8. Madness #3
Her terrorized scent bursts outward, giving us a heady rush. We try not to notice that her terror is higher for Hunt’s demon. We will just have to use our special skills later, scaring her enough to take first place again.
“Ready for us to release her? We must warn you. She has free run of all domains. It’s possible for her to find a way into his room.” We plant the thought, fiendish laughter spilling outward as our excitement builds.
His body sways. “It doesn’t matter if she does. I’ll track her down there just like I did here. I always succeed in my hunts.”
Githany
Where Hunt just stood, a creature of indescribable terror is now staring down at me.
Not exactly a snake, not a spider either, but some alien mix of both.
Rearing up on his winding body makes him staggeringly tall.
The smallest trace of a man’s form remains from his torso up.
But Hunt’s mask is gone, and a monster’s face has taken its place.
Countless eyes lock onto me. My stomach churns, buckling with nausea as I remain trapped in his penetrative gaze.
A harsh grinding brings my attention to his smiling mouth. A deadly display of serrated blade-like points. They remind me of the chainsaw he carried before.
Hunt’s skin turns silver and blue to green, brown, and back again.
“Camouflage.” He smirks. His sharp smile is all-consuming.
Hunt unwinds again, letting the four pointed legs split off from his snake half.
I’m locked into those glistening black eyes as he raises on his front serpentine trunk, lifting his body over his head until the four other legs are tucked in close to his body.
All that’s left is a single thick pillar and a face staring down.
He mottles the colors on his supporting leg until it matches the bark of a tree.
This is nightmare fuel. All those eyes watching from above.
“By the time they figure out I’m hovering over them in the forest, it’s already too late.”
His body whips back down, slamming into the ground in a flash of movement that happens faster than I can shift away. Those other four legs wrap punishingly around me, rivaling the pressure from the glass box.
The supporting body slithers forward, constricting me alongside the smaller appendages.
His teeth graze my cheek as he lowers himself to whisper in my ear. “Beware the trees, Githany.” He releases me, giving me a forceful shove away from him as his legs once again wrap around his body, returning it to a single unit. “Your hunt has already begun.”
My brain is still stuck on the demonic face. I fight to keep him in my sights as my body acts on its own. My gaze is the last to leave as I twist away from Madness and Hunt. There’s a new black curtain only a few feet ahead.
Madness’s cackle follows me as I duck beneath the fabric. The sound is far deeper in his dark form. “Try not to die, Githany. Gator will be disappointed if he doesn’t get his turn.”
The funhouse and forest have fused together to create a room with no ceiling and no visible end.
A carousel with flashing golden lights plays a rundown tune.
A nest of vines have overtaken most of the horses and their poles.
The repetitive jerkiness of the machinery shows a willingness to spin as designed.
The greenery keeps it firmly rooted to its spot.
An oversized jack-in-the-box springs from a neon-yellow crate to my left, sending me jerking to the right.
It’s pale painted face has been torn open.
Branches extend from the eyes and mouth.
A warped laughter is accompanied by the jingling of its blue and white jester hat.
The body rocks forward, gloved hands reaching for me.
Traces of Madness and Hunt continue their war for space. An animatronic clown wrestles with the thorny vines of a blackberry bush, its knife-wielding arm jerky with the inability to raise itself as high as its programming desires.
Balloons rise and pop, flooding the forest in a vibrant rainbow display. They’re never quite able to slip through the canopy before catching on something and bursting.
Eventually the forest wins. The farther I run, the less of Madness’s room I see.
Just when I think I’m clear of the clown’s influence, a bleating laughter races through the treetops. Has he caught up to me already? If Madness is close, then Hunt can’t be far behind. Without the sound of Hunt’s chainsaw to give him away, I have no idea where he is.
Glancing over my shoulder grants me a frustrating view of the dark woods. The hint of a shadow passes from tree to tree in the distance. Was that real? Is my mind playing tricks on me?
A low-hanging branch smacks me in the chest, reminding me that I am not wearing clothes.
Running naked is a strangely liberating experience. No clothes or shoes to restrict movement. I’m a wildling, fusing with the nature and night. The moss muffles my footfalls but a soft squelching gives away my every step. The ground is growing wetter the farther in I go.
There’s an uncomfortable stickiness between my thighs that’s punctuated each time my legs swing forward to run. I don’t remember Madness finishing inside of me, but it’s hard to believe this much fluid is my own.
The reality of the last room finally catches up with me. I was willing to have sex with a monster. Even after he nearly crushed me to death. A clown made me come. A monster was inside me.
If Hunt hadn’t found us, we wouldn’t have stopped. I didn’t want him to stop. That’s something I’ll need to unpack in the therapy that I’ll definitely be looking into when I get out of here.
Crisp pine and sweet jasmine push through my fear, eliciting memories of childhood trips to the mountains. A lightness overtakes the gloom as I give in to the wild, lifting my spirits.
The forest is one of my happiest places. Even with the ghosts dotting the landscape. Where the hell did they come from? Have I entered a different room? There were no ghosts when I first crossed into the forest.
Glowing faces keep tucked out of sight, occasionally peering out around tree trunks.
They’re hiding from something.
The closer I come to each, the quicker they disappear.
“Hide if you want. It’s not me you should be afraid of.”
The trees are more densely packed in this area. I can’t get a good read on the distance.
Believing we’re still in the haunted house is ridiculous. This type of real estate doesn’t exist inside Reaper’s Playroom. The demons are somehow able to stretch space, bending it to match their needs.
I don’t have a very good plan for escaping. Surely if I keep running, I’ll make it to the other side. None of the rooms can be endless. I’ve found a way through everything so far.
That, or they’ve let me out each time.
I’d like to think I have some control over the night but that’s probably absurd.
This room is warmer than the clown room. The heat is thick. Reminding me of the way the air feels when rain is close.
A weather phenomenon would insinuate we are most definitely not still in the haunted house.
More ghosts duck and tremble as I tear a path through the forest. One stays present, standing out in the open. The ghost from the clown room stares straight at me. My feet tangle as I slam to a halt, veering toward her.
“Hey you dead bitch.” Not my most intellectually impressive insult, but accurate nonetheless. “What did you do to me?”
She’s more youthful than I realized. It’s challenging to determine the age of a spirit.
A thirty-year-old a hundred years ago looks far different than a thirty-year-old today.
She’s a child, maybe early teens. The torn nightgown and haunted expression have me praying she doesn’t impart her gruesome death story into my thoughts.
Most spirits contain some level of emotion.
Often just one. Sadness, rage, grief. Those are what I see most. This girl seems far more aware of the present.
An almost-human range of emotion flickers through her translucent gaze.
“Skin,” she mumbles.
“Yes, skin. What have you done to me? What’s happening to my skin?”
She speaks in the faintest whisper. “You did.”
Frustration gives a bite to my words. “What are you saying?”
Her gaze softens. “What you did.”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. You touched me and now I’m turning blue.” The girl doesn’t even flinch when I shove my wrists forward.
Those sad, frightened eyes take in the full spread of her touch. “What did you do? What did we do? Needed help that never came.”
“You needed help? Bitch, I’ve got blue nipples. Whatever your tragic backstory is, I’m sorry. Just tell me what the fuck is happening.”
Hundreds of ghosts manifest in my peripherals. More than I’ve ever encountered in a single space. Were they drawn here by our conversation? Is this girl some kind of ghost leader? There aren’t hierarchies in the paranormal realm, far as I know.