4. Strangers in the Dark
4
Strangers in the Dark
I peeked around the corner of the entrance to the raised aisles in my movie showing. A few people shot me annoyed looks as if I was creeping on them instead of trying to locate my seat. I retreated to the entry hall to check my phone and shield their precious eyes from a distracting beacon. Maybe that lurker had the right idea watching from the hall. I could keep an eye on the time and watch the movie without disturbing anybody. Sitting down on my break would be nice though. Shifting my weight, I scanned for easily accessible aisle seats so I wouldn’t have to walk in front of anybody.
The door to the theater creaked open. Soft, measured footfall padded to a stop behind me. A young man’s voice rumbled in the dark. “Do you need help finding your seat, Miss Silver?”
“Oh, I’m…” Wait a minute, was he the sexy manager? I twisted around to check. The light from my phone was barely enough to reach his bowed lips. Shadows caressed the rest of his Victorian-era, diamond-shaped face. He had sharp cheekbones, a refined nose, and narrow eyes guarded by thick, spidery lashes. His fingers combed through scythe-like bangs, his pale skin bright against the rolled-up sleeves of his black theater uniform. If this was the same guy I saw when exiting Mummy’s House, he also had a stellar backside.
My heart thumped hard, and it wasn't because of the ominous music pouring through the speakers.
“Hi,” I whispered.
His gaze roamed across my arms and chest. “No popcorn? I thought this was your lunch break.”
“Yeah. I…” What was I going to say? Were we even supposed to be talking right now? I glanced at the film. A wide-eyed woman crawled through a cobweb-covered attic, her harried panting echoing my own internal panic. Was the manager checking on me? And if so, was it to make sure I didn’t sneak into any other movies or to personally assure my viewing pleasure?
“I wanted to come as soon as possible,” I finally managed to respond.
“I see.” He hummed, a light, airy noise that vibrated in my pulse.
Oh, fuck. I just made a double entendre, didn’t I?
The manager’s fingertips ghosted across my back. “This way, please.”
My skin rippled with goosebumps. I wanted him to fuck me against the wall, the loud crowd and dark movie masking our depravity. But that’d be reckless.
Besides, I wasn’t going to miss The Widow ending for anybody. I swallowed hard and marched on. He guided me into a free aisle seat.
“Thanks,” I whispered, crossing my legs and squeezing them together. He wouldn’t join me, right? He was working.
The ghost of a smirk graced his lips. He bowed as if he was my own personal butler, then lurked just long enough for my lungs to ache from holding my breath. People noticed him standing there. Their gazes swept over us like wild, hungry flashlights in the dark. Frustration bubbled alongside my curiosity. He blinked softly—or was it slowly? A measured gesture. Then, he slunk back into the shadows from whence he came.
I took a shaky breath and wriggled in my seat, flipping my cross between my fingers. What the hell was that? My heart raced with excitement.
The manager was clearly on customer service duty, making sure I didn’t disturb anybody. Although he seemed to have no problem causing chaos on his own terms. His crack about popcorn was probably a targeted upsell. I pressed my cold fingers to my hot cheeks, willing myself to calm down. I needed to find a release so I stopped fantasizing about strangers. Too bad that pierced guy from the store didn’t amount to anything.
I ran my teeth over my lower lip and tried to focus on the movie.
The final girl, the one I expected to live through this ordeal, pounded on the attic window. She wanted freedom. Something to break. To ignite the fire in her veins.
The webbing vibrated. An ominous baseline swelled in our souls–and then we saw them–the long legs of death. Beckoning. Beckoning!
Screams cascaded through the theater.
The final girl fell into a web, her leg stuck in white, wispy jaws. She was trapped. The spider reeled her in. But no—she wasn’t going down without a fight. The final girl used the last of her strength to throw herself out the attic window. Glass shattered. The widow lurched after her prey.
But the webbing slowed the girl’s fall out the third-story window. Jagged shards sliced through the netting. She fell—oh god, she fell hard, but she survived. The girl looked up, bracing herself for the spider to creep out the window. But it didn’t. Where was it? Crawling through the rest of the church to surprise her? Lurking in the darkness?
The girl scrambled to the cute local hunter for help as his truck pulled around.
He called her name. He got out a gun. And he pointed it at her chest. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But sacrifices must be made.”
I gasped, delighted.
“We’re all just creatures tangled in its web,” he monologued to the girl he’d romanced most of the movie. Oh, I’d love to have popcorn for this.
She reached for the tow chain on the back of his car.
The spoilers finally made sense. This girl better get his murdering ass.
After a few heart-racing minutes, the blood-spattered final girl stood above the hunter’s body, the gaping hole of the attic window behind her. Spider legs crept out of the house, forming a dark crown.
She was the widow now. Kind of.
Got to love a circular ending.
I clapped, the impact slamming back into my joints. Enthusiastic audience members hooted their approval. It helped to unleash some of that pent-up adrenaline. I was so glad I didn’t wait to see this. The lights came partway up, so people shuffled out of the theater. But the lights were still somewhat dim. Was there a post-credits scene?
I checked my phone. Shit. I was already cutting it close. I couldn’t set a bad example for my team and be late coming back from my lunch break. Especially for a two-second gag. Still.
I twisted my cross necklace, glancing from the dwindling audience filing down the hall to the screen.
Please. Show me something .
With the whisper of rustling paper and footfall, the manager promenaded through the crowd. He paused between the upper and lower level seats and slow-blinked at me in greeting.
My heart pounded harder. For him—and the movie.