Page 1 of Pretty Dead Things

CHAPTER ONETHE NIGHT OF THE LONE STAR PRINCESS PAGEANT

2025

Hail taps the windows, and the roof creaks from the weight of heavy snow. The contestants are trapped by the storm’s bitter cold. Frozen in shut.

The auditorium is a murmur of voices overlapping and dresses rustling, of chairs shifting and mothers shouting for their daughters. The generator hums, and the speaker plays a steady, frantic drumroll. Down a hallway, the sound fades, the world narrows, lit only by the glow of the exit sign. And at the end, there is a door.

Within the room, a standing mirror reflects the wall of glittering gowns, each rhinestone and crystal appliqué catching the light in sharp, splintered glints, like the watchful eyes of creatures lurking in shadow. Under a single dim bulb, sequins and stones pulse, glimmering alive.

A multifeathered headpiece, once pristine white, is splattered with red ribbons of blood. Cans of hair spray and jars of body shimmer are misted in crimson. A large clump of brain matter, still warm, clings to the tulle layers of an emerald-colored gown.

It is still, but for the overhead fixture swaying, its light twinkling off the beading on dresses and the sparkles on high heels. Still, but for the blood trails snaking slowly down the mirror, pooling on the vanity around tubes of lipstick and pots of blush.

From beyond the door come the sounds of screaming young girls. One’s high-pitched shriek of terror cuts sharper than the rest, pierces through the echoes of pounding feet across the hollow stage floor. A killer is among them, and panic spreads, stretches its fingers like the fractal shards of ice chilling their bones.

The storm persists, battering the walls as wind continues to howl and scrape and claw.

But the night is far from over.

CHAPTER TWOSARAH LYNN

Six Days Before the Pageant

“Thank you for stopping by Smoothie Palace, and have a delicious day.” I smile with all my teeth as I hand Mr. Mackey back his loyal customer punch card, the kind of smile that is like a gun, making whoever it’s aimed at feel super special.Smile like you mean it, Sarah Lynn, is one of my mother’s mantras. It works for pageants and for sketchy old men like Mr. Mackey, who Hannah swears eyes my ass every time I turn around to blend his chocolate bananarama. But Mr. Mackey’s wife is a member of the board of Miss Lone Star Princess and has been selected as one of the judges this year.

Beauty is a weapon.That’s another thing Mom says.

But so is kindness. “Oh, and Mr. Mackey, I got an extra punch on there for you.”

“Well, aren’t you a sweetheart?” He gives me a wink, which he never does when his wife is in the passenger seat. I’ve been on the stage enough that I bet I could maintain my smile through a plane crash if I needed to.

Suddenly Hannah is beside me, wet rag wiping along the counter. Our manager is always telling her to tie her hair back, and she does, winding it into an unkempt ball that wobbles on her head as she talks animatedly with her hands. She has the kind of hair that needs a seriously time-consuming curl routine. Frizzy tendrils pop outaround her face at random, and despite the colorful butterfly clips haphazardly shoved in, you can’t be sure she isn’t cosplaying as a tumbleweed.

“Yeah, Mr. Mackey,” she says, mocking my cheery tone. “Have the day you deserve.”

His wiry caterpillar eyebrows twitch together. The squeaky wheels of his brain are working overtime as he tries to figure out if he’s being insulted, but Hannah has handed him a verbal Escher staircase where the steps loop back on themselves. It’s only an insult if he deserves one.

He looks back to me, and my smile sets his world back on its axis.

Just as the automatic drive-through window soft-closes on him, Hannah adds, “You old pervert.”

Olivia, who’s been waiting to Windex the glass, shushes Hannah. She tries staring disapproving daggers at us, but it’s no use. We’re laughing so hard that Hannah snorts, which has me clutching at my stomach for relief.

“We’re gonna get in trouble,” Olivia whines, peering over her shoulder to check if Mr. Mackey has pulled away yet.

“Relax,” Hannah says, once she catches her breath. “He couldn’t hear us past all that hair in his ears even if he wanted to.”

Olivia catches her giggle in a cupped palm. She is so quiet, it’s like she doesn’t even want her laugh to make a sound. She puts the spray bottle away, and turns to start refilling the fruit containers.

While the shop is empty, I go to the break room to grab my purse. “I have a surprise for y’all,” I say, pulling out two gold folders and handing one to each of them.

Hannah opens hers and flips through the pages, then looks up at me blankly. “Miss Lone Star? Sarah Lynn, what the hell is this?”

“Surprise!” I throw my hands up and wiggle my fingers for full effect. “You two are going to be princesses.”

“Very funny,” she deadpans, trying to hand the forms right back to me, but I don’t take them.

“This”—I tap the application on top—“is exactly what you need to get over your stage fright.”