E I G H T E E N

Peg the patriarchy.

The air in the car is full of excitement, the prospect being truly, insanely rich being only a length of rope away has everyone grinning.

But there's also a sense of everyone being being on edge, we're robbing an old woman of millions of dollars. That's not a great look, no matter which way you cut it.

My hands anxiously fiddle with the slightly frayed bottom hem of the shorts I've borrowed. My fingers slide up from that and pull at the pilled material only centimetres higher. The weight of everything feels heavy again, and I decided against numbing it all with a Xanax, it didn't really help yesterday. I just ended up pill and alcohol hungover, laying naked on the tiles hating the fact I woke up.

JJ's arm is laid against the back of the seat we both sit on, with Sarah sitting on the other side of me.

I try and ground myself – one of the very few sessions I went to with one of my therapists before she decided we weren't compatible she told me to find things to ground myself. There was some whole formula including numbers and other shit, that went in one ear and out the other, but the sentiment of finding things to bring me back down to Earth before my head convinces me it's time to leave it, stayed.

It's just the little shit. The smell of the shirt I'm wearing, JJ's fingers that twirl a piece of my hair around them, Sarah's leg bouncing.

It's all enough to bring me back down from freaking out and just screaming because I need to get the emotion out and I need someone to know I'm hurting.

The car is packed, the clunky yellow car trundles down the bumpy road, all of its passengers dressed in ridiculous black clothing. Ready to rob an old woman. We're the delinquent kids old people claim are ruining the world. She probably killed her husband – at least that's what I'm now accepting and telling myself so I don't feel bad for robbing her. Also, she's not even using it, she probably doesn't even know it's there, and what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

I watch John B's fingers squeeze and flex their grip on the wheel, obviously an anxious tic. "You got the rope?" He asks, glancing back through the rearview mirror.

"Got it," Pope confirms confidently, I've seen him check thirty times in the span of ten seconds. That's not even anxious behaviour, that's just him.

"Grappling hook?" He asks a further question.

Pope looks exasperated, obviously having checked and rechecked that we have everything we could possibly, realistically need. "No grappling hook. We're not Batman," he answers.

The closer we get the more neurotic John B becomes, running through the list again and again like he forgot the answer he got two minutes prior. It's not helping anyone else's anxiety – or mine, JJ sat beside me seems cool as a cucumber, the fucker even yawns. I'm constantly tired, but right now I'm wired, the second this is over I know I'll crash, but right now I could be awake all night if it took that long. The nap helped that.

"You're going to put the shorts apart while you're still in them at this rate, sweetcheeks," he says quietly.

I look up at him, his face is jovial and not in any way concerned about the state of his shorts. All I'm really doing is fiddling with the string of the hem that's coming undone, and pulling off the pilled fabric. He's not mad, I think he's just trying to stop me from sending myself into cardiac arrest. I think this is one of the times I'm not meant to tell him to fuck off and that he can take his own damn short back then. That seems like an inappropriate reaction.

"Sorry," I apologise, putting my palm flat on the worn black material. "Can you open the window?" I ask.

His ring-adorned fingers grab the plastic handle that's yellowed from age and he spins the window down, the chilly air floods the stuffy van. The overwhelming smell of JJ which was just about all I could smell disappears into the crisp night.

JJ pushes the button of his seatbelt and undoes it, everyone looks at him, wondering if he's about to throw himself out the window – that may just be me wondering that, but I'm sure people don't know what he's doing. He leans across me and undoes mine, "Wha–"

"Swap," he pulls himself up and I slide across the seat and he sits down in my place.

I pull my seatbelt back across myself and shuffle so just a little bit of my head sticks out.

I've seen that Hereditary scene.

My eyes shut and the loose hair out of my always messy ponytail fly back. My fingers clutch the inch of the window that sticks out the door; JJ's fingers play with the hem of my shorts just the way I did, flipping it through his fingertips; the side of my jaw rests on the glass, and I just breathe.

Then, way too soon, the car slows to a halt and I come back to reality. JJ's fingers give my thick a quick squeeze and I pull my head back in and my fingers grab the handle and wind the window back up. Everyone shuffles out of the car, moonlight bathes everyone in cool light.

"Better?" He asks.

"Yeah. Thanks," I give him a smile.

His hand slides onto my back, letting me know to get out before him. When I get out of the car Sarah looks at me funny.

"Loving the look," she smirks.

I look down at my outfit. "You do the best with what you're given, and I didn't have many options."

"I gave you two options!"

"One, as we decided, was a non-option," I remind him.

He mutters something under his breath, I don't bother saying anything.

Just as we all get ready to walk toward the house that looks far creepier at night – and it really didn't look all that pleasant at midday. And I doubt she's moved the grass, and I watched Jurassic Park Two where a bunch of people get eaten in long grass. So that's going to be on my mind.

Someone pokes my bum cheek, I turn and look behind me at a smirking JJ, "We're going, you are very zoned out tonight. Not the best idea with Mrs. Murderous Crain about," he widens his eye mockingly.

I shove him away half-heartedly and roll my eyes. Muttering about him being a dickhead, he mutters something too. So much muttering.

I walk in front of him, the humid air and my anxiety mean I already feel myself sweating.

Only armed with headlights and torches no matter how hard I try and watch my footing, the unkempt grass and windy tree roots manage to trip me up. "Shit!" I shout without thought, everyone turns to look at me once I manage to get back up to my feet, a sheepish smile on my face I dust off my hands. "My bad, I don't have a torch." Pope flicks his torch down to my knees, dribbling blood, "I swear I'm doing it to kill that stupid tree." I murmur as everyone starts walking again, JJ waits for me, still standing behind me.

"You going to fight a tree, Mabel? Because I'd pay to see that." I can almost see the grin I know is spread across his face.

"Maybe if we get this gold you'll be able to buy a ticket because sadly I don't do mates rates, and it's an expensive show," I mumble as I wade through the grass, trying not to think about my stinging knees, the murderer in the house, and Velociraptors slinking through the grass and bumping my off silently.

It's a fast-growing list.

We trek our way through the garden and near the house, getting back to the position we were in a few days ago. When things went uncharacteristically well.

John B leads the group, continuing to walk toward the basement housing the well containing the gold. Hopefully. Definitely. Probably. As he steps forward he gets a little too close and flood lights activate – maybe the old bat does know about the gold. After they click on the creepy garden is bathed in bright, white light.

My knees would've been saved if she always had these puppies on.

There's a collective horrified 'shit' and we scramble to take cover like it's World War II and we're jumping into trenches. I think it's my anxiety, but the stakes feel very high. Perhaps not that high, but not low. She's probably not, but maybe a murderer.

"Torches," Kie hisses out a reminder. JJ, sat beside me, struggles with the one-word reminder. He makes it look so much harder than pressing a button, he somehow switches it to strobe as it points directly in my eyes. For a brief moment, as I'm blinded, I hope I'm not unknowingly epileptic because this sure-as-shit will test that. It takes him a good few seconds of swearing and blinding me to turn it off.

Then it's dead quiet, the only sounds are skittering creatures through the grass – hopefully not velociraptors – and chirping insects.

"Okay, so she has motion sensor lights," Pope breaks the silence and states the obvious.

"We could, uh... move really slowly, maybe?" JJ proposes, flitting his eyes between Pope and myself.

I squint my eyes at him, most of my vision is whited out by the bright light that just assaulted my vision, but I try and see if he's taking the piss or not. It doesn't seem like he is. "Slow motion doesn't mean no motion, JJ," I explain, wiping my eyes. The last thing I need right now is a breaking and entering charge into an old – possibly murderous – woman's house. Not to mention the reaction JJ's father would have, and the fact the majority of times he's met my family has been via jail also really isn't ideal.

'Hey, Mum, this is JJ. Yes, he's been arrested a lot, and yes, he did it all. And at this rate, he is going to spend a long time in prison, but he's nice to me and I begrudgingly like him!'

I've also decided, right this second, that he's never meeting my father.

'Hey, Dad! Please don't scream at me for cheating on Rafe with JJ. But this is him, he's nice. Yes, Robbie keeps getting phone calls to get him out of jail, but he says he's better than Rafe. Not that that's overly hard!'

Wouldn't go down well.

And imagine a conversation over the dinner table; 'you sticking to your parole conditions? No breaking and entering or stealing Toberlones because store clerks pretty much call Frankie a Tramp?'

No more getting arrested.

"Yeah, that's not how that works," Pope backs me up in shooting down the atrocious idea.

"Oh, shit. Let's throw a rock at it," John B suggests. And just when I think JJ's idea was rock bottom.

Kiara scrunches her eyebrows together, a look of disbelief painted across her tan features. "That's a really good idea. Let the axe murderer know that we're here," she mocks.

Pope shakes his head, obviously reconsidering how he got here, "Throw a rock at it?" He repeats back, I think trying to convey to John B how ridiculous the idea was.

John B shift uncomfortably, "You have a better idea?" He asks Pope, looking hopeful.

"What about the breaker? In the circuit box on the porch," Sarah suggests the very first decent idea. Leaps and bounds ahead of 'moving slowly' or throwing rocks at the issue. "We used to play hide-and-seek here as kids. And if we were brave enough we'd go all the way up on the porch," she rips old memories back to the forefront of my mind.

"Sarah, we haven't played hide-and-seek here in years. Are you sure you can even remember where it was?" I ask her.

The memories of almost pissing myself going within fifty feet, and then subsequently getting lost are still fresh would, apparently.

"No, no. You're not going into the house," John B disagrees plainly. Trying to not leave any room for argument, but, with Sarah, there's always room for argument.

"Watch me," She replies defiantly.

"Crain... chops people into pieces," JJ tries to argue.

Sarah shakes her head, "If you believe that, but she's like, what, 85?"

"Yeah, something like that," JJ confirms, not aiding his narrative that she's still waiting for her next victim.

"I'll go with you," I offer. There was no thought but wanting to back up Sarah, nothing about the quite real possibilities of pissing myself.

Girls support girls, I guess.

"Me too," Kiara volunteers next.

I can feel the burning glare from JJ. "Mabel you already almost paralysed yourself, maybe don't go into the lion's den?"

"It's just because I couldn't see, hand over your torch and I'll be golden," I smile. Begrudgingly he hands it over, Ai think he can sense I'm going with or without it. "At least if I get my head lopped off with a rusty axe no one can say you weren't right about Crain," I joke, a bad attempt at lighting the mood.

"That's not funny, Mabel." He watches as Kie, Sarah and I get ready to run into, as JJ called it, the lion's den.

"Trust me, I've got this in the bag," I assure him as the three of us leave the boys behind. Each step takes me away from where I want to go, I don't want to go into the creepy house that may have booby traps – God, I sound like JJ. Each small twig that snaps under our weight makes me jump, and the creek of the old, rotting wood under my feet as I climb up each stair isn't promising.

I follow last, mainly because I don't want to admit I don't know what a breaker is and thus I'm completely useless in this operation. I wonder if they'd notice if I just disappeared and ran back to the van. Probably.

Kiara gestures for me to use my torch to illuminate the wall, I click it on, only briefly getting onto rave mode. My fingers pull at the peeling aglet of the drawstring.

I need to buy this guy a pair of shorts. I'm worried these will disintegrate off my body.

"Where are the breakers?" Sarah asks in a hushed whisper. With each passing second of their fruitless search, I grow more and more anxious and I debate running away just to pee in a bush. Maybe Mrs. Crain would be so kind to let me use her toilet.

"What is this?" Kiara stresses, sounding increasingly desperate that whatever they're looking for will materialise if they look hard enough. My torch follows the pipes they're looking at, and where they lead.

Into the lion's den – JJ's words. Probably my death.

"No, no, no, no, no," Sarah repeats in disbelief.

"It goes inside," Kiara thankfully thinks out loud, because while I was assuming that, I still don't understand breakers.

I watch in absolute horror as Kiara's fingers decorated with chipped red polish wrap around the worn door handle. Even just the light hold elicits a groan from the rusted rusted hinges. Her face cringes at the noise, but she slowly and steadily pulls it open, revealing the indoors of the house that already creeped me out. My heart beats quickly, I feel it in my fingertips thumping against my tight grip on the torch, and I feel it in my head, my brain seems to be trying to escape through my temple. My stomach churns the handful of strawberries I threw back at my brother's house this morning. They really may make a reappearance.

The beam of light is trained on the pipes we need to follow. Sarah looks back at me, tagged on the end of the line, she reaches out her hand to take the torch from me. My little piece of control. I hand it over with a very tight smile, I hope she doesn't see my hands shake when I pull them back.

As we finally move inside I glance around the house so covered in crap it's hard to move through without hitting something. Old moving boxes covered in water stains from the leaks in the roof, dirty clothes strewn across the floor, the same cans we saw in the basement and even stacked sparsely.

My gaze flits down to my scuffed white trainers, blood having rolled from the cuts on my knees staining the tops of my pale blue socks. With all my adrenalin that continuously gets pumped into my system, I can't even feel them. Now I think of it, I actually can't feel much of my body– don't panic, you're fine.

I follow behind Kiara and Sarah as they move into the house, sticking close to the wall covered in dated wallpaper that's peeling off. Every creaky step further inside the more the smell of must and rotting wood smacks me in my face. My hand's ghost along the wallpapers, the textured feeling I'm not sure is from water damage or a conscious stylistic choice.

A cat scampers out of nowhere, seemingly materialising out of thin air, yowling, seemingly unimpressed with our presence.

Fuck you too. Pussy.

Sarah keeps the white light aimed up at the roof, following the pipes that disappear into the hellhole of a house and dance across the roof that looks like it's going to cave in. Then the light finds in, a rusted metal box, hopefully containing the wires needed to shut off the floodlights outside. With Sarah now holding the light steady on the box Kie works to open it up as quickly and quietly as she can – if I knew this was a two-person job I would've rescinded my offer for help, it was a knee-jerk reaction.

With a small flick of plastic, the lights outside switch off. A tiny, very hesitant smile graces my face.

Hope that this house won't be the death of my blooms in my chest for a few seconds before it dies when a door somewhere in the hellish creeks open. A small gasp comes from Sarah, my teeth bite down on my bottom lip so I don't scream with terrified frustration. Another quiet click of plastic turns off the light – one shred of luck presents itself when rave mode isn't turned on.

Unless Mrs. Crain is an epileptic, then we can induce a seizure with rave mode. That's an awful thing to think.

The first clack of wood hitting the floorboards makes my skin crawl like thousands of insects burrowed just under my skin running around. Then it happens again, and again, it's rhythmic and paired with creaking steps, she's using a fucking walking stick.

"She's coming," I murmur so quietly I doubt either Kiara or Sarah can hear the two words.

My stomach tosses around as she stalks through the house. With every few clicks of the cane and accompanying creaks of floorboards, a horrifying wheeze fills the house. It sounds like she's coming from everywhere, every angle feels unsafe as I freeze where I am, looking for the answers to what to do from Kiara and Sarah. They walk a few paces to the nearest wall and paste themselves against it, my feet follow without thought.

My entire back presses hard against the wall, I'm willing the atoms to have a breakdown and I fall through the house, landing outside. My fingertips press hard against the textured wallpaper, trying to find something to grab onto.

Through my peripheral vision, I can see Kiara's hand pressed against her mouth, stopping her from making any sounds. Sarah stands on the other side of me, she seems to be on the verge of tears.

I'm going to throw up. I can feel the strawberries growing a fucking vine and climbing out of my stomach.

"It's– it's late, Leon," the fourth stuttered words make my soul crumble. The sounds crackled and harsh coming from her mouth. "Too late," she splutters out with a horrid cough.

When she finally appears in my line of sight my knees almost buckle underneath the weight of myself that has never felt so heavy. Her cane hits the ground and the creaks grow ever closer to us, the smell of stale cigarettes and, realistically, impending death wafts over us.

Don't throw up. Don't throw up.

My breath catches in my throat and lacks all moisture, I worry even so little as a breath would alert her to our presence.

"I can hear you, Leon. I've been waiting all night!" Her crackled words turned into strangled shouts that echoed around the large house. She looks around, searching for whoever the unlucky fucker Leon is. I catch a glimpse at her, after years of playing hide-and-seek and anxiously daring people to get closer to the house the crazy old woman lives at, I never thought I'd actually see the old bat. The pupils that should be pitch black are a murky grey, white out, meaning she almost certainly can't see, but when they hover over me time seems to slow and I swear she can see me. Her frizzy hair is a similar shade, and her teeth seem to be rotting out of her jaw.

Sarah screams, Kiara grabs my wrist as she shouts for Sarah to go.

I fumble behind, anxiety making what should be confident steps to get the fuck out turn into stumbles as one hand clutches my churning stomach. Running at the back gives me the wonderful opportunity to be axed in the back.

We only get further and further into the house, creaking floorboards turn into cracked tiles as we get into the kitchen which smells like rotting food.

My feet keep catching the things that are just everywhere, it's a miracle she isn't paralysed on the floor with two broken hips.

Kie rattles the knob of the kitchen door that would take us outside, I can see relative safety, through the newspaper that had been tapped up to cover the windows. Even throwing her shoulder against the door in desperation it doesn't budge, I shake my head, this is so bad. Sarah catches my face I assume is white as a ghost.

A loud crash that doesn't sound like Mrs Crain fell, more like she purposely hit something.

My heart beats in my skull which seems to be too small, pure adrenalin courses through my veins as Kie pushes passed me and leads the way back through the dark labyrinth. My foot finally catches under something heavy and my knees hit the floor, I feel the beginning of scabs on my knees split open, blood no doubt already leaking again. The noise reverberates through the house and I hear cackles ring through the house, Kie grabs my wrist once again and pulls me to stand back up, taking me with her as she runs through the endless maze of tight corridors that feel like they're crushing me.

It sounds like she's using her walking to break things in what seems to be a full-blown psychotic meltdown. Glass shatters, wood splinters as she gets closer and closer.

We rush toward another exit, a draft huts me when Sarah swings open the door holding it open for Kie and myself; the second my shaky feet make it to the humid night air the door is slammed shut. It shakes on its hinges, and Sarah locks it. Splinters of wood fly off the heavy door like it's a sheet of plywood. A screech leaks out from inside the parlour we trap the woman inside.

My vision blurs as I'm pulled by Kie down the steps and around to the back of the house where the door to the basement leads to the boys.

"Guys!" Sarah and Kie shout.

Pope turns around, "Wow! What's going on?" A thick rope is held in his hands as he asks the question.

"Mrs. Crain, she's up there, she tried to kill us with a fire poker! We gotta get the fuck out of here!" Kie rushes out, with terror laced into her inflexion.

"We locked her in the parlour, but the bitch is insane," Sarah gasps, and a light layer of sweat coats her body. Her eyes are wide and full of panic.

JJ looks at the two of them, then me as I stand almost behind them. He looks like he's about to shit himself. "Okay, no that's code red. That's code red!" He shouts, turning to the well he begins hauling John B up. Everyone, save for me, joins in the effort to pull John B up.

My skull feels too small for my brain as it thumps, trying to break free from its bony cage.

A bullet fires, but the noise barely registers.

I feel something fall down onto my hair, and as it dusts my hands like snowfall, I realise it's flecks of wood – just like the ones that fell from the door, the door that the old woman was trying to knock down. Then it hits me, I drop down to the floor, sliding afoot to get out of view of the door. I see the split wood above my head as the bullet lodged into the support beam.

She's blind, who the fuck gave that woman a gun?

I scramble to my feet and cross the concrete prison, toward JJ, and away from the corner I hid in. I feel my knees get further torn apart, but I barely register the pain.

JJ's rough hand wraps around my bicep the second I'm in reach and he pulls us out, following behind everyone else.

The second I see the Twinkie and we're out of range I stop, everyone else clambers in and my hands holds my knees as I vomit on the overgrown grass. JJ hand taps my back while I get it all up. The second it's all up we both get into the van and it tears out of the place.

Thankfully the stench of whatever John B is covered head to toe in overpowers my vomit, but he's grinning.

His hand slips into his pocket, and out comes a lump of gold.

•

My friends keep sending me tiktoks about people who love Diet Coke and are addicted to Diet Coke and saying it's me. It's quite frankly rude. Drinking three cans a day and maybe a glass of water, if I'm feeling like a health Queen (my name is Bella, Bella Hadid), is NORMAL. Nothing beats a cold glass of Diet Coke. Vibrator < Diet Coke. Would I inject it in my veins? Yes. Do I only drink vodka cokes when I go out? Pretty much.

And I promise I'll stop with dinosaur references. I just watched all the Jurassic Park movies and it's all I'm thinking about. I apologise.

I hope the final part of chapter eighteen didn't disappoint, I'm actually proud of this chapter. So be nice. Please. I'm begging, no meanies.

I'm also doing a ton of research for the new h.s. ff I teased a few chapters ago, I think I'll really try and bash through editing this and then I'll start posting that! I need Liar, Liar put to rest. RIP Jabel. You guys were cute sometimes. Let's hope they both survive Liar, Liar 2.0. Depends on what mood I'm in heh

I'm thinking at the end of each season (so 1, 2 and 3), there will be a vote for the hot man of the season, and then at the end of the book, there will be a vote for the hot man of the story. I don't know if that's dumb, because hmotc is already kinda dumb, but it could be fun if anyone thinks that too let me know!

Onto HMOTC, I'm wanting people to agree with me today, so I'm going with – what I think is – a safe bet.

Introducing... David Harbour!

He's not even fifty, so young and virile. He also had such a goals wedding with Lily Allen, that will be me one day. Also, Hopper was a preteen Gushy's daydream.

Onto the all-important evidence:

What do we think?

I love a man secure enough to wear a skirt and rock the shit out of it.

Hope you had a good day and I hope you enjoyed <3

Stay safe skinny legends and don't adopt animals on a whim because they have feelings.