Sip, Swallow & Scream

Part 13 | Reddit or Not

Oct 27, 2025

r/Poe @PoeHunterPA -- FOUND: Rare Poe manuscript, potentially unpublished. Looking for a serious buyer. DMs open.

We didn’t find Lindsay. We found her phone. And we found her notes. Notes. So many notes. Copious notes. Tabs open to Reddit threads. Screenshots. An AI instance just like I called it with something-or-other analysis (I’d made up something when I suggested it) full of insights. She was the genius; let her genius, I thought. And she had. A whole amateur investigation right there in her Notes app: usernames she thought belonged to Charlie, Devin, even Victor. Dates and times. Clues and callouts. Lindsay, the goofy one, the dramatic one, had knocked it out of the park on this trip again.

We sat in a circle on the floor, piecing together what she left us, and I quickly realized I was gonna have to really suck up to her after this, or at least invite her up to the Finger Lakes for Thanksgiving with the grandparentals. Regan, too. They’d earned the best apple pie in six counties.

Leaving her phone — we all knew each other’s passwords — was another stroke of genius. Had she thrown it under the bed when Devin had come in or tossed it when he dragged her out? I didn’t know how all of it went down, but we were going to find out. And that dude was going to pay. The way I thought Regan was going to pulverize Cal, Devin was actually going to need that paramedic.

We spent the better part of an hour going through Lindsay’s notes and formulating a plan, not to mention getting showered and changed and our Halloween costumes on. I didn’t know what was gonna go down, or even if anyone was going to respond to my post, but Linds had found the right subreddit, and this was the perfect opportunity to do a quiet exchange while the rest of the town was busy partying. And our costumes — well, I didn’t want them to go to waste. We didn’t lose anything by looking like totally badass bitches.

“She was onto something,” Regan said, scrolling through the screenshots.

“She knew Charlie was behind it,” I whispered. “And she knew we were being watched.”

There was a post scheduled in her drafts.

I hit send.

r/Poe
Found the manuscript. Looks real. Not sure if we should bring it to the cops or the parade tonight. Either way, we’ll be at the Ravenwood Halloween parade. Midnight. Cemetery to town square. Can’t wait to show it off.

We attached a picture.

The bait was set.

The parade was chaos, a river of late night fog and costumed bodies twisting down the streets, laughter and screams mixing with the pounding drums and bursts of fireworks. Shopkeepers stood in front of their shops and handed out goodies, tossed candy and beads, and even offered shots. It was the Mardi Gras of Halloween, and this is why we’d come. Not to solve a murder. Not to stalk around at night in weird places, meet a ghost, solve some riddles and almost get killed at a haunted ball.

That said, when I said it like that, it seemed like good marketing. People would probably pay for that kind of experience.

For now, we blended in. We vanished in plain sight. And that’s all I cared about. Lindsay’s phone and the manuscript were wrapped tight in my crossbody bag and pressed flat against my back. It wasn’t exactly the thing that gave a witch’s costume that oomph, but maybe a modern witch carried a crossbody bag — a black one, sleek with enough little pockets for modern witchcrafty things. Who was I to judge?

We’d stopped by the front desk at the B&B, and Cal was still shaking, but he said we looked hot, and that’s all we needed from him then. I tugged my witch’s hat down and brushed my hair back over my shoulders, then looked Regan up and down, and nodded total approval. If Rihanna was a zombie, she might look as amazing as Regan did tonight.

We reached the estate just before midnight, and it was all zombies and ghouls and vampires, oh my!

I’d checked the phone a few times as we wandered the streets, following everyone up to the Ravenwood Estate, where the official kickoff for the parade would begin, and there were replies coming in like there was no tomorrow. Trolls and assholes galore — it was social media, after all. But when I saw @PoePixe reply, then got a quick DM, I knew we were in business. PoePixie? It couldn’t get more obvious than that that we were dealing with Charlie. But there was nothing from Devin, or who Linds thought might be Devin. And that didn’t matter. This was her doing; it had to be. Devin might have been just a love-sick puppy for years, nothing more. We’d find out soon enough.

I popped open the DM and froze mid-stride.

@PoeHunterPA — When the parade passes the cemetery, stick around. I might have someone I can dig up for you, if you bring me the thing I want.

Regan sucked the air in between her teeth, and I saw another flash of anger, anger like I’d only seen a few times before. The last time was earlier with Cal. She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t have to, but when we stopped just outside the Ravenwood mansion with what looked like the rest of central Pennsylvania, I could feel the heat coming off of her. I thought to say something, and then decided to just let her simmer.

The parade started right on time with some creepy thing on stilts leading the way. There was music, everyone dancing, bottles of booze, and more flashing boobs than I’d ever seen in a strip club. It was that kind of party — except for us, it wasn’t. Still, we followed along, and I nudged Regan, trying to get her to relax, blend in, not look like a real zombie Rihanna who was ready to rip everyone to pieces for brains or whatever body parts were available. It took some doing, but we had time — it was a mile to the cemetery, and along the way, there were shots — I needed one to take the edge off, and me taking Lindsay’s spot in the group as the person taking zillions of photos and years of video. Somewhere in the crowd might be someone we knew, need to know or need to see before they saw us, and I was going to play the part as casual partier and that girl who can’t stop posting shit on Instafart.

It was maybe thirty minutes til we got to the cemetery, and then it took almost that much time to linger, dancing and taking more pics, fake smile selfies, and my head on the swivel, my eyes sweeping the crowd for my favorite blonde beauty, but all we found were two asshats throwing up behind a gnarled old oak by the side of the road and the great iron gate that marked the entrance to the town’s ancient burial site.

The damned thing creaked like a horror movie, one that I wanted out of — my girls intact. I wanted one of us to look back during a later Halloween over too many bottles of wine and have someone blurt out, “But did you die?” and we’d all laugh, then feel sad because someone did. And I was sure what I really wanted right then was another shot or three. Walking into a graveyard to rescue my favorite bubbly blonde was not on my bingo card.

The path was lined with lanterns, flickering with internal lights that threw eerie shadows across the lawn as a fog rolled in. Jesus fuck, I thought, are you kidding me? My heart was already pounding, palms sweaty, all the basic bullshit, and things getting creepier didn’t help. We moved along the cobblestone path, tombstones jutting up from the grass in all directions, all shapes and sizes, centuries of history in the ground at our feet. And there was a century or more of history that was strapped into place on my back, and as much as I didn’t want Charlie — if it really was her — to get away with this, I wanted my friend back more.

My gaze lingered on some of the tombstones and crypts nearest the walkway, and I didn’t want to see Lindsay’s name on any of them.

What was about to happen? What was I gonna do? I didn’t know, and I’d felt a few moments on the walk here that had me questioning myself more than I even had before. Hadn’t we been in similar dangers? Hadn’t we all put ourselves on the line? Hadn’t I gone down hard myself — poison, kidnapped, Regan shot that one time? But we’d pushed through, and every time something a little crazy — well, usually a lot crazy — happened, hadn’t we stuck it out and done what needed to be done?

And yet it never got easier. I just wanted to see Lindsay again and know she was okay.

Then, I felt Regan stiffen and stop, and I looked up and found, well, not what I expected, but I knew the moment I laid eyes on them that we’d called it right. Two cloaked figures, one almost my height and the other towering. A white-faced creature peered at us from underneath a black hood, and behind it, the Masque of the Red Death, looming like a shadow in the darkness, a fucking huge ass sickle in his hands.

We stopped dead — okay, bad choice of words, but we stopped. I caught Regan’s hand in my own and knew, but I didn’t know. It was them — Charlie and Devin — had to be, and yet, well, their costumes were better than ours. I was dressed as a pretty fucking hot witch, but it was obviously me. Regan looked like a glam zombie, serious Rihanna vibes, but it was definitely her. The other two? It didn’t do much to guess, but still, everything considered, there was no way to tell who they were, only that there were two weirdos in the Ravenwood cemetery just after midnight, and that was what I’d agreed on.

My legs weren’t keen on moving, but I managed a step. Then the big fella — Devin, if it was really him, gestured, and there in the distance, behind the grates of one of the bigger tombs, I found a pair of wet eyes staring out, ringed by long curly blonde locks. I stared, squeezed Regan’s hand and pointed, my mouth working, but no sounds coming out.

And just as silently, the little pixie all in black, her face bathed in white makeup like the eerie thing from Hayao Miyazaki’s Spirited Away — you know the one — raised her hand in the air, palm up. Give it to me, the gesture said. At least that’s what I heard in my head, and I felt Regan’s hand squeeze mine back. She’d heard it, too.

“Open it. Let her out,” said a voice. I felt my hands moving, my jaw working, my own voice ringing out over the moors — okay, not really moors; this wasn’t a Sherlock Holmes setting, but it was creepy and foggy and graveyardy, and it felt like the time I’d read The Hound of the Baskervilles while I was home in the Finger Lakes being a lazy, summer bum. “Let her out, and you can have it.” The It I had in hand. I held It out for all to see, even if it was dark as all get out and it was hard enough to even see the two creepers who had our friend.

“We don’t know who you are,” I lied. “We just want our friend; we don’t care about this book.”

“Put the book on the ground,” she said softly. “And back away.”

My gaze lingered on Linds, but I keep the two creepers in view as I reached behind me. The manuscript was warm when I slipped it out of my cross-body. A chill crawled down my spine from the sudden absence, and I shuddered as Regan shifted next to me — tense, but still. Ready. Me, feeling a creeping dread that we’d made a poor choice, but unsure what other choice we had.

Give them the book and get Linds. That was the plan. Maybe, just maybe that was enough to keep us from getting killed — was that scythe real? It looked real.

“We want her back,” I said. “That’s the deal.”

Devin didn’t speak. He just watched, head cocked like a raven waiting to strike.

I stepped forward. One slow movement at a time, and then I knelt to set it down on the dewy grass.

Behind me, Regan whispered, “Steady.”

And then I heard it. Metal on stone. A clang. The sound of panic.

I looked up — Lindsay was moving, banging against the metal gate. She had somehow worked the gag down past her chin and now, with fire in her eyes, she shouted, voice hoarse and wild. “Sesame! She has a knife!”

Everything downshifted into slow motion, and I saw it all in a split-second frame — Charlie’s hand twitching, blade flashing free. Devin shifting his weight forward. Regan flashing past me like the fast zombies from 28 Days.

“GO!” Regan barked, and I could hear her voice in my head. “If I tell you to run, you run. Don’t look back. I’ll take care of it.”

But I couldn’t just — then Charlie screamed, lunging at me, that white mask like some horrible dead thing raging, knife raised.

And I just grabbed the book and ran.