Chapter 11 #2
And even though I never asked for it, I really couldn’t turn these down.
And I’m especially glad for them tonight, when I’m pretty sure standing in lines that can easily take over an hour might overstimulate me enough to send me out of my mind with anxiety and nerves.
This way, my friends don’t have to stay here and suffer through the lines either.
Feeling guilty at the idea of making them take up their time doing something they don’t enjoy, I all but signed off my soul to the Haunt gods when I remembered the passes sitting in my desk drawer.
“They go in order of scare level,” I explain, picking up my own shiny, plastic pass and holding it upside down. “Well, except paintball. We’re ignoring that.” I make a face, still wondering what paintball has to do with a haunt.
But judging by the people walking by laughing, with small bruises or bursts of paint staining their clothes, my opinion is not common.
“Let’s do them in order?” I suggest. “So, Factory first, Farm second, Darkness third?” We might as well, and it’s the way I’ve always done them before. My heart flutters a little, and even my unease isn’t enough to trample the excitement of being here completely.
“How scary is scary?” Brynn adjusts the glow stick necklace shining around her neck, hooking her finger under it and giving a soft tug.
“You’re asking the wrong person.” I give her an apologetic grin, guilt stabbing me like glass. “But you guys don’t have to go through them with me. He thinks he scared me. And if he really is here, then he’s seen you with me, and probably—”
Madison throws an arm over my shoulder and yanks me into her. “Not a chance,” she singsongs happily. “We will suffer for you, as is in the best friend contract.”
“And you’ll owe us for the rest of your life,” Brynn adds sweetly, dropping the pass.
“Factory?” She looks around until she spots the end of the line.
“Factory. Come on.” Bravely, as if she’s not the biggest coward of the three of us, Brynn leads the way while we follow, Madison’s arm slipping away from Brynn so she can grab my hand and squeeze reassuringly.
It’s wordless, but I don’t need to hear what she means.
We’ve got you, Persy.
When Brynn nearly jumps straight into a scare actor wielding a dental drill in the Factory, screams, and then remains on edge for the rest of the haunt, I consider calling it there.
It’s clear she’s not having the time of her life, and for every scare after that she clutches on to both Madison and me, using us as human shields against them.
I feel terrible.
This isn’t their thing, and I’ve always been fine with that.
Seeing them so scared now makes guilt climb like thorny vines through my chest, making it hard for me to really appreciate any part of the Factory.
I’m barely noticing the large, metal barrels that shake and turn in their confines, or the trash compactor room where the floor literally drops a few inches, too focused on how much she doesn’t want to be here.
So when we get into line at The Darkness, the last haunt of Park Scream, I make a decision. “Brynn, look.” I pull her to a stop, her hands in mine. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. As you can see, there’s no creepy stalker in a wolf-skull mask anywhere on the property.”
At least, not that I’ve seen.
She meets my gaze, her brown eyes still wide and her jaw clenched as she tries not to let on how freaked out she is. “But we’re not done yet,” she points out quietly.
“I have one haunt to go,” I counter. My fingers lace with hers, and I drag her away from the line, not that we’d have to wait anyway. “It’s the shortest.” It isn’t, but she doesn’t know that. “Take Madison, go get a funnel cake, and drink another gross IPA.”
She rolls her eyes reflexively at my diss of her choice of alcohol, but a smile tugs on her lips. “We promised you we’d go in with you,” the brunette argues, but there’s not a lot of conviction in the words.
She really doesn’t want to go into another haunt, and the guilt of asking them to is about to choke me.
“Even if he is in there, which I doubt, how would he know I’m coming through? It’s dark,” I remind both of them as Madison opens her mouth like she wants to protest. “I’ll be fine,” I promise again. “Pretty sure the risk of danger is over.”
Those feel like big words I could regret, but it would hurt worse to feel the stab of guilt for every step of the last haunt.
The two of them trade looks, having a silent conversation that only almost-married couples can have when they’ve known each other for way too long. I don’t try to intrude, since this isn’t new for me, and at last Madison sighs, her shoulders dropping in resignation.
“If you’re sure,” she says finally, sounding reluctant. “But we really will—”
“I know you would.” I flash them both a smile.
“And I appreciate it. But I’ll be fine. In and out while you hang out here.
Funnel cake.” I point at the stand with clowns selling those and elephant ears covered in strawberry and apple pie filling.
“Their funnel cake is great. Just ignore the clowns telling you they’re going to fry you next. ”
I swear Brynn’s face pales, and she looks over at the stand with trepidation, which tells me she will not appreciate the clowns’ witty, grotesque lines. “Thanks, Persy,” she murmurs finally, looking a little guilty herself. “And umm. I’m sorry.”
Shaking my head, I back away towards the fast pass lane for The Darkness.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I deny easily.
“You guys did exactly what I needed, and you went above and beyond. You get a friendship badge for the occasion.” With that, I turn, knowing if I give them the time, they’ll find a reason to come with me instead of waiting behind.
Thanks to my fast pass, I’m only behind five people in the line for The Darkness, and all of them are part of the same group. I stand behind them, toying with the rope that marks the line, listening to their conversation that grows steadily more animated, as their voices rise a few octaves.
They’re petrified, I realize, even though all of them are wearing the glow-necklace of the chicken pass wielders. What’s there to be afraid of when you know nobody can touch you, grab you, or do anything else to you in the haunt?
But, as usual, I keep my personal opinions to myself.
My gaze travels from one side of the warehouse-style building in front of me to the other, and from inside I hear screams echoing loudly enough for them to bounce back outside.
The rev of a chainsaw sends butterflies into flight in my stomach, and as one of the people in front of me jerks backward, I have to step back quickly to avoid them.
“Sorry,” I murmur, realizing I’ve stepped back into the person behind me.
“I didn’t mean…” But I trail off when I turn, finding the well-dressed scare actor from earlier standing stiff and silent, his icy blue gaze on mine as I turn.
“Oh.” I tilt my head. “Well, I’m still sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”
“You should stay out of the Darkness, Scaredy Cat,” he murmurs, leaning forward so his mouth is too close to my ear. “Last chance, before it swallows you whole like the little mouse you are.”
A shiver travels up my spine, and a reckless grin pulls at my lips. “Oh, yeah?” I ask in reply. “And how is it different from the Factory and the Farm? Which, as you can see, did not manage to end my life?”
But he doesn’t answer. The man just looks at me with something like a smirk twisting his lips into an unfriendly expression.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he murmurs finally.
Before I can answer, he smoothly ducks under the rope with more grace than I could ever achieve, to head straight into the dark haunt in front of me.
He times it so he walks in right behind the group in front of me, and within seconds I hear their screams, though I doubt he’s done anything more than just exist behind them.
Still, it gets the butterflies going in my stomach, excitement warring with my caution over the possibility that all of my talk is, in fact, just talk.
The general line beside me moves, a group of them going in a few minutes after the group from my side, and the man at the front of the line with a marker to color in the dot on my fast pass stops to just give me a look.
“You all alone?” He glances behind me, as if someone is going to appear out of thin air. “Just you?”
“Just me,” I agree. I’m used to the surprise, since I normally come to haunts by myself, anyway.
“Are you sure you want to brave the Darkness alone?” He tilts his head to look at me shrewdly, and before I give my normal, snarky response, I hesitate.
Do they know something I don’t?
Surely not, when I've never met these men before in my life. Surely not when they couldn’t know anything about me.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I’m sure.”
He waits a moment longer, then leans forward to snag the dangling pass.
He holds it up so the lanyard is putting pressure around the back of my neck, never looking away from my eyes while he unerringly uses his Sharpie to mark out the open circle so I can’t use my fast pass twice tonight on the same haunt.
“Just wait a moment,” he murmurs, checking the timer on his phone.
He walks away, going to a box of yellow vests and glow sticks, before coming back to hand a few to the group on the general admission side of the line.
The two men there joke with each other while pulling on the neon yellow construction-worker style vests, though their eyes tell me that even with their playful ribbing they’re both petrified.
Poor guys.
The Darkness really is the scariest part of Park Scream, but it’s not the scariest haunt I’ve ever been to. They’ll be fine.
It’s all fake, after all.
The man takes a bit longer than I expect, checking his phone a few times with a frown. By the time he comes back over to unlatch the rope from its hook in front of me, I know it’s been a little longer than five minutes.
Maybe the group in front of me had to be escorted out.
They certainly seem like the type not to make it through the whole thing.
“Go on in.” The man moves the rope to the side, ushering me toward the dark entry to this part of the warehouse. “Just remember”—he crowds a little close, and reaches out to grab my arm, before hissing in my ear—“we tried to warn you.”
A shiver goes up my spine, but I only give him a stupid, reckless grin before heading into the blackness of the room ahead.