Chapter 13. Next Time, Thompson

Joan POV

I hate my boyfriend. He sucks.

Those were the only words I’d written since an hour ago when I turned on my laptop. The cursor blinked at me like it was mocking me, daring me to write something meaningful. But no, all I had was resentment and an empty brain.

Rhoda was in the middle of a bad mood swing, thanks to her brother freezing her accounts and blacklisting her. Honestly, I’d be pissed too.

So I had wandered through the house and discovered that the infamous Aaron actually owned a library. It was massive, artistic, and packed with books—so many books that, for a moment, I mistook it for a bookstore.

It was quiet, dim, and cool—the kind of space where inspiration should’ve flowed. Yet my mind was blank. Was writing horror always this hard, or was my brain just betraying me today?

And then I felt it.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I knew someone was there. I didn’t need to turn around to confirm it—I felt the