Chapter 16 Wren Arthur Survive the World’s Scariest Haunted House #3
He took a deep breath. Speed would be his best friend. One quick go, no stopping or looking back, and he would be free.
One…Ew, it really was gross, shiny…Was the web somehow wet?
Never mind. Two…Was there any chance that it was a real spiderweb, or that real spiders had perhaps found the fake webbing really enticing and taken up residence?
Possible, but not likely. Three…It would be wise to take a few more seconds to analyze the situation, count to five instead.
But another group was coming, and Arthur couldn’t risk the humiliation, so he dropped into a sprinting stance and lunged.
When he finally stepped out into the dewy evening air, it felt cool; well, cooler than it had been inside the poorly ventilated attraction.
And whether he was cool, hot, sweaty, or covered in strands of stretched cotton didn’t really matter.
He was alive, in one piece, and he hadn’t caved in to his fear. That was what really mattered.
Wren was waiting for him at the exit when he got out.
“So, how was—” He didn’t let her finish before pulling her toward him, running the fingers of one hand up the back of her neck and firmly into her hair, and kissing her deeply.
It was the adrenaline, he knew. His skin felt tingly and sensitive to every touch, and he felt this overwhelming joy to see Wren again, to be here with her in this moment, and at the fact that she was his. He just had to let her know.
“Whoa,” was all she could say when he finally let her go.
“Sorry.”
“It was a good whoa.”
“Oh.” He smiled. “Cool.”
“I heard a little girl screaming in there and worried it might be you,” she said. “I know you don’t handle it well when teens are mean to you.”
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been worried about that, about being designated one of the “weak ones” and getting extra, unwanted attention from the performers.
Or worse, having some brutish farm boy make an example out of him to score points with Wren.
He worried about falling and breaking a limb, passing out, and getting maimed by a prop gone wrong and lying there in a pool of his own blood, incoming groups stepping over him thinking he was part of the scenery.
He’d worried about all of that, and he went anyway. And better yet, he had actually made it out.
“It wasn’t as scary as I thought,” he said. “I did get a little scraped up, though.”
He’d forgotten about his hands until now.
They still stung and were probably bleeding profusely at this point.
He held them up to the beams coming from a nearby floodlight, bracing himself for the worst. But there was no blood.
Barely even a scratch. Just dust. Dust from the floor.
In the black light, it had looked like a massacre.
Turned out it was nothing at all. He couldn’t help but laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Wren said.
“Me,” he said. That was the only way he could explain it.
“OK.” She side-eyed him. “Well, meanwhile, I’ve been holding in the world’s largest pee because I didn’t want to miss you.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll wait for you by the gallows.”
Wren hurried off toward the port-a-potties and Arthur stood there, still basking. The adrenaline was wearing off, but even with its edge taken off, he felt amazing. Like he could do anything.
For some reason, he thought of the house, the Needle.
Maybe it was because Wren had called it a torture dungeon.
Or was it a sex dungeon? And he’d just walked out of an actual house of terror and found it wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d built it up to be in his mind.
So what was he really so afraid of? He could do the work and get the house ready for their family, all on a shoestring budget.
He wasn’t all that handy, and definitely not experienced, but that’s what YouTube was for.
It’s what his dad would have done. It’s what his dad did do.
He renovated their entire house as a wiry little twentysomething, with nothing but a few library books and some hand-me-down tools.
If he could do it, Arthur could do it. What’s the worst that could happen?
He’d been searching for meaning, for purpose, for feeling like he was somebody for a change.
Maybe this was what he had been looking for all along.
Wren could be upset; that could happen. But he’d offered her the chance to show him her vision for their life and family, and so far she’d done nothing.
Not a speck of research or even sending a single listing his way to look at.
Not that he could blame her. She was busy growing a human.
He couldn’t exactly relate, but it was probably a lot to deal with.
Linda Kellerman was right. Wren didn’t have the bandwidth to take this on, and it was his job, his responsibility, to make this decision for them.
He wasn’t afraid of that responsibility anymore.
He checked that the coast was clear, pulled out his phone, and called Linda. She answered quickly.
“Arthur! Are you finally ready to make a deal?”
“Better late than never,” he said. “Right?”