WHAT'S THAT SMELL? 1

Rainbow's POV.

As I stood on Hunter's porch, the creaky wooden boards beneath my feet seemed to echo my hesitation. Three days had passed since our unexpected encounter, and yet, here I was, questioning the wisdom of my decision. The memory of my fervent pep talks, delivered to myself just 48 hours prior, seemed to mock me now. I recalled peeking out from behind my window blinds, my eyes scanning the familiar contours of Hunter's house, my mind weighing the thrill of the unknown against the comfort of routine.

But now, as I faced the worn door, its surface etched with the whispers of countless seasons, my courage began to unravel. Why take this risk with this stranger who seemed to hold secrets behind his eyes when life's vast and mysterious tapestry offered countless other uncertainties to explore?

As I stood before Hunter's house, a sigh escaped my lips, carrying with it the weight of my own trepidation. I really needed to stop psyching myself up for unnecessary risks. Pep talks, I decided, were better suited for tackling mundane chores, like scrubbing the bathroom tiles or folding the laundry, not walking into potential danger with a mysterious stranger.

I nodded, resigned to my decision, and stepped towards the open front door, my heart skipping a beat as the creaky hinges seemed to whisper a warning. Why was it open, anyway? Did he have some profound reason for leaving it ajar, like an invitation to the universe, or was it simply an oversight? I scoffed, my mind still simmering with a dash of bitterness, like a slow-burning ember that refused to be extinguished.

My conscience whispered that I was still smarting from his enigmatic comment a few days ago, the words 'You've got that look' echoing in my mind like a haunting melody. But I denied it, pushing aside the nagging feeling that I was seeking answers for all the wrong reasons. No, I was simply curious, driven by a desire to unravel the mystery behind his words, to peel back the layers and uncover the truth. What look? I needed to know.

The memories came flooding back, transporting me to a time when the world outside felt overwhelming. I recalled locking myself in our supply closet, seeking refuge from the sting of rejection after yet another failed encounter with potential families. But even in my darkest moments, Mama's love and creativity shone bright.

She'd sit patiently outside the closet door, spinning tales about Casper, the friendly ghost, and his fantastical adventures. Casper is a misfit spirit who defied conventions, securing a new vessel and a family to call his own. I was entranced, hanging onto every word as Mama wove a narrative tailored specifically to soothe my battered heart.

Years later, when I learned to read, I discovered the "real" Casper – Casper the Friendly Ghost. But by then, I'd already realized that Mama's adapted tales were more than just stories – they were a testament to her unwavering love and dedication. She knew I craved happy endings, and she provided them, one fantastical chapter at a time.

I remembered begging her to continue, my eagerness to hear more about Casper's escapades always palpable. Mama would pause, a sly smile spreading across her face, and ask, "Are you still listening?" Her playful teasing was only added to the magic, and I'd nod enthusiastically, urging her to spin the next installment in Casper's enchanting saga.

Mama's version of Casper's tale remained etched in my memory, a testament to her creative genius. And then there were the times she'd promise me a new painting brush, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Though it wasn't always true, she'd cleverly revamped my old brushes with vibrant poster colors, transforming them into seemingly new treasures.

Each time, I'd burst into the room, giggling uncontrollably, my face aglow with excitement. The anticipation was exhilarating – which colors would Mama choose this time? She knew exactly how to tantalize me, to draw me in with her clever ruse.

A realization dawned on me, and I chuckled at the irony. Was Hunter employing the same tactic? Had he deliberately dangled the enigmatic comment about my "look" to pique my curiosity, to lure me into his orbit? The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became. He was waiting for me, patiently, like a hunter stalking its prey. And I, unwittingly, was taking the bait. The coincidence of his name wasn't lost on me – Hunter, indeed.

Is he a master manipulator, exploiting his victims' vulnerabilities with calculated precision? (pauses) Oh, he's good!!! My sassy conscience chimed in, "Only you, Rainbow, would applaud a potential serial killer's cunning tactics!" I responded as if engaged in a dialogue with someone else, "What? I said... The game knows the game."

As I stood there, taking in the cozy sitting room, I felt baffled. The space was immaculate, exuding a warm, inviting ambiance that belied its modest size. Compared to my own house, this compact haven felt twice as welcoming. Two plush couches anchored the room, accompanied by a sleek TV set and an array of remarkably lifelike potted plants. The absence of family portraits was notable, but the old, seemingly priceless paintings adorning the walls added a touch of eclectic charm. Somehow, Hunter had managed to create a harmonious balance between elegance and whimsy, making this diminutive space feel like a masterclass in understated luxury.

As I ventured deeper into the house, my initial apprehensions began to dissipate. The warm, inviting atmosphere and tasteful decor seemed to contradict my fears, leaving me wondering what I'd been so afraid of in the first place.

Recalling my purpose for being there, I called out Hunter's name several times, my voice echoing through the empty rooms. The silence that followed was deafening, and I found myself wandering through the house, pushing open doors that Hunter had left slightly ajar.

Each room I entered was devoid of his presence, but the open doors seemed to be an invitation to explore. I couldn't help but wonder if this was another one of Hunter's quirks – leaving doors open like a trail of breadcrumbs, leading me deeper into his world.

The fourth door, however, was locked, its solidity a jarring contrast to the others. I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this sudden change. What could be hidden behind this closed door that required such secrecy?

Just as I was about to retreat, my eyes landed on a staircase that seemed to descend into darkness, its presence both intriguing and unsettling. I swallowed hard, my heart skipping a beat as I hesitated. Should I flee while I still could, or succumb to my curiosity and uncover the secrets lurking below?

Hunter's words echoed in my mind: "My doors are always open." It was an invitation, a tantalizing promise that drew me in. Before I could fully rationalize my decision, my feet seemed to move of their own accord, carrying me towards the ominous staircase. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I began my descent into the unknown.

What can I say? I'm incurably curious, and my inquisitive nature had just taken the reins. No judgments, please!

As I crept down the creaky stairs, the first ominous crack echoed through the air, and I mentally retracted all the warm, fuzzy sentiments I'd harbored about Hunter's cozy abode. Suddenly, the homely facade gave way to an eerie, horror-movie-esque atmosphere, and I felt my heart racing in anticipation of the unknown.

You know that chilling, skin-crawling sensation you get when watching a horror flick, and the protagonist, driven by morbid curiosity, ventures into the darkness, calling out, "Hello? Is anyone there?" – only to be met with an earth-shattering, blood-curdling scream. Yeah, that feeling! Except this was no scripted thriller; this was real life, and I was the hapless protagonist, frozen in fear, my voice caught in mind. Throat. I wasn't about to announce my location to...whatever lurked in the shadows.

As I stepped off the final stair, the air was electrified with an ominous crackle. The light bulbs flickered, their glow extinguished by a temporary power outage. I let out a startled squeak, my hands flailing wildly until they found purchase on a nearby object, anchoring me in the darkness.

The power surged back to life, casting an eerie glow over the scene. My gaze was drawn to a strange, retro-futuristic contraption, its surface a mesmerizing mosaic of colors. The device emitted a low, soothing hum, like the purring of a mechanical beast. My curiosity piqued, and I edged closer, trying to make sense of this bizarre creation.

But before I could grasp its purpose, a noxious odor wafted through the air, hijacking my attention. Initially, it reminded me of a sink piled high with dirty dishes, left to fester for days. However, as the scent intensified, carried on the breeze slipping through the partially open garage door, I realized it was something far more sinister. The smell was pungent, acidic, and unmistakable – a potent cocktail that made my stomach roil with unease.

The stench was overwhelming, a potent mix of decay and corruption that seemed to sear itself into my nostrils. It was as if something had been festering, left to rot in a state of advanced putrefaction. My mind recoiled at the implications, my thoughts tumbling into a dark, foreboding abyss. Whatever was emitting this odor had to be substantial, lifelike...and that realization sent a chill coursing through my veins.

Was I standing amid a gruesome crime scene? Had my initial suspicions about Hunter been correct all along? The memories of him digging in the yard came flooding back, and I couldn't shake the image of him burying dismembered bodies. My imagination was running wild, conjuring up macabre scenarios.

I was so lost in my morbid thoughts that Hunter's voice startled me, his words dripping with surprise and, perhaps, a hint of satisfaction. "I can't believe it...you came!" I spun around, my body pivoting with a speed that left me breathless. My eyes locked onto Hunter's, and for an instant, time seemed to freeze.

I was paralyzed, my feet rooted to the spot, my voice trapped in my throat. Fear had taken hold, its icy grip suffocating me. Hunter's appearance only intensified my terror. He wore a mask reminiscent of those used in slaughterhouses, its presence conjuring images of carnage and brutality. The overalls he wore were stained with faded brown splatters that looked unsettlingly like blood.

My gaze fixed on the hammer in his right hand, its weight and solidity seeming to mock me. My mind was a jumble of frantic thoughts, but one phrase repeated itself with chilling clarity: I'm going to die! The realization was crushing, suffocating me beneath its weight.

And then, my voice shattered the silence, a raw, primal scream that tore from my throat like a wounded animal:

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"