39. Tess
TESS
The sun was cresting over the horizon, but I was plunging down to the pits of hell.
I didn’t know what possessed me to jump into the cart — perhaps the homicidal, machete-wielding maniac cooing to me in the dark was a factor. But as the ride plummeted down from its apex, I could only think one thing.
Better to die by my hand than by hers.
I held on tight, clinging desperately to the slippery floor of the campy canoe. This thing was built for passengers, right?
I’d hardly gotten a grip when the big splash went up, blasting me straight in the face with icy water. I choked for air as the flume drenched every inch of me, but the minecart flume didn’t slow down.
Ducking my head between my knees, I hoped for some kind of reprieve. The torrent didn’t let up though until we’d dragged through about fifty feet of splash zone.
And as soon as the ride began to slow, preparing for its ascent back up the mountain, I knew it was my chance. Gripping the edge of the lock with goose-bumped hands, I flung myself out of the ride and over the safety gates at the edge of the track.
At the top of the ride, I could see Cyrus still haunted the hill. Even through her mask, the murderous intent emanating off of her was palpable — strengthened by the fact that I’d narrowly escaped her.
I didn’t have much of a lead, though. Cyrus was mostly dry and already sprinting down the service steps to catch me. I couldn’t outrun her all night, but I didn’t need to. Just a few more minutes, and the sun would crest over the horizon.
If I can just run for a few more minutes…
I booked it down the paved pathway just beyond the safety fence. My wet footsteps left dark trails across the dry concrete: a dead giveaway that would make me easy to track.
There was no time to change that now. I ran as fast as I could, keeping my eye on the rising sun through the park’s front gates. Some part of my brain thought that maybe if I ran fast enough, I could catch it.
Behind me, the steady thud of wet bootsteps kept time. Cyrus was gaining on me.
But then a drier set of footsteps fell in alongside her, and another.
Three clowns were chasing me.
Nash and Blade must have heard my screams on the cart flume and come running. Now, they were hooting and hollering, jostling each other and Cyrus as they jockeyed to see who would claim me first.
But I didn’t want to be claimed.
I turned forward, keeping my eyes on the horizon as I tried to plot my next move. The park gates were locked — I needed to choose.
Without thinking, I turned left onto the road leading back to the ticket booth, hoping I could shake them. For a moment, I could almost taste my freedom. But as I took a slight turn down the road, my heart sank: the gates were closed.
Duh.
“Fuck,” I kept running, hoping there was somehere to turn at the last second, a path the Freaks couldn’t foresee.
But their footsteps were coming too quickly. I slammed into the wrought iron fence, desperate for some illusion of shelter. Maybe I could fight back, maybe I could—
All hopes of defending myself vanished the second I saw Cyrus’ mask appear around the corner, several steps ahead of the others. She gripped the machete tight in her fist as her feet pounded into the cobblestone, and I knew with bonedeep certainty that she wouldn’t let me go this time.
Fate might, though
Before she could close the gap between us by hurdling over the ticket booth, green lights washed over the park. All the carnival music died down. As the screeching rides grinded to a halt, so did Blade and Nash.
The game is over. I won.
But Cyrus played by her own rules.
Unable to slow her own momentum, Cyrus crashed into me hard enough to steal the air from my lungs. One fist was tangled in my shirt, lifting me against the fence while the other held the machete to my neck.
I might have won Fright Night. But that wouldn’t stop Cyrus from trying to do as she pleased anyway.