Chapter 7
My phone isn’t where it should be.
Feeling like I’m doing snow angels on my sheets, I stretch my arms out under the pillows, star fishing as I sweep my fingers along the smooth surface to look for my phone that’s always, always there.
Well, mostly always. I suppose I could’ve knocked it off during the night, but even when I find the charging cable, I only blink stupidly at the end where my phone should be attached.
“Great,” I grumble, shoving my face back into my pillow.
I was so exhausted last night that there’s a very real chance my phone didn’t get plugged in, even though I swear I did it.
Hadn’t I scrolled my blog a little bit, before getting lost in relationship drama on Reddit?
With a sigh I lean over the side of the bed, glaring at the hardwood floor where I’ve dropped my phone before.
But when that’s a bust, I maneuver so I can slide my arm between the head of the bed and the wall, my fingers brush the floor in hopes I’ll find the suddenly elusive device that I’m usually clinging to like a lifeline.
Still nothing.
“God, really?” I mumble, sitting up with my knees under me.
“I really did this to myself?” If my phone is dead, I’m going to worry obsessively about missed messages while staring at the screen as it charges enough to turn on.
Irritation mixed with anxiety churns in my stomach, and I try to remember what I did with it the night before.
By chance, my eyes land on my nightstand, the cluttered surface decorated with small figurines of horror movie slashers and half-full tumblers of flavored water I never get around to finishing even with the best intentions.
It’s there my eyes land on the corner of my shiny red phone case, and I let out a breath, shoulders slumped in relief.
It’s not where I usually end up putting my phone, even when I’m half out of it with exhaustion and ready to pass out, but it’s not unheard of.
I reach for it, flipping it over to find the phone is half-charged with no missed messages.
My only notifications are from my blog, which I’d expected, and I push in the charging cable before swinging my legs over the side of the bed and getting to my feet.
True autumn can’t come fast enough, I think as I sigh internally and peek out the window that leads to my backyard.
The wooden fence is in dire need of repair, but that’s so far down my list of projects to do here that I doubt I’ll get to it before next summer.
It’s not like I have any pets, and the only one embarrassed by it is me.
But I mollify myself by thinking of all the improvements I have already made to the little, thousand-square-foot house that I bought with my own money.
Nothing will ever make this house worth more than that.
In the kitchen, I make my coffee while still half asleep, eyes narrowed as I stare at the dripping Keurig as it makes the rough noise and whirring hum I’m used to.
Dark brown liquid drips into my cat ear mug that’s already a quarter full of peppermint white chocolate creamer.
Even though I love Halloween, I love the Christmas themed creamers that start popping up around this time.
Sacrilegious as that is.
Once it’s done, I move to the table and nab the paper bag curled around a pumpkin donut I picked up yesterday, before making my way back to my room to sit cross-legged on my bed once more.
My coffee goes to the nightstand, though I have to edge my large, insulated tumblers out of the way with a soft huff, mourning that I didn’t think to bring them to the kitchen with me to dump in the sink.
But such is my curse, and my nightstand ends up more jumbled than it already had been as my coffee mug perches precariously on the edge of the dark, fake wood.
Carefully, I grab my phone, unplugging the charger and letting it fall as I settle back with my unwrapped donut. I’m glad I didn’t miss anything, since I normally have my phone so close during the night that any vibration will wake me up when it’s basically pressed against my face.
“I need to call Brynn,” I mutter to myself, knowing that the auditory reminder will do better than just thinking about it. With tonight being one of the few nights of the year they’ve volunteered to go to a haunt with me, I have to make sure it’s something we’re still doing.
And, of course, reassure both of them I picked the least terrifying haunt available.
Dusk House is geared more for teens than adults, with the budget of a high school theater production, so I’m certain it’s one my friends can handle.
Even the fake blood always somehow looks cheap and fake, especially splashed on clearly plastic weapons from the discount section of the toy store.
But as some of my fans aren’t into the hardcore haunts like I am, I always try to include a few of the more family friendly ones for them, even if they aren’t really my thing.
Knowing I’ll forget if I don’t do it now, I shoot off a text in the group chat, checking to see if we’re still good to meet for dinner before the haunt.
While I wait for an answer—assuming they’re even awake this early since it’s a Saturday—I take a bite of my donut and switch to looking at my blog, scrolling through the comments manually instead of just checking the highlights in my notifications.
Most of them are pretty predictable, with just a few comments about my post or their own experiences at Nightmare Ridge.
It’s a pretty popular place, meaning I’m not surprised that so many of my followers are looking forward to going this year.
I ignore the comments begging me to go to certain haunts, seeing as I already have my schedule for the season planned out and I don’t like to deviate once I’ve posted it online.
Which, now that I think about it, probably says more about my need for a schedule and predictability than how it would be received online if I did something spontaneous and out of the blue.
Warden? What are you talking about?
The comment catches my eye, and my brows furrow as I read and then re-read the reply to it.
Nightmare Ridge is really strict on the no-touch thing. Someone put fake blood on you???
My head tilts a little to the side, and I reread that one as well. Still, I take it with a grain of salt. There’s always the chance of being touched if the actor gets into the show and they feel like the guest is okay with it. I’ve had it happen before.
Just admittedly, not at Nightmare Ridge.
At other, less regulated, more backwoods places that only last a few years, it can be pretty common.
But I hadn’t really thought anything of it last night.
Things happen, and it definitely didn’t take away from the experience for me. If anything, it made my night better.
The memory of it is more visceral than anything, like my body remembers the feel of being backed into the fake cell, listening to the soft breathing of the man under the wolf-skull mask. He’d been close enough to reach out, to keep me there, and the touch of his skin on mine was—
Well, I suppose it’s the closest I’ve come to being afraid in a long time, and I mentally applaud the actor for it.
I suppose it could’ve been a bad thing if I were someone else; someone who doesn’t appreciate being pushed a little in a safe environment.
As I read the comments again, a small frown touches my lips.
I’m not aiming to get anyone in trouble, and seeing as last night was the opening night, I’m of the opinion that the warden of the asylum is a new addition, which is why so few people are familiar with him.
My fingers flex over the keys as I put together a reply in my head, not wanting to come off annoyed or in any way defensive, but wanting to make sure I’m effectively defending the cast member in case someone who works there ever sees or hears about my review.
Still, it takes a few tries before I can get out what I want to say, and when I finally hit enter on my reply, I sit back to read over my words, just to make sure there aren’t any stupid typos or mistakes.
It was barely any touching, truthfully. And I’ve never seen the warden before this year, either.
I’m thinking he’s a new addition, since they changed up the trail and really put a lot more into it.
Seriously, Nightmare Ridge is already a frontrunner for my favorite haunt this year, and I can’t speak highly enough about it.
Maybe when you visit, you’ll get a fun run-in with the warden too.
Just be prepared to get a little bloody.
That feels friendly, in my opinion. And, hopefully, intrigues people enough for them to check it out so the people who run Nightmare Ridge will see how much people enjoy this year’s additions, and that addition specifically, if I have anything to say about it.
I end up obsessively checking the comments for the next few hours as I work, editing videos I filmed over the past couple of weeks in preparation for spooky season.
Making videos a little bit in advance helps when I start getting overwhelmed; so I want to have at least two ready to release in case I need to take a break to allow my anxiety to completely overwhelm me and knock me on my ass for a weekend.
It’s happened before. With the constitution of a perpetually screaming hamster, it’ll definitely happen again.
The whole Squad Ghouls situation is still at the back of my mind, floating like a clump of unwelcome dog hair that continuously avoids vacuums and brooms. So far nothing has really come of it, except a few unhappy comments on my blog right after it happened.
But I worry there will be more as the video circulates. I worry their die-hard fans will take grave offense at the way I finished out the show, and the way I sort of lashed out at them on my blog for ambushing me with the question.
Really, I just worry.