“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 fromThe Shining. Plastic axes leaned against a splintered door with the word REDRUM scrawled across it in dripping paint. Further on, a display of crackedTV sets flickered with static—a promo for a new supernatural thriller, but Emma’s mind still jumped straight toPoltergeist.
“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 isthat?”
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 itdoinghere?”
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?”
