Chapter 31 Aston #3
The darkness isn’t helping matters. Nor is the sudden inescapable fact that we’re moving—slowly, but surely making the descent into the mines, hundreds of feet beneath the surface of the earth, where there will be no escape.
Where the earth could collapse on us at any given moment, burying us alive.
Heart pounding, it takes everything in me not to whip off the mask and throw myself out of this too-crowded death trap. Meanwhile, the others resume their idle chitchat, as if what happened moments ago is already forgotten. As if I’m really no threat to them at all.
I am though. I am.
I’m the only monster here.
The handle is slick in my tightly fisted hand as a weird staticky sensation fills my brain, spreading through the rest of my body. Shooting off little sparks in my fingertips, not unlike a polyester blanket would in the dead of winter, when the air is dry and charged.
Vale’s waiting for you, I remind myself as I focus on evening my breaths.
It’s so hot in here, between the mask and the body heat—humid, not dry at all—yet my skin pebbles from a clammy sort of chill I can’t be sure is from the dank air of the mine or old fears coming back to tug me under.
Yeah, I didn’t really think this through…
Definitely going to have to have a little chat with Vale about how dating works. What happened to good ol’ fashioned drive-ins and milkshakes?
After what feels like an eternity, but in actuality is only minutes, we come to a jarring, lurching halt. A moment later, there’s a sort of snicking sound, that can only be the door’s locking mechanism giving way.
Before anyone can open it for us, I jump up, practically crawling across the loner’s lap, and grab the handle to shove it open and tumble out. Dirt clouds up around the combat boots I borrowed from Eden, dusting my jeans and the hem of my robe where it reaches mid-calf.
I’m vaguely aware of the bodies swarming around me, the mine car emptying. The laughter and sounds making up the haunted tunnel slowly break through the weird buzzy feeling filling my head, making me feel all jittery—like I’m suddenly bursting with energy.
I tell myself it’s just excitement for what’s to come.
It has nothing to do with the fact I’m all too aware that I'm no less trapped now than I was a moment ago.
Rucking up my robe, I stuff my knife back in my pocket before letting the fabric fall around my legs once more.
Wiping my sweat-slicked palms on the silky, synthetic material, I step into line with the rest of the bodies migrating parallel to the car.
Following the lantern-lit path into tunnels that glitter black.
Somewhere, a door slams shut, followed by a high-pitched scream I can’t be sure is legit or a sound effect. Spooky music plays from speakers positioned along the wall, warring with the clamor of what you’d expect for a haunted house sort of thing.
Banging, creaking, and rattling chains.
Moans, screeches and monstrous roars.
Eyes wide behind my mask, I push up on my toes, craning my neck to try and get a glimpse of what’s waiting for me.
Slowly, a chain link gate comes into view over the sea of heads looming before me, where a Grim Reaper stands guard with his scythe, granting entry in groups.
Having never been to a haunted house—or tunnel, in this case—I’m not really sure what to expect beyond darkness and jump scares.
Which is pretty much exactly what we’re greeted with past the gate—me and the two girls I attached myself to, following their lead through a maze of various rooms.
My senses are on high-alert—adrenaline surging through my veins—as I keep an eye out for this so-called Chamber of Mirrors.
Something brushes over my shoulder, and I swear I feel someone breathing hotly down my neck. But when I whip my head around, no one’s there.
My mouth splits into a grin.
This. Is. AWESOME.
I take back my earlier misgivings. Best first date idea ever.
Lights flicker on suddenly, drawing attention to the thick fog swirling around us, and the cages lined up along the wall.
A gorilla rattles the bars with a ferocious roar.
A werewolf paces, growling. A clown stands with his head cocked; a frozen bloody grin stamped across his face as his beady eyes track us.
I give him an enthusiastic wave. He can’t see it, but I am beaming.
Now that some visibility has been restored, there’s no missing the graffiti decorating the walls. Expletives and penises, and abstract strokes making up an array of colorful images.
Up ahead, where the room gives way to a narrow red-flashing hallway, someone spray-painted the wall surrounding the opening to look like the entrance to one of those old-fashioned Tunnel of Love attractions you’d find at carnivals with the swan boats and heart-framed canal and lovey dovey music.
This one has all that minus the water and boats, and it’s splattered from ceiling to floor with blood. It squelches under my boots. Gross. But also… awesome?
From hidden speakers inside, old-timey jukebox music plays, broken only by a doo-wops, and a male lead crooning about only having eyes for youuuu. Romance at its absolute finest.
I drag my fingers along the bumpy wall, collecting the dusty dried substance they used as blood, absently wondering if perhaps Vale plans to take me through here once we meet up.
There’s not really any room for privacy, but shucks if I wouldn’t be just keen for a PG hand-held stroll through the murder tunnel.
Be still my squishy beating heart.
Emerging into a room draped with cobwebs, lit sickly green by glow-in-the dark spiders hanging from the ceiling, I’m wondering at what point we’ll reach the Chamber of Mirrors, when a moment later, I have my answer.
Finally.
Not that the lead-up wasn’t all fun and dandy—really setting the tone, you know. Gotta build that tension and let things marinate. Who doesn’t love a good, slow edging?
The room, or whatever you want to call it, is bigger than I expected.
Or…maybe not. I suppose all the reflections bouncing off each other make this stretch of mine appear far more vast than it is.
Separating from the group, I weave my way through the maze made up of all sorts of mirrors, searching for my boo. Watching in my periphery as my cloaked, masked reflection flickers in and out with the flashing strobe lights in a whoosh of billowing black fabric and streaks of a white ghostly face.
From more hidden speakers, a creepy, tinkling carnivalesque song plays. Like something you’d hear from a music box.
There’s a mechanical gasp, quickly followed by a fresh wave of thick, dense fog sweeping across the floor, swallowing me up to mid-calf.
Other groups linger about, but no sign of Vale. Perhaps I beat him here.
Content to wait him out, I look for somewhere out of the way.
Around and around I go, before I finally reach some sort of end—a corner—marked with a wide floor to ceiling mirror with a bronze ornate frame cradled by dirt walls.
There’s just enough room to slip behind it.
Perfect.
And now we wait.