Chapter 50 Chapter 50
"In the woods, where cabins hide secrets and bugs plot revenge, the real treasure is not getting smacked in the face by your own paranoia."
The echoing laughter in the hidden cabin faded soon enough replaced by the girls' heavy breathing and the faint drip of moisture from the earthen walls.
Clara wiped tears from her eyes, smudging her black widow makeup, while Trinity clutched her sides, the corpse bride veil askew.
Margaret, still holding the mascara tube like a trophy, grinned broadly. But as the amusement subsided, a shared realization dawned: this wasn't just any burrow. It was a concealed cabin, tucked away like a forgotten relic. If the hunt's treasures were scattered in obvious sheds, what might lurk in a spot this sly?
"Alright, ladies," Margaret said, pocketing the mascara with a wink. "Let's tear this place apart. Could be our big score."
The space was dim, lit only by the faint battery lantern, so they fumbled for their phones, flashlight beams slicing through the gloom like erratic spotlights.
Trinity's light danced over dusty shelves lined with empty jars, while Clara probed the corners, her red accents glowing eerily. Margaret dropped to her knees near the center, tapping the floorboards experimentally.
The spot echoed hollowly, like a drum beneath the dirt. Margaret leaned in closer, her face tilting into the beam of Trinity's flashlight and for the first time, Trinity caught a clear glimpse of something off.
There, on Margaret's ear, was a hole far too large for an earring, ragged around the edges like it'd been stretched or torn. And the ear itself? Unnaturally pale, almost translucent, not matching the Harley Quinn makeup at all. It wasn't part of the costume; it looked... wrong. Real. Behind the lobe, a faint tattoo peeked out, a swirl of ink that seemed to form a symbol, maybe a number or a rune.
Trinity's stomach twisted. She leaned in slowly, angling her light for a better look, her breath held but before she could decipher it, Margaret shot up with a triumphant whoop, a crumpled piece of paper clutched in her fist.
"Got something!" she exclaimed, unfolding it with a flourish. The moment passed, Trinity blinking away her unease.
From the other end of the cabin, Clara emerged from behind a stack of crates, waving her own find.
"Me too! A piece of paper with... numbers?" She held it up, the flashlight revealing a bold "18" scrawled in faded ink.
Margaret's paper bore "67." She beamed, turning it over as if expecting more. "Bingo. Or close enough."
Clara squinted at the scraps. "What do these mean? Coordinates? A code?"
Margaret shrugged, her pigtails bobbing. "I think they're cabin numbers. You know, the ones with actual treasures hidden inside. Like a map without the map."
Trinity narrowed her eyes, the earlier glimpse nagging at her. "You think? Or you know?"
Another shrug from Margaret, casual as ever. "Educated guess, let's get out of here before someone else finds this hole." She clambered up the ladder first, pushing open the trapdoor with a grunt.
Clara followed, then Trinity, who paused at the top, shaking off the lingering weirdness. "Just the light playing tricks," she told herself. "Focus on the hunt."
As they emerged into the night, a sharper chill slapped them like an unwelcome guest. The temperature had plummeted again, turning their exhales into frosty clouds.
Owls hooted mournfully from the treetops, their calls mingling with distant shouts and screams from other hunters; some triumphant, others pained. The woods felt alive with menace, straight out of a slasher flick, complete with rustling leaves that sounded like footsteps and shadows.
"Creepy as hell," Clara muttered, rubbing her arms. "Feels like we're the main characters in a bad horror movie."
Margaret chuckled. "Welcome to Halloween. It's all part of the fun." They started walking deeper, the path narrowing as trees loomed closer.
Suddenly, Trinity lunged forward, her hand swatting at Margaret's cheek with a sharp smack.
"Bug!" Trinity blurted, her voice a tad too high. "Huge one, right on your face. Got it." She flicked her hand dramatically, as if shaking off invisible insect guts.
Margaret touched her cheek, then broke into a grateful smile. "Whoa, thanks. I hate those things, owe you one." She adjusted her bat on her shoulder, and they pressed on, the incident diffusing into awkward chuckles but Trinity's mind raced. The pale skin, the hole, the tattoo... it all nagged like an itch she couldn't scratch.
Meanwhile, on the glittering side of town, away from the foggy woods, an elite party pulsed with opulence at Rihana's mansion.
Crystal chandeliers cast diamond sparks over marble floors, and waiters in tuxedos glided with trays of champagne flutes and caviar canapés.
Guests mingled in designer gowns and tailored suits. local tycoons, celebrities, and influencers, their laughter tinkling like fine china.
Rihana, the hostess stood at the entrance in a shimmering emerald dress that hugged her figure like a second skin, her smile as wide and dazzling as a spotlight.
"Darlings, welcome!" she cooed to an arriving couple, air-kissing their cheeks. "So thrilled you could make it. Tonight's going to be unforgettable. I have something very special planned. The star of the show will arrive any moment now."
Her eyes sparkled with mischief, hinting at secrets bubbling beneath the surface. The guests buzzed with curiosity, clinking glasses and speculating in hushed tones. Was it a celebrity performance? A rare auction? Rihana just smiled, steering conversations toward the lavish buffet and live jazz band.
As the evening swelled, Rihana slipped away from the crowd, pulling a trusted aide into the shadow. "Wheel in the giant glass now," she whispered urgently, her voice low amid the party's hum "Make sure it's positioned center stage, discreetly." The aide nodded and hurried off.
Then, Rihana fished out her phone, dialing a number with practiced ease. When the line connected, she switched seamlessly to French, her tone sharp and commanding. "Assurez-vous que la chose n'est pas cassée ou endommagée," she instructed. "Pas une égratignure. Tout doit être parfait." She hung up, exhaling with satisfaction, before plastering her hostess smile back on and rejoining the party.