The free giveaway of In The Make-Out Room continues on Amazon!
For a (somewhat NSFW) look at what you’re missing, take a look below the fold.
Adam had just unzipped her jeans, and Kristen’s hips were just arching up to meet his hand as it slipped into her panties to cup the damp curls of her sex, and she was all but dislocating her wrist to get her hand under his belt to stroke the soft skin of his hard-on (but that was as far as they were going to go tonight there were some things she wasn’t ready for you had to take things in steps) when someone began rattling at the doorknob.
They sprang to opposite ends of the couch, pulling their clothes back into place. In the time it took them to do that (and to remember that the door was locked), the person on the other side gave up on rattling and started knocking. But not knocking hard. Whoever it was didn’t want to be heard.
After a second, a whisper replaced the knock: “Hey! Hey, who’s in there?”
Kristen and Adam both stifled groans. Randy Orsen. If there was classmate who was guaranteed to have the story of catching them in the Make-Out Room (complete with leather, whipped cream and farm animals, no doubt) all over the school by Monday, it was Randy Orsen.
“Room’s occupied, Randy,” Adam said, hoping he was loud enough to be heard by Randy, but too quiet to be heard by anyone else. “Come back later.”
“You gotta let me in, man,” Randy said, starting to twist at the knob again. “You gotta let me in!”
“I said piss off!”
Instead, Randy started pulling and pounding at the door. “I don’t care what you’re doing in there,” he said, his voice rising. “Please, you gotta let me in!”
Adam sprung up off the couch. Kristen hoped that he would open the door, and then bust Randy’s nose for him. Randy was the kind of guy who snapped bras, flipped skirts, pantsed ninth-graders (of both sexes), bounced on lover’s-lane bumpers and generally molested people as much as he could get away with because he thought it was funny.
“Shut up, Randy,” Adam hissed. “You’re gonna get Mrs. Boyanksi over here!”
“You don’t understand!” Randy shrieked, yanking and hammering at the door so hard the jamb creaked. “There’s something out here and it’s coming and you’ve gotta let me in you’ve gotta let me in you’ve gotta let me—”
Adam was across the room and reaching for the doorknob when something hit the door, rattling it in its frame, and Randy’s scream cut off.
Outside the door, there was a strange sort of gurgling noise, then the same rattle-tap-scrabble they’d heard before.
Adam started for the door again when Kristen heard the squip of his shoe slipping, and saw the shadow of his shape in the darkness crash to the floor.
She was across the room in a second, kneeling at his side.
“Are you okay?” She whispered.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered. “I just slipped on something. Wasn’t there when we came in here…”
“Still got that mini-flashlight on your keychain?” She asked.
“I didn’t land on it, if that’s what you mean.”
“Here,” she said, holding out her hand. “Let me see it, then.”
He obliged, handing it to her as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. She, in turn, clicked it on and turned it toward the door.
What she saw turned her blood to icy slush in her veins.
“What? What is it oh FUCK!” Adam screamed, scrambling backward and away as he saw what his foot had slipped in:
A pool of blood, almost certainly Randy’s, was spreading under the door.
It was then that Kristen heard the…sound…come from the direction of the gym. From the look on his face, the way his flesh went suddenly shock-white, Adam heard it, too. That was good, because otherwise she would have wondered if she was hallucinating. It was a roar or shriek, but a roar or shriek like nothing she’d ever heard before, not even on the National Geographic Channel. Just once, but that was enough.
Because that was when the screaming began.