Chapter 2 THE INVITATION

“They chose me. They actually chose me.”

I sat cross-legged on my bed as I whispered to myself, my phone screen glowing in the dim light of my room. My voice trembled as I said the words aloud, the disbelief tangible in the air. The hum of my space heater filled the silence between my breaths, but nothing could drown out the rapid pounding of my 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.

My phone buzzed again.

Courtney: Address change. Check the mailbox.

I stared at the message, rereading it like it might vanish at any second. My throat tightened. Was this really happening?

I 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. My mother’s voice was a muffled murmur from the other room, talking to some customer over the phone.

I 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. I padded down the porch steps, past the half-rotted jack-o-lantern I carved with Jessica a week ago, and made my way to the old black mailbox leaning at a tired angle beside our fence.

Inside was a single envelope.

Thick. Heavy. Cream-colored with gilded edges and my name inked in crimson calligraphy.

My breath caught.

I pulled it out with trembling fingers, noting the wax seal black, stamped with an unfamiliar crest that shimmered faintly under the porch light.

I broke the seal. The paper inside crackled as I 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.

My eyes snagged on the words carriages and Crimson Oaks, but I brushed it off.

"It's just for Halloween," I whispered to myself. "Aesthetic. They're just being dramatic."

But still, my fingers felt cold even after I returned inside. My mother was still on the phone, laughing now, and didn't notice the pale, stunned look on my face as I tiptoed back upstairs.

Jessica called ten minutes later.

I showed 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."

I sat on the edge of my bed, clutching the invitation like a lifeline. "It's just a Halloween party, Jess."

Well, too much for just a sleepover party if I was being honest with myself, but I 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.

My fingers pressed into the parchment, creasing it. My heart was tangled between gratitude and shame. Jessica meant well, but it felt like being told again that I didn't belong.

Which was the bitter truth.

"You think they're setting me up," I said flatly.

"I think… I think they're not who they pretend to be."

I closed my eyes. "I have to go."

"No, you don't."

"I have to," I said, voice sharper than I 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."

I hung up first.

The next hour was a blur of rummaging through my closet. I pulled out an old black dress long-sleeved, lace around the collar, a thrift store find I'd never dared wear until now. It fit just right. Like it had been waiting.

My mother, distracted and late for a night shift, barely glanced up when I appeared at the front door with my overnight bag.

"Are you sure it's at the new address? I thought you said Madison's house?" my mom asked.

"They changed it last minute," I said, holding up the invitation. "Crimson Oaks, Edgewood which I think interprets as ' Courtney's house' . It's part of the theme, I guess."

She frowned at the wax seal. "That's… elaborate."

"They're rich girls. What do you expect?"

My mom shrugged and unlocked the car.

The ride was short, maybe fifteen minutes. The silence stretched between us like a second passenger. As we turned into Edgewood, the houses thinned. Streetlights gave way to tall trees whose branches curled like skeletal fingers.

"There," I 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?" my mom asked.

I nodded. "They said it's an exclusive thing. Small group."

She pulled up to the curb. "Call me if anything feels off. I mean it."

"I will."

I stepped out. The wind caught my skirt as I turned toward the house. Behind me, the engine rumbled low. I glanced back.

My mother smiled tightly and waved.

Then the car was gone.

I 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 I didn't. Heart pounding with hope and something darker, coiled just beneath, I walked forward.

Not knowing what the last nigh

t would bring for me but I had a tiny bit of hope in the back of my mind.

I hope that I am right and Jessica is wrong.