"They chose me. They actually chose me."
Eloise sat cross-legged on her bed as she whispered to herself, her phone screen glowing in the dim light of her room. Her voice trembled as she whispered the words aloud, the disbelief tangible in the air. The hum of her space heater filled the silence between her breaths, but nothing could drown out the rapid pounding of her heart.
Friday the 13th had always held a certain chill in the town of Willoughby. The kind that clung to the edges of your coat sleeves, curled into your collar, and made the hairs on your neck rise without warning. But this time, that shiver wasn't just from the cold.
Her phone buzzed again.
Courtney: Address change. Check the mailbox.
Eloise stared at the message, rereading it like it might vanish at any second. Her throat tightened. Was this really happening?
She bolted from the bed, bare feet thumping against the creaky wooden floorboards. The hallway was dark, except for the golden glow spilling from the kitchen downstairs. Her mother's voice was a muffled murmur from the other room, talking to some customer over the phone.
Eloise slipped out the front door.
The air outside was sharp, laced with the metallic scent of oncoming frost. Leaves skittered across the cracked pavement, whispering secrets to each other. She padded down the porch steps, past the half-rotted jack-o-lantern she carved with Jessica a week ago, and made her way to the old black mailbox leaning at a tired angle beside their fence.
Inside was a single envelope.
Thick. Heavy. Cream-colored with gilded edges and her name inked in crimson calligraphy.
Her breath caught.
She pulled it out with trembling fingers, noting the wax seal—black, stamped with an unfamiliar crest that shimmered faintly under the porch light.
She broke the seal. The paper inside crackled as she unfolded it. The invitation glowed like something sacred.
Lady Eloise Morgan, You are cordially been selected for the Crimson Court event . Formal attire required. Do not be late. Carriages will not wait for the unwilling. 9:00 PM. Crimson Oaks, Edgewood.
Her eyes snagged on the words carriages and Crimson Oaks, but she brushed it off.
"It's just for Halloween," she whispered to herself. "Aesthetic. They're just being dramatic."
But still, her fingers felt cold even after she returned inside. Her mother was still on the phone, laughing now, and didn't notice the pale, stunned look on her daughter's face as she tiptoed back upstairs.
Jessica called ten minutes later.
Eloise shows her the envelope and letter content.
"I don't like this," Jessica said without preamble. Her voice was tight, controlled, like she was holding back a scream. "Something about this whole thing is off."
Eloise sat on the edge of her bed, clutching the invitation like a lifeline. "It's just a Halloween party, Jess."
Well, too much for just a sleepover party if she was being honest with herself, but she wasn't.
Jessica scoffed. "A formal invitation? Black wax? A carriage? Eloise, this isn't just weird—it's creepy."
"You're overthinking it." Hopefully she's right.
"No. You're underthinking it because you want it to be real so badly." Jessica's voice cracked, then softened. "I know what it feels like, El. To want to be seen. But there's something wrong here."
Silence.
Eloise's fingers pressed into the parchment, creasing it. Her heart was tangled between gratitude and shame. Jessica meant well, but it felt like being told—again—that she didn't belong.
Which was the bitter truth.
"You think they're setting me up," she said flatly.
"I think… I think they're not who they pretend to be."
Eloise closed her eyes. "I have to go."
"No, you don't."
"I have to," she said, voice sharper than she intended. "Just once, I want to be invited. Just once, I want to be chosen."
Jessica's silence on the other end was more painful than shouting. Finally, she said quietly, "Promise you'll call me when you get there?"
"I will."
Eloise hung up first.
The next hour was a blur of rummaging through her closet. She pulled out an old black dress—long-sleeved, lace around the collar, a thrift store find she'd never dared wear until now. It fit just right. Like it had been waiting.
Her mother, distracted and late for a night shift, barely glanced up when Eloise appeared at the front door with her overnight bag.
"Are you sure it's at the new address? I thought you said Madison's house?" her mom asked.
"They changed it last minute," Eloise said, holding up the invitation. "Crimson Oaks, Edgewood which I think interprets as ' Courtney's house' . It's part of the theme, I guess."
Her mom frowned at the wax seal. "That's… elaborate."
"They're rich girls. What do you expect?"
Her mom shrugged and unlocked the car.
The ride was short, maybe fifteen minutes. The silence stretched between them like a second passenger. As they turned into Edgewood, the houses thinned. Streetlights gave way to tall trees whose branches curled like skeletal fingers.
"There," Eloise said, pointing. "That's the one."
A large house sat at the end of a long gravel driveway. Victorian, shadowed, with ivy trailing like veins across the stone. No other cars. No noise.
"You sure?" her mom asked.
Eloise nodded. "They said it's an exclusive thing. Small group."
Her mother pulled up to the curb. "Call me if anything feels off. I mean it."
"I will."
Eloise stepped out. The wind caught her skirt as she turned toward the house. Behind her, the engine rumbled low. She glanced back.
Her mother smiled tightly and waved.
Then the car was gone.
She waited five seconds. Ten. Then turned away from the house.
Not toward the door.
Toward the trees.
Toward the path the invitation described in fine crimson ink.
The old path, behind the ivy gate. Do not stray. Do not look back.
And Eloise didn't. Heart pounding with hope and something darker, coiled just beneath, she walked forward.
Not knowing what the last night would bring for her but she a had tiny bit of hope in the back of her mind.
Hope that she is right and Jessica is wrong.