- Aria's POV -

At the moment, Miles looks scarier than any killer could be.

My first instinct should be to run, but that's not what happens. Instead, I give him a cheeky smile and stop the video. "Man, where did your shoes go?"

His eye twitches.

I try to mimick him, but I end up winking.

"Don't play dumb with me, Shortcake. I have to be out tonight and you leave me with my cleats? Do you have any idea how expensive this pair is? It's reserved for soccer, only."

Oh, those are cleats? No wonder they look sick.

"Not my problem," I shrug, sticking my tongue out at him.

Miles shoots me a glare and I return it.

"Where are the rest of my shoes, Aria?" He lifts a brow.

I shrug again and slowly make my way to the door, getting ready to bolt out of the room if I need to.

"You shouldn't have done that, Shortcake." Miles says, his voice suspiciously calm.

"You shouldn't have messed with my art, asshole." I scowl, narrowing my eyes at him.

He throws his hands up in surrender, sighing. "Fine, I admit it. It was pretty stupid, and I'm sorry. Okay?"

He doesn't sound sorry.

I shake my head at him and turn around, walking out of the room. But I still throw a few words over my shoulder, "Have fun losing your mind in the basement, Miles!"

Maybe I'll lock him in there for fun, too.

A muffled "What?!" comes from his room. I snicker and travel down the stairs in search of something to eat, but then an arm slithers around my waist and my face is pressed against a rock hard chest.

I wince and rub my nose. Gosh, what is hell is his chest made of?

"You're coming with me to get my shoes, Shortcake." He says.

I pout at him mockingly. "Aw, but why do I have to come? Is someone scared of the dark?"

Miles' eyebrows shoot up and he huffs. "No! I'm not scared of the dark, it's the gho—"

He cuts himself off when he realizes what he was just about to say. That makes me laugh and while he's distracted, I wriggle out of his grip.

"What was that, Miles? It's the what?" I smirk, having way too much fun.

He scowls and grabs my hand, forcefully taking me with him to the door of the basement. He stops in front of the door, his hand still wrapped tightly around mine. Miles gulps. I almost laugh again at seeing him in such a state. He really hates basements.

Miles pushes the door open and looks down the stairs, staring straight into the darkness. He reaches over to flick on the light, but much to his dismay, it doesn't work.

"Frick," He mutters under his breath, running his free hand through his hair. Miles turns to me. "Ladies first."

I press my lips together, trying my best not to burst out in laughter. I bet he hates Halloween. And that's great, because I love it.

Just to make sure Miles doesn't try and do anything funny, I take his hand off my wrist and slip it into my own hand, keeping a tight grip. The tips of my fingers start tingling, but I ignore the sensation and travel down the carpetted stairs carefully.

As soon as we get down, I step on something and it squeaks. Miles is so startled by the noise it makes him stumble backwards. I bend over and pick up whatever I stepped on and discover it's only a squeaky toy. This time, I have to laugh.

"Gosh, Miles. Who knew you were scared of dog toys, too?" I joke, throwing the toy at his face.

"Shut up." He grunts.

"Why do you have this, anyway? You don't have a dog, or any pet, for that matter."

"Hailey came over the other day with Chewbacca. I don't know what they were doing in the basement, so don't ask. She's a weird kid. Cute, but weird." He pauses and squeezes my hand. "Kind of like someone else I know."

This makes me curious. I'm about to ask who this someone else is, but I don't get the chance to because this time, we both jump at the sound of the door slamming shut. Now there's no light at all, it's pitch black. Miles races back up the stairs and attempts to open the door, but nothing works.

When he comes back down, I can hear the panic in his voice. "It's locked. Oh god, we're locked in the basement with all the demons and ghosts. We might as well be dead! I'm going to get possessed by an ugly ass demon, with freaking cat ears for horns and—"

I search for his hand and interlock our fingers when I find it. "Hey, calm down. I'm sure your parents or my aunt and uncle will come help us soon enough if we yell for them. We're just stuck in a basement, it's not the end of the world. Plus, the only ugly ass thing in here, is you. So if you ask me, you should be goddamn happy there aren't any mirrors in here."

"Did you just call me ugly? Shortcake, I think you and I can both agree on the fact that I am the hottest person you've ever laid your pretty blue eyes on." Miles states.

Well, he's not wrong.

I agree that I have pretty blue eyes.

"And my parents are sleeping like the dead. I don't know if Lydia and Paul are heavy sleepers too, but they're not awake either. Don't forget we're in the basement, and they're on the second floor. There's no way they'll hear us." Miles says, and my eyes finally adjust to the darkness. I meet his gaze, and wow, he looks scared shitless.

"So basically," He continues, "we're stuck here for who knows how long. Aria, you better find my shoes."

My stomach growls. "No one gives a shit about your shoes. I'm hungry, and I need food! If only you'd let me open the freaking fridge . . ."

Miles snorts. "Why'd you have to take my shoes? Why couldn't it be tha—-"

Our bickering is stopped when we hear a tapping noise around us. My eyes widen and Miles pulls me to him, my back pressed against his chest. His heart must be thumping so wildly, because I can feel it beating fast.

"Ten bucks it's the same banshee from the museum." He says, his voice shaky.

I freeze when the tapping only gets louder and louder. But what makes my stomach churn is the faintest sound of a melody, a tune I know all too well.

"Miles," I whisper, clutching onto his hand. I am terrified. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what? All I hear is the tapping." He asks, his hot breath fanning my ear.

And just like the creepy tapping, the music gets louder. Something falls to my right, and I feel a gush of wind race past me. Goosebumps travel down my arms and legs.

"What the . . . is that the stupid Christmas song?" Milea exclaims in a whisper.

I nod my head slowly, even though he can't see. "Where is that person? They're hiding somewhere, I'm sure of it."

"There's someone else here? What? You mean there's an actual demon? Holy shit, my life is over. I'm going to be possessed by a demon that looks like a zombie unicorn and only speaks Russian."

I stomp on his foot to shut him up and he yelps. I knew this boy was stupid, but how stupid can one get? I mean, really? My parents' killer is most likely in the room with us right now, and this guy is talking about zombie unicorns.

That's when the lights suddenly go on.

I scream for a whole two seconds, my heart banging against my chest. Miles is holding me in the tightest embrace possible, but he lets go soon enough. My eyes wander around the room, stopping on the rustic coffee table. It was covered in polaroids, and the pictures were of something I never wanted to see again.

I try, I try so very hard to look away. But my eyes are glued to the photos of the crime scene. My mother's body, her leg almost ripped off, her throat slit. My father's body, his brains splattered on the wall. Both of them laying in pools of their own blood. Guts and gore everywhere in the room.

The image will never leave my mind.