Chapter 26
Because nothing says romantic tension like a minor
meltdown over childhood Disney trauma.
“The Con is about to open,” Darren said after a while. “We should wrap this up soon. I hear the main attraction this year is something called the Horridor. Want to check it out?”
Emma looked at him. “The what now?”
“Horror corridor. Some studio collab thing.” His mouth curved into a dare. “If you’re not too scared? Shouldn’t be too bad with the lights still on.”
“Let’s do it,” Emma said. “Can’t miss the Horridor.”
They crossed through a DC section and found their way to the only aisle with an actual ceiling. It was sealed off with a black curtain, a sign above reading “The Horridor” in a cheesy font dripping with blood. Darren held aside the curtain for her.
The air was different inside. Denser, quieter. A tunnel stretched ahead, built in sections devoted to different brands of fear. Just as Darren had predicted, the lights were still on, making it feel more like an exhibition than a horror experience.
The first one was classic: a replica of a dim hallway from The Shining.
Plastic axes leaned against a splintered door with the word REDRUM scrawled across it in dripping paint.
Further on, a display of cracked TV sets flickered with static—a promo for a new supernatural thriller, but Emma’s mind still jumped straight to Poltergeist.
“You like horror movies?” Darren asked, watching her track the sets.
“Sometimes,” Emma said. “If they’re good stories, not just gore and jump scares. You?”
He grinned boyishly. “Love them. Nothing gets a stronger reaction out of people. Even when it’s cheap, it’s fascinating how effective it is.”
“Ever starred in one?”
“Once. Early in my career. It was absolutely terrible, and if you watch it, I will have to kill you.”
“You played the murderer?”
“Nope. First one to die. Skewered on a trombone.”
A laugh slipped out before she could stop it. “A trombone?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t ask. It was music-themed.”
Maybe she imagined it, but his ears tinted the faintest shade of pink. Probably unfair, but she couldn’t help feeling a brief spark of triumph. About time she got even the smallest upper hand.
“Right. That makes more sense now,” she said, grinning openly.
“Hey, I’ll have you know that a trombone can be incredibly deadly in the wrong hands.”
Emma laughed again, too distracted to pay attention to what came next.
The tunnel turned, leading them into a darker chamber. Gravestones tilted at odd angles, a fog machine hissed, and up ahead, looming in the half-light—
She stopped short. Blood drained from her face, her pulse spiking hard and fast.
Darren, a few steps ahead, turned when he noticed she wasn’t following. “Emma? What’s wrong?”
She kept her eyes locked on the thing waiting just ahead, like it would attack if she blinked. Every nerve in her body went taut. “What the hell is that?”
He followed her gaze, then looked back again, confusion flickering over his face. “It’s . . . an octopus.”
It was. Twice as tall as Darren, bright red, with its animatronic tentacles spilling grotesquely across the corridor. Bulging eyes with rectangular pupils stared back at her, fixed in an alien glare.
“I know it’s an octopus,” Emma managed, her voice thin. “What is it doing here?”
Realization dawned on him. His lips pressed together, as if he was trying not to laugh. “Promo for some new monster flick—From the Depths. Supposed to be quite awful. Is the octopus . . . an issue?”
Emma shot him a look. “I don’t like octopuses.”
“No, of course not. Just, uh . . . what exactly have octopuses done to earn your disdain?”
“They’re unnatural, Darren. Three hearts, parrot beak, goat eyes, and way too intelligent for something with eight arms. It’s like Frankenstein’s mollusc. And don’t even get me started on the way they move.”
Darren lost the battle with his composure, a low laugh escaping him. “Are you serious? Yesterday, you went full-on Wonder Woman and climbed out of an elevator, and now you’re scared to pass a fake octopus? It’s not even moving, Emma.”
As if on cue, a voice sparked over the speakers:
Stand by for tech testing. Horridor going live in five, four, three, two, one . . .
The overhead lights snapped off. Sickly green and red washed over the tunnel as the exhibit powered to life. Eerie music started pulsing through the speakers, a mechanical whir rising beneath it.
The octopus twitched once. Emma gasped, jerking back instinctively. Then its tentacles lifted, sweeping in slow arcs. They blocked most of the passage, leaving only a narrow gap along the wall.
“Well,” Darren said, cocking his head. Crimson light painted his face. “Now it’s moving.”
Emma’s palms had gone clammy, her skin prickling with icy dread. “We’re going back.”
Darren stepped closer. The teasing was gone, replaced with something softer. “We’re almost at the end, Emma, and the Con is about to open. We need to get backstage before the crowds flood in. The only way out is through.”
She shook her head, planting her feet. “Nope. Not happening. I’m going back.”
“No, you’re not.” His voice softened. “We’re conquering this fear together. Come on, Emma. I promise I won’t let the giant fake octopus touch you.”
The tentacles dipped again, suction cups flashing in the colored light. Beneath it, a tagline glowed in dripping letters:
IT KNOWS YOU’RE THERE.
“I bet you do,” Emma muttered to the creature.
Darren lifted his hands, then extended one. His palm open, steady. “I’ve got you, Emma. You can break all the emergency buttons you want once we’re out.”
Her breath came out shallow as she stared at his hand. If he tried to scare her as they passed, she’d probably drop dead on the spot.
“I mean it,” he said, tilting his head, coaxing her gaze up to meet his. “I’ve got you.”
Emma took a slow, steadying breath. Then reluctantly placed her hand in his.
He didn’t tease. Didn’t play around. He slid an arm around her shoulders, drawing her to his side as they edged forward.
Every muscle in her body locked tight, adrenaline rushing as the rubbery limbs swayed inches away.
She turned her face to the wall, squeezing her eyes shut.
Her hands instinctively closed around his arm, clenching hard enough to bruise.
But beneath the pulsing, nauseating fear, there was something else. His thumb rubbed soothing circles just above her shoulder. The solid press of his body against hers. And the fact that she felt . . . safe.
“Almost there, Emma,” he murmured against her hair.
Maybe she held on just a little tighter than necessary.
Darren didn’t let go. Not even when they stepped free of the writhing monster and her shoulders sagged in relief. Emma exhaled, shaky, and untangled herself from his grip.
“Thanks,” she muttered. “For getting me past that thing. And for not making fun of me. Mostly.”
“My pleasure,” he said, beaming at her. “Though I have to admit, I’m insanely curious about the origin story for this little . . . peculiarity.”
Emma grimaced. “Not sure, actually. Best guess is that my parents should have waited a few years before putting me in front of The Little Mermaid.” She shuddered. “Ursula still gives me the creeps.”
“Of course.” Darren nodded. “The classic rated-G trauma. We all have it.”
“Shut up,” Emma said, but she couldn’t help laughing.
“No, really,” Darren said. “You’re full of surprises, Emma Whitehart. I like that about you.” He leaned a fraction closer. “Even the bizarre phobias.”
She swatted his chest lightly. Then silence fell for a beat.
“Well, our workday is starting,” Emma said. “I bet you’ve got people to smolder at.”
He gave a mock-serious nod. “Right.”
But neither of them moved. For a suspended moment, they just stood in the tinted half-light, the air humming between them. She didn’t want to let him go just yet. Into the chaos, back to everyone else.
Darren finally reached for the curtain. Emma caught his arm. He turned, a hint of surprise crossing his face.
“Darren. Thanks for inviting me. This was . . . fun.”
His eyes softened. “It was.”
Just that.
He went through the curtain first, daylight spilling around his frame as he passed through. Emma lingered a beat before following, heart thrumming as if the tentacles still hovered just behind her.
Something inside her shifted, a thin ribbon of uncertainty stirring through her.
Such a small, simple exchange, and yet it seemed to carry so much more. Like a drop of ink into water—sinking, blooming, impossible to contain.