Page 10 of Squad Ghouls

Ryan shifted. “It was okay. A bit dry.”

“Then you won’t want any included in your stay package,” I said, calling his bluff.

“Now wait just a minute…”

I raised a brow.

“Okay, it was good!”

I smiled. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room. Do you have any bags?”

“I, uh, dropped it outside.”

“Popty will grab it for you.”

“Popty?”

“He works here.”

Ryan stared at me suspiciously. “Is he alive?”

“If you would follow me this way!” I said loudly, striding towards the stairs like I hadn’t just dragged him down them.

“OWAIN? IS HE ALIVE?!”

three

Shh! We don't say that

Ryan

Did I find out if Popty was alive before being ushered into the most dusty, musty room of all time? No.

But I did find out that walking behind Owain up a flight of stairs came with other perks.

“This is you,” Owain said as he rattled a doorknob and pushed the door forward, plastering himself against it when it didn’t budge. He slammed his shoulder into it, letting out a shaky laugh when the door gave a loud shriek but stayed firmly in place.

“Need a hand with that?” I asked, motioning toward the knob.

He shook his head and said brightly, “Nope, no.” Turning his back to me, he grabbed the knob with both hands and leaned his upper body into the old wood, adding through gritted teeth, “I’ve got it.”

“I don’t think you have,” I said, both because his attempt was doing fuck all to the door, but also because this new position meant his arse was pushed out and towards me and my dick was still saluting the perfect perk of it and I wanted to keep his attention elsewhere.

“I totally have,” he said, leaning away from the door before slamming his shoulder into it. The door gave with another scream of protest and he tumbled inside, disappearing in a cloud of darkness and dust. “I’m okay!”

I ran a hand over my face, sent a quick prayer to any deity I hadn’t pissed off yet, and walked in after him.

He flicked a light switch. I could tell because I heard the click, not because the room was suddenly illuminated—it just turned from musty grey to musty beige. Now, I was never much of an interior designer, but even I could tell this place could use some help.

A dynamite detonation came to mind. But then I shook it off because I was starting to sound like Owain after knowing him for five seconds flat. Dynamite detonation. He’d fucking love that as a name for one of his death chambers.

A well-controlled house fire would be my next suggestion, because I doubted even the best decorator could help this fucking place.

The room was decently sized…and that was its only good point. There was a four-poster…well, two-and-a-half-poster bed shoved against a wall covered in more of that floral “Grandma Muriel redecorated” style wallpaper from the kitchen, two nightstands with gaps where drawers should have been, and a truly stunning work of art across two windows.

A bright red PISS OFF!!! written in shaky handwriting.

“Is that blood?” I pointed to the window and Owain let out another shaky giggle before rushing over to snap the curtains closed.