8
OLIVIA
“You shouldn’t have buried me. I’m not dead.” — Freddy Krueger, A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master (1988)
Once, someone asked me what my biggest fear was. I don’t remember why they had asked me, or what they expected me to say, but I only knew how to answer them with the truth…
Nothing.
Am I delusional for believing that? I could be. But in my gut I know that I’ve never really been one to have a home for trepidation or fright. Not until it happened to me, of course.
Losing someone I love was a fear unlocked that I didn’t even know that I had. And once you’ve lived through that reality, nothing seems worthy of being marked as a true, genuine fear anymore. Except for the realization I had earlier, while finding my way back on the path toward the maze.
I’ve realized that I’m fearful of what I’ll find out about the night that terrorizes me when I get all of my memories back.IfI get them all back. Remembering my last moments with Declan, the last time I ever sawhim again, was not something I can say I was prepared for. I still don’t think I’m ready to face the reality of it, but now it’s settling. It’s fitting its way back into the index of what happened that night and I’m scared of what else I might find out. Anxious of what the outcome might be; of when I fully remember. Even though it’s been kind of the goal all along, hasn’t it?
But true fear doesn’t properly identify itself in my mind. Not in the way it’s intended for normal consumption; the unpleasant emotion caused by a threat of danger or pain. No. Those are things I tend to revel in. Something more sinful seems to brew in the core idea of what fear should be to most. Something that I always knew was stitched into the fabric of my being but for the longest time, I never understood it and I was too embarrassed to confront it.
Darkness has, ironically and morbidly enough, always appealed to me. It’s something I can’t control and oftentimes, I’m ashamed of it because I know that it’s not a normal tendency to have. Being frightened, or being chased in the dark, or doing something that can be perceived as remotely scary is actually rather exhilarating to me. And it’s only gotten more apparent over time; heightened. I don’t know how or why it started in the first place, but there’s no stopping the exciting beat of my heart as the adrenaline from fear takes over.
As I stand at the entrance of the straw bales that make up the walls of the maze, I feel that fleeting notion of what fear resembles in my fucked up brain. Or something akin to it, something tangled up in its essence. I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t enjoy getting lost or being alone. But I think knowing that someonemight be watching or the idea that I’m vulnerable in these kinds of situations is what kickstarts that corrupt connotation of fright; something that manifests into painfully strange bouts of pleasure.
It’s why I love scary movies and haunted houses. It’s why Halloween is my favorite holiday; or at least it was. Being someone who revels in the way terror and fear makes them feel—learning to accept it over time even though it still doesn’t make sense—is a troublesome thing when their nightmares become a reality. It’s hard to validate or even understand how one can still feel the way they do when horror has actually touched their life.
It’s why this damn ache that I feel seems like a fucking curse as I step into the path of the maze, hating that there’s a tiny pulse of pleasure caressing my neck. I spread my arms out on each side of me while I walk a bit further, making my first left turn as it comes.
The air is colder now, likely because the night is growing old. The darkness from above blankets the maze and the only form of light I can make out is the faded silver of melting moonlight above. I also see a flicker on the other side of the walls I'm trapped in, likely tiki torches placed strategically on the outside of the maze.
I’ll admit, it does feel a bit stuffy, like the walls are too close together and the path is rather narrow. I can also make out some noises surrounding me, but I can't really tell what they are. Maybe it's the distant echo from those still over at the paper lanterns and those who are already getting settled on the other side for the movie. And though I know I should probably put some distance behind me, I can’t help but want to takemy time, allowing my fingers to gently brush against the bales on either side of me.
That is until I hear footsteps.
Surely, it’s only someone else entering the maze, which means that maybe I should move faster but then I reach a fork in the maze.Left or right?
I feel my skin start to pebble as the cold air pinches against me and my heart starts to race in my chest, hearing the footsteps getting closer. I decide to go right but realize it's a mistake as I hit a dead-end, but the footsteps start to approach faster, almost like they're sprinting toward me.
I panic, trying to get back out to the main path to make that left turn but before I can get there, I'm shoved back against the makeshift walls when someone flies past me in a hurry.
"Sorry!" they shout and I realize it was just someone trying to rush through the maze. Still, I can hear the blood rushing between my ears, hating that the adrenaline from the idea of being hunted down like that courses through my veins, leaves me feeling . . .titillated.
I tell my body to relax, trying to catch my breath. I feel the melted mist from the straw bales seeping into the back of my jacket, so I lift myself off from the wall and attempt to right myself. Even against the icy breeze, my body is on fire so I remove my jacket and tie it around my waist, welcoming the cool breeze that flits across my skin.
I train my ears to make sure no one else will try and pummel past me, but before I can gain my footing to head through the path again, someone pulls at me from behind. I'm ripped through the break in thewall—a hand covering my mouth shut. I try to kick and scream at whoever is holding me tight against their body, but it's no use and I can see now that I'm on the outside of the maze. The further they pull me through the trees, the tighter their grip on my mouth gets and the arm that has me wrapped around my front pulls me in closer to their chest.
The adrenaline from before is back to plaguing me with not only actual, rare fear, but that fleeting embrace of something far more intimidating . . .thrill. It's when I lift my foot to try and kick the person behind me once more that my chest is shoved into the trunk of a tree.
"Scream, and you'll fucking regret it." A deep voice whispers in my ear from behind me and a chill works its way down my spine. The sound of it is like a haunting lullaby, threatening me with promises of dark demise as it lulls me to a peaceful sleep.
Thethudof my heart and the burn in my lungs work together to throw my body into a confused panic, but it takes no longer than a second before I realize…
I know this voice.
His voice.
The edges of my vision turns black when the realization torments me in violent waves. The hand that holds my mouth shut slides away from my face slowly. His fingers trace my lips in a slightly electrifying caress as he pulls away. He then tangles his hand in my hair to hold the back of my head in place, the side of my face now pressed up against the cold bark of the tree.
"Who are you?" I ask, trying to keep my composure as feigned as possible, even though I'm pretty positiveI know who is behind me right now and that idea alone is causing my entire body to quiver.
His hard chest presses against my back and something wicked and menacing settles in my stomach, the feeling not too unrecognizable as I feel the cold burn of my skin against the tree.
