Chapter 3 #2
“Yes…” Kane replies hesitantly with a brow wrinkled in question.
“Who the hell else would we be talking to, bud?” Collin chuckles, and my face flames. I lean back into the couch, trying to bury myself in the deformed foam.
“But why would you want me to go?” This is a great way to make friends, Madison. Great job. “Erm… sorry,” I blurt shakily. A few of their gazes narrow slightly in confusion, making me squirm harder.
“You’re a bit of a loner, huh.” Kane bumps his shoulder into mine, making me nearly gasp in surprise. I find his eyes on me, but his gaze isn’t cruel. It’s curious.
“Uh, yeah. I’ve…” I rub the back of my neck—yet another nervous habit. I drag my fingers through the short, nearly dried strands there, letting the soft, fuzzy texture calm me some. “I’ve kinda lived a sheltered life and whatnot, so this is all sorta new and strange to me.”
“Eh, that’s okay, buddy,” Lenny pops in. “College is great. You’ll have loads of fun. Especially since you’re living with us.” He waggles his brows suggestively—or, at least, that’s what it seems like—making me blush. He chuckles, shaking his head.
Kane leans forward and smacks Lenny across the arm. “Leave the poor kid alone, Len, for fucks sake.”
Lenny holds his hands up in a mocking gesture. “Sorry, sorry. So, anyway, do you want to go with us, Madison?”
I blink. “Go with you where?” Lenny leans back and shoots Collin a look where he’s seated in the reclining chair.
“To Mayhem Motel, loner boy. You know…” He rotates his hands in the air like that’s supposed to tell me something, but then, his eyes dart to his laptop.
“Ohhh.” My face flames hotter. Jesus Christ, you’re daft, Madi.
“We’ve always wanted to go, and they finally fucking have tickets available,” Lenny exclaims. “So, we have to snatch them up before they’re sold out for the next six fucking months again.”
“Uh…” Shoot. How do I tell them I’m completely and utterly broke without sounding pathetic? All the money I have is saved for college and rent. “I don’t really have the extra—”
“I can buy yours for you—no big deal,” Kane offers without hesitation. He gives me a smile, which only increases my blush—and embarrassment.
“It’s gonna be so fucking creepy.” Collin cackles. “I’m gonna make Brianne come, too.” Everyone dips back to their phones, and the ball starts rolling at break-neck speed.
“How many are we getting? Mads, do you want me to get yours?” Kane asks.
“I’ve got two,” Collin blurts. Kane nods his head, thumb scrolling across his screen.
“Just…” Lenny sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as he clicks away on his laptop. “Got mine.” He looks up from his screen, eyes on me. Collin’s looking, too. So is Kane.
I glance around at all of them, hating the way my heart is hammering against my sternum, making my breath come out in short, obvious pants. Ugh, just the thought of that place makes me break out in hives, and now, they want me to go.
“I don’t know, guys… It’s not really—”
“Oh, come on! It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”
“No, I know. I just—”
“Please…” Lenny resorts to puffing out his bottom lip. I wring my hands together in my lap, tugging on my fingers until my muscles ache with the strain.
How do I explain that the mere thought of this motel makes me want to cower under my blankets and never steal a peek at sunlight again?
I peer through my lashes, finding three sets of eyes on me all over again. Each one is heavy, making my skin crawl and roll under the pressurized sensation, like worms digging through dirt.
I moved here to make friends, I remind myself. A pathetic attempt to mentally steel my spine. This is supposed to be my fresh start. I may be in the same state, but I’m hours away from my hometown, from my not-exactly-abusive parents but close enough.
College is supposed to be the beginning of my new life.
A way for me to get out from underneath the shell I’ve lived under for as long as I can remember.
And what better way to do that than to go with my new roommates-slash-possible-friends to a horror attraction that might—okay, probably will—kill me?
“Fine,” I whisper in hopes no one will hear me, but they heard each hesitant decibel like their ears were straining for it.
“Yes!” Lenny screams and jumps to his feet. He knocks a knee against the coffee table on his way up, howling and clutching the bone with a pained grunt. We all chuckle and snicker as he bounces around with a flushed face and puffed-out cheeks.
“All right—got ours,” Kane says a minute later, pocketing his phone. The couch dips under the shift of movement, causing our shoulders to bump. “You look ecstatic,” he drawls. I can’t help my snort.
I pick at the frayed end on my drawstring, pulling a thread loose and winding it around my finger until the skin turns white beneath. “Oh, totally.” My voice quivers a bit, and I’m forced to suck in a breath to keep the panic from my voice.
“It’ll be fun.”
“And scare the piss out of us—literally,” Lenny cackles after he finally catches his breath.
“Wait, are you serious?” I balk at him. He nods enthusiastically.
“Oh, yeah, dude. One hundred percent. Mayhem is famous for a reason.”
“It’s famous?”
“Have you never heard of it before?” Collin asks. I shake my head. I’m regretting my decision more and more with every passing second.
“Welllll, shit, dude. You’re in for a treat tomorrow.”
“Um… Usually, a treat implies something good.” I laugh lightly just as the doorbell rings.
“Pizza!” Lenny shouts and scrambles over Collin’s spread legs as he races for the front door. He comes back carrying two large boxes and bringing the smell of tomato sauce, meat, and melted cheese.
He plops them down on the table, flips the lid on the top box, and dives right in. Everyone else follows suit. I stay in my spot, my mind reeling with questions. It’s not until a slice of pizza is being waved right in front of my face that I blink through my stupor with a sheepish smile.
“Thanks,” I mumble and take the floppy piece from Kane before taking a hesitant bite. The second the tangy sauce explodes on my tongue, I nearly groan.
I can’t remember the last time I had pizza—it’s been so many years.
The evening passes quickly. The chatter amongst my new roommates is fun and teasing. It’s actually very weird to observe the banter between them, but I find myself smiling more often than not.
I think I’ll really like it here.
“All right, well, I’m gonna head to bed. Goodnight.” The soft cacophony of mumbled replies follows me as I make my way up the stairs to my new bedroom. Once the door is latched behind me, my eyes flutter closed, and I take a deep breath.
My hands tremble slightly against the door at my back. My lungs deflate as I push out every ounce of breath inside my chest. I wait until my head swims with pressure before I gasp in more oxygen.
The relief in my chest is instant, and it nearly makes my legs buckle.
With a near-silent grunt, I take the few steps to my new-to-me twin-sized bed and flop down face first. My blanket smells like the flowery laundry detergent my mother uses, and my stomach flips with the vacant feeling of missing home—which is ridiculous because I don’t miss anything about it, especially my parents, but my brain doesn’t seem to care.
Still, I allow myself a few extra inhales before I’m pushing myself up and shucking my clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a pile I promise myself I’ll pick up first thing in the morning.
Lying beneath the now warm sheets, I stare up at the foreign popcorn ceiling, my mind churning with the events of the day. How rejuvenating it felt to drive my very own car here that I spent nearly five years saving up to buy, packed with everything I own—which, pathetically, isn’t much.
How I’m now living in a strange house with people I barely know. How good it feels to be on my own with no one to tell me what to do—except, apparently, my own subconscious and my deep-seated desire to be accepted.
Which has, so fortunately, landed me in a very precarious predicament.
I agreed to go to the state’s most haunted house—or whatever—when just the sound of the wind blowing against the windows wrong nearly sends me into a panic.
Not my brightest moment, but I’m hoping once we get there, my resolve will steel and I’ll at least be able to walk inside without peeing my pants.
I know for a fact I won’t make it longer than two minutes, but I think if I make the effort, that will be okay. I’ll just go in last so no one else knows how much of a pansy I am.
But first, I need to know all that I’m getting myself into.
Rolling onto my side, I reach toward the small stand near my bed and grab my phone.
I pinch my eyes closed as the brightness of my screen temporarily blinds me.
I type in my password and open the browser.
The search bar stares back at me, taunting me.
My thumb hovers over the blank space, trembling a hair’s breadth away from the screen.
The haunting picture of the motel flashes through my mind’s eye, and I shiver, nearly choking on the lump lodged in the back of my throat.
The click of each letter resounds through the room, charged and permanent. With a bated breath and a vacant little thump, I hit search. The first thing that pops up is some random ad, so I scroll past to the link for the website just beneath.
The photo of that godforsaken motel loads in the background, surrounded by all different shades of black. Clicking on the menu, I scroll through each option with hesitant interest, wincing as that freaking photo follows me.
I click on the tab that says FEEL US, unsure as to what that means. “Welcome to Mayhem Motel. Beware…” I read aloud, choking on the word as my eyes rove faster than my brain can keep up with.
“You will feel like a victim—because you are.”
Oh… my God.
My intestines wrap around my heart.
“You’re our victim now… Prepare to die… Oh, shit. Jesus, what does that even mean?” I sound hysterical to my own ears. My eyes sting with the unexpected pressure of tears, but I barely manage to bite them back with a grit I didn’t even know I had.
I am not going to cry over reading a little freaking introduction paragraph—even if it does make me feel like I’m volunteering to be murdered.
“It’s just part of the gig,” I whisper to myself, not feeling the slightest bit of reprieve at my faint, pathetic words of consolation. “Yeah, I freaking feel you all right,” I grumble as I click on the next tab, YOU MUST—whatever the heck that means.
The Mayhem Motel experience is only suitable for persons aged 18+.
You must read and sign our WAIVER AND RELEASE, EXPRESS ASSUMPTION OF RISK, INDEMNITY, AND VOLUNTARY CONSENT AGREEMENT. If you choose not to, you will not be allowed to enter.
I blink slowly, lips parted as I reread the paragraph two times over. A waiver? We all have to sign a waiver before we can enter. The thought makes me want to throw up. It certainly can’t mean anything good.
With hesitant, shaky fingers, I click on HISTORY, immediately curious as to what that could mean.
What I didn’t expect to find was an endless scroll of paragraphs explaining the history of the original motel—before it became Mayhem.
Gooseflesh devours my bare skin as I absorb every word. Each one settles deep in my gut, adding more weight with every passing minute.
By the time I reach the bottom, I try to keep scrolling but come up empty.
What… the heck. I blink helplessly at the dimmed screen as the glowing, white words blur, my eyes unfocusing.
Apparently, not even five years ago, all it was, was a sad, news-riddled motel due to the endless cycle of apparent suicides.
There was at least one suicide a week, which gradually turned to two. And then, when lucky number three became the pattern, the owner, Mr. Haynes, decided to close up, not even bothering to sell.
It stated in a direct quote that he didn’t want to sell because he didn’t want the “bad juju” to continue.
But what Mr. Haynes didn’t predict was that he’d die, sooner rather than later. Which then left the motel up for sale by the bank.
And that is apparently how Mayhem Motel came to be. Two years later and it’s now one of the country’s most known horror spots. People come from all around to experience the terrors within the walls of Mayhem.
Now that I know, I feel like I should’ve known this whole time since I have lived here my entire life, but I guess I can blame my suffocating parents for my lack of knowledge of obvious state attractions.
And now, I am one of those stupid, stupid people.
I mean, Jesus, a building with a history of dozens of suicides is now a haunted attraction, where you have to sign a contract waiving your right to legal action.
Apparently, Mr. Haynes was right about the “bad juju.”
Backing out as soon as everyone goes in is seeming like a better idea by the second.
Clearing out of my browser with a shudder, I stare back up at the ceiling. Only this time, my mind is reeling for an entirely different reason.
And I can’t get the image of that motel out of my mind, long into the darkest hours of the night.