Free Mary Hades by Sarah Dalton

everything that’s happened this year.” He grins and pulls me into a one armed hug.
    I roll my eyes. “Dad, I’m fine. And I’m too old for these hugs.”
    “You’re never too old,” he replies. “Speaking of old, I’d better find your mother.” He points at me in mock seriousness. “Do not tell her I said that.”
    “Secret’s safe,” I reply.
    Dad melts into the crowd of holiday goers and I finish my burger while watching the people around me. There is one advantage to the disco—it’s brought out the Goths. Mum seemed quite perturbed when we got here. I think she imagined the place full of middle-class families with teenage children, not a sea of black eye-liner and piercings.
    The doors of the function room are open and I stand , chewing on my burger, watching the tweens jump up and down to One Direction from the safety of the patio area. Most of the Goths stand together, drinking beer.
    Mum is far more drunk than I’d thought. She has a bottle of wine in one hand and is pulling Dad towards the dance floor as Katy Perry’s ‘I Kissed a Girl’ comes on. Apparently, she knows all the words.
    “They your parents?”
    I turn to find a guy with safety pins turned into a necklace standing next to me. He has black hair, a lip piercing and the kind of cheesy tattoos on his arm that make me l ong for Seth and his tattoo artistry. He has a hint of a brummie accent in his lilting vowels and low register. It has always amazed me how people from Birmingham have voices that almost sound like a piano out of tune.
    “Yep. Kill me now.”
    He smirks. “I think they’re sweet.”
    “I think they’re puke-inducing.”
    “You’re funny,” he sa ys, though it sounds more like “yow’re funn-ay”. “And kooky. I like that.”
    “Kooky?” I ask.
    “Yeah, you know, your look. The dark hair and the pale. That faraway expression of yours. It’s pretty sexy.” He grins in a non-intimidating way.
    “Oh, I have a boy friend,” I lie.
    “Yeah , me too,” he says. “I just wanted you to know.”
    “Oh, wel l, thanks. You pretty well made my night.”
    “Happy to oblige.” He lifts his beer in mock salute. “You want a drink?”
    “Medication,” I reply. Technically, I’m not taking it, but it wouldn’t go down well with the ‘rents if I started drinking in front of them.
    “Gotcha.”
    “So what brings you to Five Moors? Seems like an odd spot for a Goth outing, no offense.” Of course I know why, but I want to find out if they know any more about Amy Willis and her ghostly murders.
    “What? You don’t know?”
    “Know what?” I shrug.
    “This place is super-haunted. A little girl was killed by some psychopath killer about five years ago. Since then, she’s been killing off men in revenge.”
    “Seriously?”
    “According to the legend, if you see Little Amy and survive, you’re destined for good luck for the rest of your life,” he continues.
    “Do you have to say her name three times in the mirror?”
    He knocks me playfully on the arm. “Nah, nothing like that. Little Amy doesn’t need gimmicks, she’s real. Don’t you feel it?”
    “Feel what?” I ask.
    “The atmosphere, man. It’s fuckin’ buzzin’ with it. There’s the stink of death all over this place. We got here the same day that little lad died. Jesus, that was so harsh. I came here with the guys as a bit of a laugh, a bit of a blow-out. Then that happened and it all came crashing down, the realisation that this isn’t a joke. Little Amy is out there and she’s really killing people.”
    “Then why didn’t you leave?”
    “I dunno,” he says. “Why do people stare at car accidents, or watch Z-listers descend into a meltdown? Because we can’t look away . When it’s not happening to us, it reminds us that we’re alive, you know?”
    “Unless she kills you,” I remind him.
    “Yeah, there’s that. But the other bit is addictive.”
    I nod. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. And that makes my