Chasing Charis: The Cartharian Series, #1

1

Charis stopped at the walkway leading up to the house, unable to make herself walk in. The deep base of gangster rap thumped loudly enough to ring in her chest even on the porch steps. She knew what kind of situation she’d find inside the front room, which glowed with black lights from haphazardly placed bulbs. A throng of happy drunk twenty-somethings, dancing and writhing. It would be loud, hot. She would bump into people, trip over her costume, and feel utterly out of place.

Ahead of her, Ginger, her best friend and social cattle prod, turned to see why they weren’t entering the thumping party. Let’s go, Char. We need to get in there. Did you see the guy in a fireman’s outfit? I feel a blaze coming on. She wafted her hand in front of her chest and laughed. When Charis smiled, but still didn’t move, Ginger clomped to her and gave Charis’s arm a gentle tug as two partygoers, dressed in a couples’ outfit of Batman and Catwoman, filtered past them into the house.

I just realized I left a burner on at home. Charis took another step back, nearly tumbling over the jack-o-lanterns that were strewn around the sidewalk. The decorations were in full swing—glowing orange pumpkin lights hung from the eves, a witch lurked in the porch’s right corner, while a skeleton occupied the left. The lawn had an inflatable of a giant black cat whose glowing yellow eyes scanned the yard as its head swiveled back and forth.

She could see through the windows that the party hosts had taken care to put up spooky cobwebs and black crepe paper over the interior doors. And costumes were everywhere. Ginger wore a sexy Wonder Woman costume. Charis had pulled out the nun costume she still had hanging in her closet from high school. When Ginger had shown up at her door, a truck could have driven through her frown. Not exactly what she had pictured, apparently, but Charis didn’t care.

Look, it’s okay if you go in without me. You know I’m party deficient. I poop on parties. Well, not literally, but still. Charis shrugged, smiling apologetically.

No, not this time, Ginger said, gripping the sleeve of the habit. "You promised you would go with me. And if you break a promise, an angel dies." She gestured to the nun costume, her lip curled in distaste.

If I go into that party, I will die. I thought you said it was a small gathering. This is Halloween-a-palooza. And it’s so loud.

"It’s a party. This is what a party looks like. Please? Ginger gestured, her arms flailing wildly and her Wonder Woman top sagging. I didn’t want to bring it up, but you haven’t gone out with me since Mark left."

Ah, there it was, the mention of the dreaded break-up. Charis sighed. You know why.

Ginger slumped against the porch railing, setting down her plastic shield. "I do know why. And I also know you aren’t going to get over him by not meeting men. Your cat is not a suitable life partner."

I know that, Charis replied. Mr. Giggles doesn’t even remember our anniversary.

Ginger rolled her eyes. This is no time for joking. There are hot guys in there dying to meet you. So hot. Mega hot.

Charis glanced into the darkened windows. "They don’t look all that hot, nor do they seem to be dying to meet me. You, on the other hand… She gestured to Ginger’s sexy costume. You they want to meet."

"They want to meet us. I’m sure we can find two normal, suitable guys to take us home tonight."

Geez. Charis didn’t want anyone to take her home. She hadn’t been with a man since Mark, and that relationship had lasted two years. If she wanted to get technical, she hadn’t been with anyone in almost three years, give or take a few months. She was rusty, she didn’t want to break herself back in on some random Halloween party dude.

At that point, a person dressed as the demented rabbit from a movie Charis couldn’t recall and a girl in a sexy corncob costumed walked up the steps.

Ginger? the rabbit asked. He pulled off his bunny head, revealing a mop-haired guy with blond hair and a handsome, if skinny, face.

Brady, Ginger said, happily throwing her arms around him. I thought you said you weren’t coming.

Changed my mind. This is my friend, Victoria. He nodded at the sexy corncob.

Sexy corncob. What was this world coming to?

Ginger shook her hand. Nice to meet you. This is Charis.

Charis gave a wave. Many blessings. Your sins are absolved, she intoned, falling into her nun persona. Was that something a nun would say? She wasn’t even Catholic, so she didn’t have a clue.

A nun. Cool. Very unexpected. Brady offered her a friendly smile. You guys going in?

We were just about to. Right, Charis? Ginger gave her that stare, the one she knew meant business.

Sure, she said, feeling no more certain that she wanted to enter.

Sweet. See you inside. Brady jammed the rabbit head back on, and headed into the party with the sexy corncob in tow.

There, now we know someone else, Ginger said, tugging again. And I get to see if I have a furry fetish. She waggled her eyebrows.

"Now you have someone else to hang out with. Seriously, Ginger, I’ve got half a panic attack coming on strong. Can we please just get lunch tomorrow instead? You can tell me all about Brady and Miss Corncob of the Year. Corn-tastic? Corn-acopia?"

Ginger looked into Charis’s face. This is really hard for you, huh?

Charis nodded, feeling relieved. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking when she agreed to go in the first place.

Ginger ran a hand down Charis’s arm gently. Okay. I’ll drive you home.

No, no. I’ll order a car. Please, go in. Have fun. I’d feel terrible if you didn’t.

Ginger looked back and forth between the house and Charis, conflicted.

Really. Look… Charis pulled out her phone, opened the app, and pushed a few buttons. See. A car is in route. It’ll be here in five minutes.

Am I a jerk friend for letting you do this? I feel like a jerk. I’m a jerk, right? Ginger asked, picking up her Wonder Woman shield.

Not a jerk. Definitely not a jerk. Charis smiled.

Okay, text me when you get home. Don’t let the Lyft driver molest you. If he tries, tell him he will go straight to hell and put a curse on him.

Catholic nuns don’t put curses on people. And you sound like my mother. These drivers get vetted, like, very seriously.

Ginger gave her one last squeeze before running up the porch steps and into the party. There was a loud blast of Monster Mash on the stereo and then the door was shut, muffling the sound.

Charis inhaled deeply, turning to wait on the curb. The suburban street was lined with cars on either side. With the houses situated tightly together and only a few streetlights, it would be hard for the driver to see her.

But she felt so relieved Ginger had let her skip the party it didn’t matter if she had to wait outside for a while. Honestly, Charis hadn’t known what she was thinking in the first place. Since Mark, her social life consisted of reality TV and Facebook groups. She saw people at the high school where she worked. Colleagues who were almost friends. As a school social worker, she had almost constant human interaction. And she forced herself to eat in the breakroom with the teachers and school counselor every day, even though she desperately needed that downtime.

It was where she’d met Ginger, the spunky political science teacher who didn’t take shit from anyone, especially teenage boys. It helped they were both around the same age—late twenties—and into the same music—alternative rock. They’d formed a friendship over what music they’d illegally downloaded in college, and what season of the Bachelor was their favorite. Ginger slowly became Charis’s best friend. And she wasn’t about to sacrifice that now.

But that party? Charis would rather have her fingernails removed with rusty pliers.

A car drove up the street, illuminating her with its headlights. Charis looked up, hopeful, but it kept cruising. The app said her ride was in route, but it didn’t seem to be getting any closer. She looked up the dark street, at the houses around her. She didn’t feel unsafe. Sure, it was dark and close to Halloween, but it didn’t bother her. She and Ginger had just spent last night binge watching 1980s horror movies, but they were more cheesy than scary. And there was a party happening behind her. She could just run back inside and ask Ginger to drive her home if the Lyft didn’t come.

Still, several more minutes passed, and not one car passed. Shivering, she rubbed her arms, trying to create warmth. The polyester nun uniform was thin, and she hadn’t thought to wear layers. October nights in Michigan did not play around. She’d go home and get in warm pajamas—

A scream cut through the night.

Charis froze. Was someone playing around?

Another scream, followed by, Help me!

It sounded like a child. Like one of her students.

Heart pounding, Charis took a few steps toward where she thought the scream originated. Across the street were several dark houses. One or two looked abandoned. And a house two doors down had the front door wide open.

She looked back at the party. No one was out. The street was empty. She should get help.

Help! the voice screamed. A banging sound followed it.

With trembling hands, Charis dialed 911. While it rang, she walked up to the house and stood at the bottom of a set of rickety stairs. She held her breath, trying to hear past the pounding of her heart, as she looked inside. Someone needed help. She had to do something.

911, a voice said in her ear. What’s your emergency?

I… I don’t know. Someone is screaming. A kid, maybe. I think someone is being hurt at this house I’m at. She stood on the first porch step, trying to see inside. It was pitch black. No movement.

Can you tell me where you are? the voice continued.

Oh, geez, she said, glancing at the street. We’re off Taylor Road. Near the Sunoco. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Can you track my phone?

Do you know an address? the 911 operator repeated.

Charis turned, her back to the house, looking for green road signs.

Before she could get her bearings, something latched around her forearm and yanked.

Suddenly, she was flying toward the house. Her phone dropped from her hand. Her legs banged the stairs, her feet going out from under her.

Jarred and shocked, she couldn’t understand what was happening. Not until she was inside the dark house, lying on the floor. Out of breath and terrified, she darted her gaze frantically around.

When she opened her mouth to scream, something—a hand?—clasped over it.

But it couldn’t be a hand. It was furry. No way was it… human.

What in the hell was happening? Terror made her heart skip a beat.

Above her, the figure came into shape—huge and hairy. What looked like scales shimmered in the dim illumination from a window. Large, glowing red eyes looked at her.

Even with her mouth covered, she screamed over and over again.

Through her fear, a sharp prick of pain registered. Her body went limps, thoughts scattered. Even the terror disappeared. It all faded to black.

2

Charis woke with a start. Head pounding, she lay still. What was going on? She didn’t recognize anything. The room around her was bright white and… pulsing?

Unease made her throat tight. Her heart thundered in her chest as the memories started to assault her.

Screams. The spooky house. Being jerked off her feet and hauled inside. Some kind of creature. Fear pricked over her body as she thought about its hands—paws?—on her. Oh, God. But where was she now? Where was it?

Please, wake up. Please, wake up. It’s just a nightmare. You’ll wake up any moment, she chanted in her head, trying not to let her fear paralyze her. Cautiously, she sat up and glanced around.

The room she was in was unlike any she’d ever seen. The white on all the walls and ceiling was almost blinding—it was like she was inside a glowing cube. And it seemed to be pulsing in time with her rapid heartbeat. The only item in the strange cubicle was the bed she was now sitting on, though calling it a bed would be a stretch. It was more like a slab, or an extension of the room, because it glowed and pulsed white as well. She pressed a hand into it, realizing the surface was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Not exactly hard, though not exactly pliable, either. It felt like what a bench made from hardening silly putty might.

What the hell?

Charis stood up, arms wrapped tightly around her middle, and tried to contain her panic. With a sudden hope, she pinched herself, hard. Ow! Tears sprang to her eyes. Apparently, she wasn’t dreaming. Okay, so she was hallucinating then, having a mental breakdown. There was no history of schizophrenia in her family, but she knew all the signs. Or maybe she had a head injury. Hallucinations often occurred when someone withstood a severe blow to the head. She could have fallen on the porch steps, hit her