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Satan’s Affair is one of my favorite places in the world. At night, the fair comes alive with laughter, peals of screams from terror and excitement, and moans of joy from the fried food.

Walking into the field full of haunted houses, carnival rides, and food trucks is like walking into pure static energy.

Daya and I immediately get sucked into the crowd. It’s five o’clock, pitch black already, and some of the monsters are already starting to trickle into the crowd.

My eye snags on a girl dressed up as a broken doll, sitting on the bench and happily eating a philly cheesesteak sandwich. I nearly groan, the scent of grilled meat making my mouth water.

I nudge Daya and point her out. “She’s dressed as a doll.”

Daya hums, and both of our eyes track over the houses. They’re not lit up yet, but some of them make it obvious what the theme is.

“Our childhood,” I murmur, noting the dollhouse dubbed Annie’s Playhouse alongside a house called the Tea Massacre. The entrance is a massive teddy bear with a missing eye, a torn ear, and blood splattered across its fur while a bloody knife is gripped in its hand.

It gives life to a memory from my own childhood, alongside millions of other little girls, sitting at a table full of stuffed animals and empty teacups.

That house won’t be a pleasant tea party, but one full of killer stuffed animals and creepy monsters.

“This is going to taint every single one of our childhood memories, isn’t it?” I conclude.

“Oh yeah,” Daya says, her lips twisted with both excitement and dread.

I grab Daya’s hand and lead her towards the food trucks. We like to eat first before we get harassed by monsters. It makes it awkward when a corndog is shoved halfway down my throat while a creepy monster is standing over me and breathing down my neck.

“What sounds good?” I ask, my eyes roving hungrily over the endless options.

“How can you even choose?” Daya whines, sharing my dilemma.

“We have to at least get a mean hot dog and the truffle fries. Oh! And the fried veggies. Oh, and maybe—”

“You’re not narrowing it down like you think you are,” Daya interrupts, her tone dry.

“Okay, fine. That broken doll over there is eating a philly steak. What about that and some fries for now?” I ask.

“Lead the way,” she says, throwing her hand out in an impatient gesture.

I don’t even laugh—I take food just as seriously when I’m hungry.

By the time the lady in the food truck is handing me my food, I’m ravenous and shaking with the need to sink my teeth into something of substance.

Grease sizzles on our fries as we shove them into our impatient mouths, forcing us to suck in air as they singe our tongues. And by the time we find an empty bench, my fries have already been devoured, and I’ve taken several delicious bites of my sandwich.

Daya’s even further done than I am—probably because the wench has been relying on me to find the spo

t to sit.

Finally, I sit down and shove the sandwich in my mouth, not caring about the juices dribbling down my chin.

In the back of my mind, I wonder if Zade is here. Watching me like he usually does. Would he be disgusted by my lack of manners?

I fucking hope so.

Then again, the prick would say something about how he likes me dirty, and then I’d want to vomit in his face.

Liar.

Just as we finish our food, the haunted houses come to life, the lights switching on and signaling that it’s time for guests to get in line.

Daya and I rush over to Annie’s Playhouse first, nabbing a spot pretty close to the front.