I take a seat in one of the empty chairs, and Tessa slides me over a freshly poured cup of coffee. The rich aroma fills the air, mingling with the sweet scent of the cinnamon buns. I help myself to two and place them on the plate in front of me. Jonathan always hated when I indulged in anything unhealthy, constantly warning me that I’d lose my figure. Defiantly, I stuff a whole bun into my mouth, chewing noisily.
Jonathan continues to ignore me.
Marissa, however, seems to be watching me. Her eyes flicker between the buns and the sad wedges of cantaloupe on her plate. She’s probably trying to convince herself that the bland fruit tastes as good as my sticky, sugary roll of heaven. I make a show of licking each finger with exaggerated relish, savoring every last bit of sweetness—just like I used to do with her boyfriend’s cum.
Marissa’s eyes widen, a mix of horror and envy flashing across her face before she quickly looks away. She pretends to become engrossed in her fruit, even adding a few blueberries for a walk on the wild side. Griffin and Hayes exchange amused glances. Griffin raises an eyebrow and grins at me, clearly impressed by my unapologetic indulgence. Hayes just shakes his head, chuckling softly as he mutters something about “living vicariously through breakfast treats.”
“This place was vacant back then. Rundown and neglected,” Agatha begins, her voice dropping to a near whisper, drawing us all in. “When Harold’s mistress finally died—ending her own life in one of the bathtubs upstairs?—”
Her words hang in the air, and I nearly choke on my bun as nervous chuckles ripple through the group. Agatha’s tone, however, remains serious, a hint of sadness lacing her words. “The entire estate went to the town. There was no one left to care for the place, and the town… well, the cost of maintaining an estate like this was beyond what the town of Everwood could afford.”
Agatha’s hands twist nervously at the bottom of her apron, her eyes distant as she continues, “No, the town could only afford to employ two security guards to keep out trespassers. You can imagine how well that worked.”
I sip at my coffee and listen intently, the warmth steadying me as I listen.
“In 1985, one of the security guards who worked here was named Phillip Mosely, and he became well known for giving illicit tours through the estate and the park. They were mostly for young high-school-aged kids. College kids. Mostly girls, many he’d coerce into paying for the tour by sexually explicit means.”
“Oh, that’s horrible,” Tessa whispers.
“That was the eighties,” Agatha replies. “Anyway, two beautiful high-school freshmen snuck out of their house on a cool, crisp October night.”
Of course it was October. If it was January right now, I bet the story would take place in January of 1985.
“That night they met Phillip Mosely just inside the front foyer. He incapacitated both girls, stripped them naked, and tied them to the radiators of two separate bedrooms. Their names were Melissa and Jolene. They were only fifteen.”
“Melissa sounds a lot like Marissa, no?” Griffin teases.
“What the fuck am I listening to?” Hayes asks me under his breath.
Agatha continues, her tone dropping lower. Almost sinister. “Phillip Mosely started with Melissa. Sexually assaulting her and stabbing her dozens of times. Then he dragged her into the closet, wrapped the iron’s cord around her neck, and hanged her from the clothes rod until the life drained out of her.”
“Seriously,” Hayes mutters again, his shoulder pressing firmly against mine. “What the fuck am I listening to?”
I turn toward him and smile. His eyes are a brilliant sparkling steel gray. “She’s probably making it up. The scary stories, the creepy vibes—it’s all for us tourists. I bet it’s what keeps this place in business.” But even as I say it, thoughts of Lyle and the hazy, drunken stories he told me last night creep in. The guy has to work here, or maybe the whole town’s in on the charade during Halloween season.
“What happened to the other girl? Jolene?” Tessa asks. She’s chewing on her fingernail again, nibbling it down to nothing.
Agatha’s voice continues in a somber tone. “Jolene was in the next room, forced to listen to everything that was happening to her best friend.”
Tessa shakes her head, her voice barely a whisper. “How horrible…”
“However…” Agatha continues, her eyes glinting with a mix of intrigue and darkness, “Jolene escaped. Untied herself and ran down the back stairwell, straight into the gardens.”
“Let me guess,” I cut in, half expecting the cliché. “She ran through the woods to the old amusement park.”
Agatha gives a small nod, acknowledging my interruption. “You’re absolutely correct. She hid in the funhouse, trying to stay as quiet as she could.”
“Please tell me he didn’t find her,” Tessa groans.
Agatha pauses, savoring the suspense. “Unfortunately, he did. And he took all night to torture her,” she says dramatically, then stops, her gaze sweeping over us, gauging our reactions. It’s clear she’s waiting to see if we’re sufficiently horrified by the tale.
“What happened to him? Did he get caught?” I ask, leaning forward. Part of me expects her to say he’s still out there, living in the abandoned park, waiting for groups like us to terrorize after all these years.
“Oh, sure,” Agatha sighs wearily, the weight of the story pulling at her voice. “You can Google him. He’s still in prison,still maintaining his innocence. Claims he must have gone momentarily insane. Possessed. Doesn’t remember any of it.”
“And now the place where all that shit went down, you’ve turned into an escape room?” Griffin asks in disbelief.
Agatha’s lips curl into a wicked smile.
