Page 30 of Haunted Horror on Halloween

“Of course. Because I’m the ‘witch’ he really wants to torture. I wonder . . .”

“I wonder if he really thinks there is any way he can get out of this—or if it doesn’t matter as long as he believes he’ll get his revenge. The man’s ego is as big as the earth; he thinks he’ll prevail,” Jackson said. “What better place to seek revenge than a forest this size? He believes he can disappear in here and find his way out and a place to go when he’s ready.”

“Probably, but . . . more broken branches! We are going in the right direction,” Angela said.

“And Bruce is right.”

“About what?”

“Morning is coming. Another hour or so and it will be light.”

“Another hour or so, and I’m afraid our hostages will have bled to death! Jackson, we need to move fast!”

“Carefully fast,” he reminded her.

“Always, carefully. And fast!”

Morning might be on the way, but it was still dark. The good thing was that they had now discovered they could move by the light of the moon.

And since their last encounter had seemed like a warning they needed to be very careful about being seen when they approached one of Manderley’s scenarios, they had silently agreed to move through the darkness.

Which was good. And bad.

Because Angela suddenly stopped abruptly.

So abruptly Jackson did slam into her.

But she didn’t let out a sound.

She pointed.

He looked hard over her shoulder.

And there it was. Another scene. This one bigger, bolder . . .

More terrifying than that they had seen before.

Not that either of them was frightened by Halloween decorations, by manufactured zombies, ghosts, or goblins.

But because there were so many creatures . . .

And they had to wonder just which ones might really be human beings.

Human beings . . .

Dripping with blood.

Blood that just might be real.

Chapter 6

Angela didn’t understand how she knew this place was the place, the grand epitome of the event for Darrell Manderley, but she did.

Then again . . .

She felt her phone vibrate and she knew Jackson would be getting the summons as well. She glanced at him and they stepped back; they hadn’t been that close to the clearing—much of it hastily created, she thought—but they didn’t want to be heard.

Of course, it was Bruce. In all, one teenaged boy and three young women—the eighteen-year-old they already knew about and two more young women, juniors at the local college. So, they knew there were at least four young people among the characters in the tableau that Manderley had created.