CHAPTER SIX #2
“We should put this on the tour,” the mayor’s wife declared, and Adam beamed at her.
He’d been planning on emailing the committee tomorrow once word got out, but coming from her was even better.
She finished jotting down a note in her phone, then looked at him.
“You are coming to the festival this weekend.”
“The Halloween King wouldn’t dare miss it,” Adam declared. He had a crown to defend. “Would either of you like to…?” Adam started to direct them to his little makeshift haunt when a great howl shattered the air.
All three heads swiveled to find a silhouette standing on the trunk of a car.
Hair sprouted from places it shouldn’t, and the monster tipped its long nose back for another howl.
With a great thunk, three other creatures of the night scampered along the sidewalk.
Adam’s first instinct was to protect his costume—it was a replica from Kiss Kiss, Fang Fang .
Luckily, his second was to protect the women, whom he valiantly strode in front of.
The creatures skulked closer, teeth drawn and dripping with radioactive acid.
A flash of light landed on the lead’s head, puncturing the jet black matted hair, wrinkled brow, and tattered snout of a werewolf.
Beside him walked a creature of gills and scales, and behind that one a…
disco ball? Tiny pieces of glass reflected back like a fly’s eye, but they were also across the forehead, down the cheeks, and chin.
Adam had never seen anything like it before, but he recognized it right away.
“Great, more weirdos,” Mrs. Melnar harrumphed.
“Oh, they’re masks.”
Yes. Masks. “Excuse me,” Adam called out to the teenage boys having fun terrorizing people.
He stepped out of the spotlight of his store and into the fading evening.
Once his eyes adjusted, he could see the scrutinized details.
The hand-painted veins and capillaries, so lifelike they looked about to pulse.
The texture added to the skin until it damn near glowed with a flush of excitement.
They were Baph’s all right, but ones he’d never seen in his life. That wasn’t possible.
“Where did you get those masks?” Adam asked.
“What’s it to you?” the werewolf asked below the latex. He breathed heavily, deflating the snout.
“I just thought they looked dope and would like to get my own, dawg,” Adam said.
The boys turned to each other, then started to laugh. “At that new dungeon past the gas station. They’re selling tons of ‘em,” disco ball declared.
The dungeon past the gas station…? Choudhary.
How? He had an exclusive deal with… If she… Ah!
The werewolf gave one last howl of defiance, which would have meant something if he weren’t five-foot-three and skinnier than a lamppost. Then he scampered off with his crew, who were all wearing masks worth hundreds of dollars.
“Nice to see the children getting into the spirit,” the mayor’s wife said to a dismissive snort from Mrs. Melnar.
Adam took a calming breath. Then he counted backward from ten. Smiling widely, he turned to the ladies. “If you will excuse me. I must be off.”
I have a grave to dig.
It should have taken him longer to drive out to the old hotel.
Everyone in town knew where it was, sticking up on a hill next to the lake like a corpse’s hand plunging through the mud.
But every time Adam thought about those children in his masks, his car went another five miles per hour faster until he was zipping past everyone on the road.
He didn’t know what to expect. Maybe a gold brick road to lead them up to Oz. The gravel caught him by surprise, and the dirt parking lot even more so. While the hotel sat at the end of a circle drive, every car was turning onto a mowed-down field where light streamed from an open barn.
“I’m just here to talk,” Adam said as he put his car in park and took out the keys. “Maybe it’s all a mistake. He got some hookup with a guy who does movie masks. I’m imagining it.”
The Monster Mash danced its way from speakers hanging above the barn doors.
Teenagers and college students alike flocked inside to escape the cutting winds.
Adam ignored the cold and took in the scenery.
Not much thought or effort had been put into it.
There wasn’t even a ghost in the hayloft windows.
Critiquing helped to calm him down, but in this case, he noticed a convenient pitchfork leaning against a barrel.
“Going to forget I saw that,” he said and walked into the beam of light on the abandoned country road.
The wall of voices hit like a freight train.
He should be used to customers giddily touching everything with sticky hands and complaining about the price, but something in this place made it a hundred times worse.
He could hear everything. Every piece of high school gossip, every costume that was too slutty and not slutty enough, every whirling noise maker, and sound effect.
Closing his eyes, Adam tried to steady himself when a single voice cut above the melee.
Standing center stage was the ringleader.
He carried a baton in one hand and used it to direct people to their heart’s greatest desire.
Raj was all smiles as he pointed people to sweaters and t-shirts bearing the logo of his haunt.
Adam hated to admit it, but the aesthetic of the hotel’s skyline melting into the text was impressive.
If he didn’t hate the man, he’d get one for himself.
“Excuse me,” a kid called out, barreling into Adam’s shoulder. As he couldn’t move the adult, his armful of goodies went flying. Adam paused to help him gather it up when he ran his fingers over a ninja turtle costume.
A costume.
Snapping to his feet, Adam stared past the throngs of bodies. Hands grabbed capes, wigs, plastic swords, and fishnet stockings. That bastard was running a costume shop out of his god damn haunted hotel.
“Are all the masks half off?”
The color drained from Adam’s cheeks. He couldn’t be serious.
“No,” Raj said to the teen asking him. Whew. “They’re seventy percent off. Tonight only!”
Red flashed before Adam’s eyes. Maybe the rage tore his retinas, or he popped a blood vessel in both eyes, but all he could see was that monster dancing on his grave in red, sparkly tap shoes.
The mob moved like pigs in a chute toward the back wall.
As Adam lifted his head, his heart sank.
Dozens of Styrofoam heads held masks he’d never seen.
Intricate designs, horrors ripped from the nightmares of demons, hair stitched by hand, and real metal poured on—they were all beyond perfect.
And they could only have come from one hand.
“Baph,” Adam snarled.