Three steps later, I reach the bottom and find myself in a cramped passageway. The walls are rough stone, glistening with moisture, and the floor is uneven beneath my boots.I take a deep breath and damp musty air fills my lungs.
I move forward cautiously, one slow step after another. The passage twists and turns and each corner I get to brings me a new wave of anxiety. What the hell kind of escape room is this? If someone jump-scares me down here, I might cry.
Suddenly, a figure darts across the hallway ahead of me, just at the edge of my light. My heart leaps into my throat, and I freeze, my breath catching. Adrenaline shoots through my body, spreading heat across my chest. I swallow hard, forcing myself to move forward, my steps quicker now, driven by a mix of fear and curiosity. Who’s there? Where’s the clue? How do I get out of here?
I round another corner and catch another fleeting glimpse—a shadowy form cloaked in a dark shroud, billowing out behind it like smoke. That’s got to be Lyle, or maybe one of the other staff. Right? But the only other staff I’ve met is Agatha.
It can’t be a real ghost, right? God, this place really messes with your head.
A cold sweat beads out across my skin, and I break into a run, my footsteps loud and echoing. The passage twists and turns more, the stone walls feeling like they’re closing in around me. How far underground am I? What if I’m not supposed to be here? I catch sight of the figure again, disappearing around another bend. Determined, I chase after it, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I turn another corner and suddenly find myself in a small, windowless room with no visible exit. I whirl around, looking for a door, a tunnel, anything. Where did the figure go? I didn’t see any other doorways along the path.
“Hello?” I call out.
What’s that?
I hear something.
I strain to listen and catch the faintest sound—a low, almost imperceptible murmur. My skin crawls, and I press closer to the wall, mind racing.
I hear it again and glide my hands along the walls, listening until the sounds become muffled voices. I retrace my steps down the hall, moving carefully, until the voices become more distinct.
“Hello?” I call out again, louder this time.
“…Don’t know, one minute she’s fine and the next I can’t understand what the hell she’s talking about. She’s all over the place. I’m worried about her.” It’s Tessa’s voice.
There’s a harsh laugh—Marissa. “I stopped paying attention to her a long time ago. She’s a complete trainwreck. It gets so exhausting. Like, I’m just waiting for whatever hot mess she’s going to get into this weekend. I mean, really. Can you believe all those text messages today?”
“She did sound crazy.”
“I’m glad you’re starting to learn to ignore her,” Marissa says.
“Do you know she’s still modeling for the school? That’s how she’s making money, like it’s the only thing she’s doing—she’s not painting or anything. She says she’s working on her portfolio, but I think she’s lying,” Tessa replies.
My heart sinks, they’re talking about me. I lean my shoulder against the wall and listen.
“Jesus, how much can she make from that?” Marissa moves around, and I hear the shuffle of her shoes.
“It can’t be much, right? And that’s one of the reasons why I didn’t email her about this trip.” Tessa clears her throat, coughs. “Excuse me, I didn’t want her to feel like she had to come, and I really didn’t want to end up paying for her,yet again, but someone included her in one of the threads.”
So, I really wasn’t invited.
“Well, you know it wasn’t me. I was hoping not to see her at all.” There’s a rustling sound, followed by the bang of somethingshutting abruptly and a harsh laugh. “Honestly, I’d be happy if I never have to see her again.”
A chill runs gooseflesh up my arm as Tessa’s voice comes again, tinged with confusion and irritation. “Why did you ask her to be a bridesmaid then?”
Marissa’s reply is sharp with satisfaction. “I kind of wanted to rub it in. He chose me over her, you know?”
Tessa’s voice rises in disbelief. “What, hold up, you knew Jonathan and Tori were together? Did he tell you that? How did I not know?”
“They weren’t really together,” Marissa explains, her voice dripping with disdain. “He slept with her once, that’s it. In Maine, at last year’s trip. Don’t you remember the bet?”
“What bet?” Tessa asks.
“She was drunk, as usual, hitting on the bartender we met. Remember him, Heath? The one thatIhooked up with first?” Marissa says.
“Oh, yeah. I remember him, he was so good-looking.”
