Chapter 3
Lydia
“Follow me, please! Have your ID’s and souls ready to sign over,” a woman with an alarmingly high black ponytail that swishes back and forth as she walks says, gesturing with a clipboard to walk over to her.
She has a skeletal mouth and black eyes that show no white, which I assume are contacts.
Her outfit looks as if she got into a fight with a tiger because every piece is ripped and appears to be hanging on by nothing more than a few strong threads.
The ride here was easy and ended with all of us belting our lungs out, off-key mostly, to The Spice Girls. Wannabe is still stuck in my head like the brain worm it is.
“Souls?” Stephanie asks, grabbing her pack. It’s tie-dye, bright neon, and easy to spot from a mile away.
“They have to say that to make us afraid,” I say, trying to use logic to scare away the fear that’s been slowly accumulating the entire ride.
We stand in line, feeling the unforgiving sun beating down on us.
Sweat is gathering on my lower back, soaking through my thin tank already.
Lovely. I hope this place has showers at least. Those have to be off-limits for scare actors, right?
“Next!” The black-haired woman yells out.
“Oh, right. That’s me,” I say.
I hand over my license and sign on the dotted line, trying to ignore the fine print. Especially since I’m pretty sure I saw the word ‘death’ mentioned multiple times in there. It’s probably just a precaution and not what my anxious brain is busy conjuring up.
It’s just a scare camp, Lydia. Nothing more, I tell myself.
There’s a large creepy looking building that looks straight out of my nightmares. All black siding and ominous looking shutters that look to be holding on by sheer will.
“That must be the haunted house,” Faye says glancing over to where I’m staring.
As I look though, I swear I can see several dark figures moving within the shadows. It sends a shiver down my spine, and I quickly turn away, hoping it’s just my mind playing tricks.
But curiosity gets the better of me and I find myself taking a quick glance back. There in the top window, all the way to the left, is a dark imposing figure, and I know instinctively that they are watching me.
“We could still go to the beach. Maybe rent a cabin on my credit card?” I say weakly to my friends as the woman hands back my license.
“Too late now,” she says with a menacing smile and deadly twinkle to her shark-like eyes.
“Come on, Lydia. We’re already here. It’s going to be fun, I promise,” McKenzie says, grabbing me about the shoulders and leads me over to where the group is starting to walk into the woods.
“Remember last Halloween, when we dragged you to that night carnival? You thought for sure you were going to hate it, but I seem to remember you having a great time.”
I hastily put away my license and do a quick swipe of bug spray over my skin. There’s no way that I’m going to be offering myself up to the mosquitoes as a meat suit sacrifice on top of whatever is waiting for us in those woods.
“That’s because I was drunk. Drunk me doesn’t know how to be scared,” I say, adjusting my pack and smelling of Deet.
“Now remember, this is an immersive experience. The scares can happen at any time. Day or night. Nothing is off-limits. I’m Megan, your camp counselor.
If you need anything, I’ll be in the main cabin.
You each will have a cabin that you’re assigned to.
In addition to the active scares that will be happening, we’ll also be doing daily hikes, fishing, and have a craft station like a real camp if you want to join.
” She tosses her long pony over her back and begins walking towards a narrow gravel path situated between two larch torches that flicker in the dimming light.
The path is well worn and tucked beneath large pine trees that seem to curve inwards at their top, creating a canopy-like effect that shades the area from the sun.
The temperature seems to drop drastically here, but instead of feeling relief, I feel a sense of foreboding.
Prickles hit my skin and that feeling of being watched rears its head again.
As we walk, I scan the trees, finding several glowing skeletons set up throughout the area.
Like a fire is burning inside of their cracked and twisted ribcages.
Spiderwebs drape over several of the branches and a fine mist of fog rolls along the ground.
A loud snap of a twig being stepped on sounds from right behind us.
I whip my head around to see what it could be, and there standing in the middle of the path is a man holding a long machete in his hands, head tilted to the side as he watches us.
I’m too busy looking at the man behind us, that I don’t see the dip in the path. My foot twists beneath me, and I go down hard, feeling the sting on my hands and knees at the moment of impact.
“Oh, shit,” Iris says, scooping me up immediately.
“B-behind you,” I say, gripping onto her forearms, eyes wide as I see the man start to sprint directly towards us. His machete is raised above his head and his footsteps are silent, as if he’s merely floating towards us. But that’s impossible.
Then suddenly from the sides like a pair of velociraptors, a pair of deranged looking clowns in short skirts and misaligned pigtails jump out at us, sending Iris scrambling backwards.
It seems the scare camp has already begun and we’re only a few steps in.
The group of over forty people scatter like roaches do when the lights come on. We’re a mess. A tangle of limbs, fear, and screams. Trying to save ourselves from the perceived danger.
I recite the mantra my therapist gave me for this trip, “It’s fake.
It’s all fake, Lydia. You are safe.” The words sound like a lie since it feels so real.
This deep-rooted fear that causes us to flee.
My bag digs into my shoulders as I run. My ankle and knees smarting from the tumble I took earlier, and I’m glad I thought to pack Band-Aids because it’s looking like I’ll need them sooner or later.
Faye and McKenzie are having a blast, taunting the scare actors. I can hear their laughter from way up here. I’m sweating and chance looking behind me once again.
The group has stopped around some pole with a pumpkin head affixed to the top.
The eyes and crooked mouth glow red from the inside, giving the already spooky decoration an evil appearance.
At the base is a gravestone with the words ‘Here lies Jack, the devil incarnate. Do not disturb or suffer the consequences.’
“Charming,” I mutter under my breath, catching a deathly glare from our guide. She was talking about something I didn’t quite catch but I think I heard the word, ‘death’. Wincing, I limp towards my friends while the scare actors circle around us like vultures.
There’s more of them now.
I swallow hard, and fidget with the straps of my pack feeling the sweat gathering on my lower back. Whoever they’ve hired to do this job was well cast. They’re scaring the crap out of me just by being here.
“As I was saying,” she clears her throat loudly and glares at me again.
“The legend of Nightmare Acres starts here. On what was once just farmland, until a curse befell a farmer and his family, known as the Mayfield’s, turning their neighbors against them.
They set fire to the Mayfield’s house as the family slept inside, killing the wife and children in the blaze.
Only the farmer survived all alone, angry and searching for vengeance.
They say he still walks these lands calling out for his lost family in the night.
It’s been exactly 150 years this summer since the curse began. ”
Megan pops a bubble of gum loudly enjoying every second of our discomfort as she tells her tale.
I notice hiding behind her clipboard is a name tag pasted to her white tank top that says her name with a smilie face drawn on after it.
It looks all wrong though. The lines are crooked, and the smile is more of a line with one curve hooking up at the end giving it more of a grimacing appearance.
Faye and McKenzie are totally in their element eating up Megan’s every word.
Iris seems mildly worried, her thick sculpted black brows furrowed as she bites down on a rogue cuticle.
Stephanie and Audrey seem unfazed, looking down at their phones and scrolling at whatever is on their FYP. As long as I’ve known these girls, I’ve known it takes a lot to get them concerned. If they get concerned, it’s my cue to freak the fuck out.
“Boo!” One of the female clowns chirps directly into my ear, making me jump.
She cackles and I try to steady my breathing, feeling my heart beating hard against my ribs.
Her body up close looks like she’s a zombie.
And God does she smell like one too. Working at the nursing home, I’ve smelt my share of death, and she reeks of it.
I guess this place is really going for the lifelike aspect.
“Who cursed them?” Faye asks, practically bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.
“Oh, good question,” McKenzie says, bumping elbows with Faye. I have to admit, their excitement is adorable, even if I feel tortured so they can have this.
“A neighboring farm was jealous of their bountiful crops. They went to all the neighbors and concocted vicious rumors about the Mayfield’s.
The neighbors were easily swayed by the lies and offered their assistance in the Mayfield’s demise, seeking the help of the town witch to help carry out their evil plans. ”
Megan’s shark-like eyes zero in on me and she takes a few steps in my direction. The people in front of me move out of her way like she’s fucking Moses parting the Red Sea. “You know, you kind of look just like Jack’s dearly departed wife.”
I look behind me and then at my friends, who find this hilarious. In fact, Faye has her camera out, recording the whole interaction. She flicks my hair with the tip of her finger as she giggles. “Only she didn’t have blue highlights.”
I bite my lip nervously wanting Megan to turn her attention anywhere else, but she doesn’t. She just tilts her head unnaturally to the side as she smirks at me. “You’re going to have such a great time.”
While she’s smiling, I can’t help but think her words sound more like a threat than a hope for me to enjoy myself. It makes my skin break out into shivers, but my friends are still laughing at me as Megan retakes her position by the pumpkin headed scarecrow.
As if by magic, a silver serving tray with drinks appears in Megan’s hands to a round of applause from the guests.
She does a mock curtsey without spilling a single drop.
Impressive since it’s filled with small skull shaped cups containing a shocking neon blue liquid.
The bottom of the cup lights up and the top looks as if it has dry ice from the way it smokes.
We each take one, and I bring it up to my nose taking a whiff. It smells like blueberries.
“Now that you know our roots, let’s drink to your week here.
May you survive the frights at Nightmare Acres, and if you don’t, then may your soul taste delicious.
” She raises her glass, and we do the same.
The liquid goes down like fire, making me cough and wheeze.
My head spins with the rush of what feels like alcohol tingling all the way down my spine and down to my toes.
I stumble back as we move towards the cabins.
“You hear her? She said don’t die!” The zombie clown cackles, her decaying scent chasing us like a cat chases a mouse. My stomach clenches and an ominous feeling squeeze in my chest. Somehow with the way she says those words has me thinking that not everyone will survive the week.