I come to a stop in front of the haunted house.
Great. Why not? I’m feeling depressed enough already. There’s nothing in there that will scare me more than the situation I’m in now.
As soon as I enter the attraction, the darkness becomes heavier, more oppressive. Thriller music plays from speakers, the sharp dirges muffling every other sound, even the beating of my heart in my ears.
I step on a pressure plate, and a ghost bursts out of an alcove, scaring the shit out of me. I shriek, my hands flying to my chest.
Well… If I didn’t give out my position now, then I don’t know what it would take.
Walking past fake coffins, I briefly consider hiding in one and just waiting for morning. When the carnival opens to the public, I can blend into the crowd. Walk right out…
Great plan in theory. But in practice, I’m probably being watched on security feeds. Ah, shit, does that mean someone saw what happened between Elias and me at the funhouse? Probably better not to think about it.
Suddenly, one of the coffins opens, and a skeleton pops up. I bite down on my fist, only just managing to keep from screaming. The skeleton’s jaw chatters as it swivels toward me, empty eye sockets glowing faintly red. A speaker crackles, releasing a wheezing laugh that raises goosebumps along my arms. I press myself flat against the wall, breath shallow, waiting for it to retreat.
It doesn’t.
Instead, the coffin lid creaks wider, hinges screaming softly, and the skeleton leans farther out, one bony finger extending like it’s pointing at me.
“Nope,” I whisper hoarsely, backing away.
The heel of my foot catches on uneven flooring, and I stumble into a hanging strip curtain made of rubber and fabric, cold and slick as it brushes over my skin. I gag, fighting the urge to scream as the skeleton snaps back into its coffin behind me with a final clatter.
I push through the curtain and find myself in a narrow hallway. The walls are painted to look like cracked stone, damp streaks glistening under flickering lights. Pipes run along the ceiling, dripping water in slow, echoing plinks. Every sound feels amplified.
I force myself forward.
A motion sensor triggers, and a figure lurches out of a wall panel—an emaciated corpse in a torn hospital gown, mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. A burst of cold air hits my ankles as it snaps toward me, and I yelp despite myself, darting past it.
“Get it together,” I hiss under my breath. “It’s fake. It’s all fake.”
But my body doesn’t believe that. Not when my nerves are already frayed raw. Not when I know he could be anywhere in here.
The corridor opens into a larger room built like an old operating theater. Rusted tools hang from hooks, swaying gently. A spotlight snaps on, illuminating a blood-stained operating table at the center. A speaker emits the low, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.
I skirt the wall, keeping my distance from the table.
Halfway around, the beeping flatlines.
The lights cut out.
I freeze, every muscle locking.
In the dark, something breathes, and it’s not the fake sound effects. It’s a real breath. And it’s close.
I spin, heart in my throat, and the lights turn back on just in time for a gurney to roll out from behind a curtain on its own, propelled by hidden tracks. A body lies atop it, sheet drawn up to the chin.
The gurney stops inches from me. The sheet jerks.
I scream.
The corpse sits up with a shriek of its own, face painted gray, eyes ringed in black. It reaches for me, fingers clawing at the air.
I bolt.
I don’t even know where I’m going anymore—left, right, through another curtain, down a sloped ramp that smells like antiseptic and dust. My bare feet slap against cold concrete now, and the temperature drops sharply.
White tiles line the walls. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, buzzing faintly. The air smells sterile, stinging my nose. I hate the smell of hospitals almost as much as I hate clowns.
