is. I want to look into his piercing green eyes once more because I’m a fucking masochist, craving the pain of the unknown. Except I can no longer see his green eyes, his face is now covered by a mask that gleams under the glowing moonlight.

It’s an uncanny mask shrouding his face, taking the shape of a contorted and carved pumpkin with a sinister grin etched across its surface.

He bends down, gripping hold of my neck as he stands above me with one leg on each side of my stomach. The breath gets lost in me, yet the way I imagine he is staring at me is unimaginably hot. With the other hand, he removes his long coat, exposing his veiny neck and inked arms before losing the grip around my throat to remove the coat entirely. My mouth salivates at the thought of him, and I can’t comprehend how the fuck he isn’t cold right now. Or why I’m not terrified anymore. There’s something wrong with me, something twisted and deranged—incurable.

The thought of not knowing who hides behind the mask is thrilling. His thumb softly swipes across my jaw, inspecting every inch of my face, and I can physically feel his body heat enveloping me. Like a cocoon of danger yet safety. His finger trails down to the curve of my collarbone, making my skin burn underneath his touch, until it reaches right above my heart. The hard thump of the organ feels like it’s screaming into a void, his eyes still roving over me.

His chest rises and falls, as if he’s physically holding back. I realize, I don’t want him to—his touch feels better than anything I’ve ever felt after being alone for so long.

My body involuntarily arches into his touch, and his lips split into a grin.

“I’ve been watching you from the shadows every single fucking day. I’ve seen your body react whenever I’m in your presence. I couldn’t contain myself any longer.”

I’m speechless, not knowing what I’m supposed to do. The man I’ve felt lurking around finally stands before me, intriguing me.

The cold wind chills my body, and yet he removes his shirt, revealing his toned abs that strain in all the right places. My brain is short-circuiting, and the only thing I can think to say is inappropriate for the moment.

“Aren’t you cold?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle that sends goosebumps skittering across my skin. His body looks as if a sculptor has created it, yet it’s slashed with old, white scars lining from his torso up to his chest, and I cannot help but wonder about the story behind them.

“No, I’m not cold, little pumpkin,” he says, leaning down so his mouth is directly against my throat before he does something unexpected.

His tongue slowly drags along my throat, as if tasting my essence, and I can’t help the need taking over me. I’m messed up, having lived alone for years with only coworkers for company. Maybe it’s the isolation, maybe it’s all the spicy books I’ve devoured, but something in me is enjoying this, even when it should feel like a threat.

“You’re trembling,” he observes. “Tell me, little pumpkin. Are you cold?”

I can’t come up with a single coherent sentence to utter, so I opt for silence, observing him in the same intriguing way he does me.

Without warning, he moves lower, his lips hovering just above my collarbone, sending a tingling wave down my body that has me instinctively squeezing my legs together. His tongue flicks out, tracing my skin, and it feels like a surge of electricity shooting through me. I embarrassingly gasp.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, lips grazing my skin.

He’s pinning me to the ground with his veiny hand on my throat, holding me captive.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispers, words curling around me like smoke as his hands skate lower, over my breasts and down to my stomach above the fabric of my dress. It’s enough to make me arch my back into his touch again, wishing the dress could disappear so I could finally feel him upon me.

I nod.

“Use your words, little pumpkin.”

I barely manage to whisper my response, my body shuddering. “Yes.”

He lays his body weight hot against me as he straddles my torso, the straining of his cock pushing into my stomach. His head tilts slightly, and though his face is hidden beneath the unnerving mask, I swear he smirks.

I should fight this, but the part of me that’s been alone for too long can’t help but feel drawn to this moment, and the darkness I feel lingering under his soul.

Without saying another word, his hand finds its way to the edge of the dress I’m wearing, hiking it up before his hand finds my clit. I cannot help but buckle my hips against him, seeking pleasure. Before I know it, he has torn apart my stockings and panties, giving him direct access to my bare pussy.

He continues to squeeze my throat, restricting my ability to breathe properly, which leaves my chest heaving, and when it’s apparent he won’t stop, I desperately claw at his fingers. He’s insane, how could fear have slipped from me for those few minutes? It’s back now, slithering like a snake as it envelops me in its grip when I can’t drag in enough oxygen.

I do the only thing I can think to do, I knee him between his legs with as much force as I can. He lets go of my throat for a second, catching his own breath, but he doesn’t let out so much as a groan from pain. If he didn’t wear his mask, I’m sure I would see his green eyes darkening dangerously, plotting how he’s going to kill me.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says, a menacing tilt to his words that has my stomach tingling with both anticipation and apprehension.

Quickly, he stuffs two of his fingers inside my mouth, pushing them all the way until I’m gagging, convulsing around them, but he doesn’t let go. I’m soaking wet, both hating and loving it.

With his other hand, he shoves three fingers inside me without forewarning, leaving a tearing cry slipping from me as my back arches. Drool drips down the side of my mouth, and I look at him, pleading with my eyes for him to let go, but he doesn’t. His fingers hit the back of my throat, and I feel his bulging erection becoming even harder if that’s possible.

His fingers keep working inside me until my breath comes in heavy gasps, leaving me craving the feel of him deep within. I reach for his mask, curious to see who’s behind it, but he quickly slaps away my hand, leaving a tingling and burning sensation in its wake.

“You’re not allowed to do that,” he growls, and instead, I shift my hand to his erection.

It doesn’t take long until he scrambles to get free from his jeans and boxers, and my eyes bulge at the sight of his thick length, already leaking with pre-cum.

A corn leaf scratches against my forehead, yet the stranger pays it no mind as he pushes into me with abandon. His breath quickens, matching the rhythm of my own. Am I really letting him do this to me?

He thrusts inside me once, twice, before reaching for a corn on the side of the ground.

“Open your mouth,” he commands.

I shake my head, staring defiantly into the pumpkin mask’s carved-out eyes—two black holes. When he notices I’m not listening, his hand grips both sides of my cheeks, pressing them together until my lips protrude, and then he pushes the corn against my half-parted lips before pushing it inside me completely.

He thrusts into me, the sound of his hips slamming against mine slicing through the October night air. Each groan that escapes his lips ignites something within me—damn, it’s intoxicating.

“You’re going to take this corn like the good little slut you are, spreading your legs for a stranger in a pumpkin mask,” he moans, ordering me, pushing the corn until it hits the back of my throat.

I gag around it, the taste horrible as my eyes water, but he leaves me no other choice than to accept it. I’m so turned on right now, lost in the feeling as he thrusts inside me with ease, my arousal coating his length. It doesn’t take long before I’m clenching around him, desperately seeking release, coiling tighter.

“Beg me to let you come,” he whispers, grunting out his pleasure before removing the corn from my mouth.

I cough out, gathering my breath before looking straight into the pumpkin mask’s eyes.

“Fuck. Please let me come.”

“You’re pretty when you beg,” he murmurs, and I imagine a hint of a smirk on his lips behind the mask.

He hits that sweet spot inside me that makes my eyes roll back, and before I know it, an orgasm is tearing me apart.

“Beg!” he shouts, anger and command lingering in his words.

“Please let me come. Please!”

When he stuffs the corn back into my mouth, pushing it until it hits the back of my throat, that’s when the orgasm fully takes over every part of me. He sends me plummeting to my death, his thrusts relentless, until I’m sure I’ll bruise. He moves faster, his curses loud as he gags me with the corn.

“That’s fucking it,” he groans, and then he’s coming inside me, filling me up.

My eyelids flutter closed, the corn leaving my mouth as I’m finally able to breathe properly again. He slips out of me, and I’m unable to open my eyes as fatigue takes over, the ecstasy having washed over me like a wave I’m now forced to ride out.

When I eventually come down from the pleasure-induced high and sit up, I still feel the remnants of his touch—how he slithered into me, digging a hole for just him, despite the fleeting moment we shared.

As I open my eyes, he is nowhere to be seen, as if withered away by the wind, and I’m left wondering if the pumpkin man was real or a figment of my haunted imagination, at last possessed by the phantoms on this Halloween night.