Page 2

“I—”

I glanced between the two of them as a memory fought its way to the surface of my brain. “Yeah. Right before I signed. Didn’t you?”

Malcolm blinked and then his brow smoothed out. “Oh, yeah. Duh. I must be tired too.”

“Not you too,”

Taylor sighed. “It’s barely past seven, for Christ’s sake!”

We ignored him and resumed walking, following the flow of the crowd again.

The back of the gas station was fenced off on one side where an old tow yard used to be. Along the other side, unharvested corn blocked us in like a wall. More of those dim, old-fashioned bulbs were strung up on leaning poles overhead, barely lighting the way. A series of ripped and tattered tents stood at the end of the lane. Carnival music played from somewhere in the darkness, punctuated by shrieks and screams, chainsaws and nervous laughter.

“This is going to be so sick,”

Taylor said, throwing his arms around our necks and practically dragging us along at a faster pace.

Up ahead, a grotesque clown loomed over the approaching visitors, its gaping mouth serving as the doorway. I ducked under the yellow, jagged teeth, my pulse hammering a little harder, trying to predict what thrills lay ahead for me and Taylor—and what nightmares waited for Malcolm.

True to my word, I anticipated a jump scare from the right, just inside the entrance. I swept an arm in front of Malcolm as a headless ballerina approached from the shadows. A series of green, glowing necklaces were looped over her arm, giving her skin an eerie cast.

“Oh that’s awesome,”

Taylor said, ducking so she could slide the plastic necklace over his head.

“What are these for?”

Malcolm asked warily.

The ballerina pointed a slender finger at something behind us.

A sign, in dripping black paint, read: Looking for more thrills? Don a green circlet. By wearing it you consent to being touched, grabbed, or removed from your party.

“Do we have to?”

Malcolm stared up at me, his eyes wide.

“It’ll be fine. I promise. They’re not going to take all three of us.”

I lowered my head for the ballerina. Once again, kudos to the special effects artist. The inside of her severed neck looked so realistic, the bones bright against the dark flesh, complete with a gaping hole for her windpipe. I couldn’t even tell where her real head was inside that slender neck, which was even more impressive.

The ballerina held up another green ring and cricked her bloody neck to one side, as if she was actually tilting her head at Malcolm, waiting.

“How do they do that?”

Taylor asked, taking a step toward her, trying to peer down into her neck like I had.

“Must have a big production budget if they only do this once every seven years,”

Malcolm replied, closing his eyes as the ballerina dropped the necklace over his head.

She pirouetted away into the dark without a word.

“Where should we go first?”

Taylor asked, rubbing his hands together and surveying the hodgepodge of tents. A large Ferris wheel hulked at the far side of the field and from the clattering sound, I assumed there was a small rollercoaster nearby.

“I don’t know. Let’s just follow the crowd, I guess.”

I gestured to the right of the forked path, toward a series of carnival games. From past experiences, the night would last longer if we eased Malcolm into the scares instead of jumping in headfirst.

I’d no more than taken a step in the direction of the games when a clown leapt out from behind a tree, its decaying face matched only by the putrid scent wafting around it. Like the zombie nurse, half of its cheek was missing, but it wasn’t from mold. It looked like he’d chewed it off. The ragged hole extended from the corner of his black lips and stretched back, revealing rows of rotten teeth. Angry red sores dotted the rest of his skin, looking like the bubonic plague had struck again.

I made a face and took a step backward, as much from the smell as from the clown. Having the hots for masked killers was one thing. Decomposing clowns was another.

The clown followed me, so close he almost touched my shoulder with his. The comically large mallet in his hand was coated in a dark, wet substance. Blood, probably. Or fake blood, rather. Either way, the red goo collected dirt as it dragged on the ground beside him, leaving a dark trail.

“Ok, dude, we’re good,”

I said, trying to ignore him as I lengthened my strides.

The clown didn’t leave. I knew he was there from the looming presence making the back of my neck prickle uncomfortably. The sound of the scraping and the smell certainly didn’t help put me at ease.

“Knife throwing!”

Taylor said suddenly, veering off to the left. Malcolm and I followed him as he cut through a line of people waiting at the strongman game. At last, the clown disappeared.

Taylor stepped up to the counter with a grin and took his five knives eagerly from a rail-thin man with a scraggly gray beard. “Come on, Griff! You know you want to.”

“Alright, alright,”

I sighed, even though the last thing I wanted to do was handle more knives. The cut on my finger throbbed in agreement. With my luck, I’d have carpal tunnel by the time I was thirty. Tamping down my irritation, I took the handful of knives and scraped the edge of my thumb against the blade carefully, fully expecting them to be duller than a plastic spoon. Surprisingly, the edge was sharp. Really sharp.

The corpse of a middle-aged man hung at the far end of the throwing lane, nailed into place like a human scarecrow. His dirty flannel shirt was torn down the middle, a crude red and white target painted on his burly chest. Even from a distance, it seemed so lifelike, just like the ballerina. I was surprised they’d waste such a good prop on a knife-throwing game. Guess Malcolm was right about their budget.

Taylor threw his knives in rapid succession, bringing up memories from our childhood, when we’d run around pretending to be ninjas. All but one knife bounced off the corpse. The one that stuck landed in its meaty thigh, sinking into the stained denim to the hilt.

I chuckled and stepped up next, flipping the knife over in my hand and catching it by the tip of the blade. Taking aim, I launched it down the lane. The blade plunged into the body’s abdomen.

“A little low,”

Taylor said with a smirk.

“At least his stuck.”

Malcolm chuckled.

“I’m just getting started,”

I said, rolling my shoulders and squaring off with the dummy. The way its eyes stared at me was a little unnerving. They were blue but dull, bugging out from their sockets. The man’s mouth hung open, as if he’d died in the middle of a scream. Which was ridiculous because “he”

was made of plastic or foam or something.

Shaking off the unease, I aimed my second throw. The knife landed a little higher than the first, on the edge of the outermost target ring.

“Still warming up?”

Taylor nudged me right as I threw the third one. It went wide and hit the shoulder.

“Dick!”

Taylor laughed.

Another guy stepped up next to me before I could throw the fourth knife.

My cheeks warmed before I’d even looked over, pleasantly surprised to see it was the Bane-looking guy. He was staring at me again, his eyes as black as the mask covering his nose and mouth. Up close, I could see it wasn’t a Bane mask at all or any sort of faux respiratory unit. It was the lower half of a skull, painted black and accented with silver highlights to bring out the bony reliefs. It was actually way cooler than Bane, but for lack of any other name to call him, that’s what stuck.

Despite the fact he was still gripping the bloody machete at his side, I held one of the knives out to him.

He didn’t react to my silent offering. He didn’t even blink. He just stood there, muscular chest moving up and down steadily with each breath, all speckled with blood.

Shrugging, I bit my lip and turned back to the game. Well aware he was watching my every move from mere inches away, I took aim and hurled the knife. It lodged in the center of the dummy’s hairy chest; a rivulet of blood trickled out of the wound. I smiled at myself and turned—not to my friends—but to the masked stranger.

The corners of his dark eyes tightened. I sensed it was some sort of pleased emotion, though I didn’t know if it was amusement or if he was genuinely impressed. Either way, my chest puffed a little with pride. There wasn’t much for me to be proud of in my life, but my knife-handling skills (save for earlier that evening) were usually top-notch. Having a machete-wielding scare actor acknowledge that meant more than it should have, as if I needed any more proof of how pathetic I was.

Clearing my throat, I fired off the fifth one, not seeking anyone’s approval afterward.

The last two knives bristled in the center of the target’s chest, a steady stream of blood dripping from the wounds. They would’ve both been direct hits if the knives had been removed each time, but the waif of a man working the game had zoned out for most of it, looking more dead than alive.

After the last throw, the employee lifted a gnarled finger and pointed at the stuffed animals overhead. At a normal carnival, they would’ve been teddy bears and fluffy rabbits, all pastel and cute with bowties, but here they looked like they crawled out of a child’s nightmare. I didn’t care what prize I got so I gestured randomly. Maybe I’d be able to find a kid to give it to and not have to lug it around all night.

The worker pulled down the closest animal and handed it to me. It was a stuffed gray rabbit that looked like it had been to hell and back. A black patch was sewn over one part of its face, where an eye should have been. Red felt had been stitched in the center of its chest, two halves of a broken heart, lined with thick black thread. It looked dirty and singed, like someone dragged it through mud before roasting it over a campfire, deciding to rescue it at the very last second. It was kind of cute, in an ugly sort of way. I smiled at the bunny until a wave of self-consciousness hit me.

Glancing up at Bane, I promptly wiped the look off of my face. The lights strung around the gaming area glimmered in his dark eyes, and I would’ve sworn that underneath that skeleton mask, he smiled too.

Without warning, his hand flashed out. He grabbed the green circle from around my neck and yanked it free in one swift motion. I jerked back, eyes wide. Before I could even ask what the hell he was doing, the masked stranger flung the necklace into the darkness like a frisbee and faced me again, pushing his shoulders back as if he expected me to fight him.

“What the fuck?”

I furrowed my brow, waiting for an explanation.

“Come on,”

Malcolm grabbed my sleeve and tugged me to the side, but I refused to budge.

Still without answering, Bane took a purposeful step back, as if giving me permission to leave.

I opened my mouth to speak again, to demand some sort of an answer, but Malcolm pulled harder, dragging me away from him while Taylor laughed and shook me by the shoulders.

“Dude, what the fuck was all that about? He really has a thing for you.”

“Tell me about it,”

I replied, stroking the rabbit’s ears absentmindedly. I stole a glance over my shoulder, but Bane was gone.

Trying to shove him and the weird incident out of my head, the three of us played a couple more games, including a ball toss Taylor was determined to beat. Instead of knocking over milk bottles, though, it was a pyramid of skulls, all in various stages of decomposition. Some were pure bone, yellow and brittle with age, while others still had chunks of hair or scraps of flesh clinging to them. With my rabbit in hand, I sat it out, using the time to people-watch. I was particularly interested in any sign of a tattooed guy in a mask, wielding a machete.

Being a former pitcher, it didn’t take long before Taylor won a giant stuffed snake. Draping it over his shoulders like a green feather boa, he grinned at us and nodded to another game stall. “Splat the rat?”

I looked over at the line, my nose wrinkling as much from the wait as from the concept of the game itself. The chorus of tiny squeaks coming from the cage at the worker’s feet made a shudder run through me. I blamed it on being in the food industry for so long, where rodents and insects were never a good thing. “I don’t know, man. I’m getting kind of hungry.”

“Are they using real rats?”

Malcolm asked, his eyes widening, as a brown rat exploded underneath a heavy mallet, spraying the happy contestant with a shower of red droplets and chunks of fur.

Taylor shook his head. “Nah. They can’t be. You know those animal groups would be all over them. It’s just some really cool animatronic.”

“Maybe we should get something to eat,”

Malcolm said, looking at me for backup. I nodded.

“Fine,”

Taylor sighed, following us past the rat game and toward the scent of food.

Beyond the games, in what looked like the central area of the carnival, was a food court of sorts. It smelled like a bonfire mixed with a barbecue and a deep fryer. None of the tents had signs indicating what they were serving inside, but each had a display case of the food they had to offer. In keeping with the creepy atmosphere, it was all Halloween-themed varieties of the normal carnival food such as corndogs and churros. Malcolm grabbed a huge, brain-shaped pile of cheese curds while Taylor got the largest fried pickle I’d ever seen.

“I thought you said you were hungry?”

Malcolm asked between bites of the disconcertingly squiggly pieces of cheese, glancing between my face and my hands as I passed the stuffed rabbit from one to the other while I vacillated between my options.

“Yeah, I just don’t know what I want,”

I replied, the fucking story of my life. Forever caught in time and space, frozen by indecision and a lack of passion. Apathetic toward… everything. Deep down. Under the easy-going facade. It’s why I fell in love with horror movies to begin with—for an hour and a half at a time, they let me feel something, anything, that was wholly different from my boring-ass reality.

Despite the fact the food area smelled amazing, my gaze skipped from one raggedy tent to the next, not seeing anything appealing.

The rotting clown from earlier popped up on my left out of nowhere. I jumped, furious that he’d caught me off guard. Any thought of food disappeared while my heart was lodged in my throat.

Leaning forward to literally laugh in my face, black slime stretched between the clown’s rotten teeth. He still had the bloody mallet with him, the heavy end resting on the ground at his feet. Someone must have added a fresh layer of gore to the flat side; dark blood pooled around the tip of one obnoxiously long shoe. Thankfully his shrill laughter was short-lived, but he leered at me just as he had before, creeping closer and closer. Too close.

Somewhere inside of me, a little voice whispered, Run.

Half-listening to it, I shied away from the clown. I didn’t run, but I shouldered my way through the crowd as quickly as I could, not even daring to look behind me. It wasn’t until I’d left the ring of lights cast by the food court that I realized I was more or less alone, in a dark space between the dining area and the attractions that lay up ahead.

An overwhelming dread clawed at my throat, strangling me from the inside out. Turning quickly, I spied Malcolm and Taylor jogging to catch up. I didn’t know why I thought I would be safe in the dark. Then again, I hadn’t been thinking much at all. Not consciously, anyway. All I wanted to do was get away from that festering clown as fast as possible.

“You ok?”

Malcolm asked as I tugged the collar of my t-shirt and fanned it a little, hoping to unstick the damp cotton from my skin.

“You’re like a fucking magnet for the weirdos today,”

Taylor added, punching me in the shoulder lightly.

“Speak of the devil.”

Malcolm nodded pointedly, his gaze fixed on something in the distance.

The dread returned with a vengeance as I followed his line of sight. Thankfully, it disappeared just as quickly, and I exhaled slowly.

In a patch of light up ahead stood the masked man again, one hand holding the machete and the other clenched into a fist at his side so hard the veins in his non-tattooed forearm were visible. Facing our direction, he ignored his chance to scare the other people walking by, his dark gaze unwavering. If I was a betting man, I’d bet it was zeroed in on me.

I shook my head and purposely went the other way. Taylor was right. For whatever reason, I was a magnet—and I was over it, too. It might have been flattering at first, but the more attention I got, the more I questioned why. Was there something about me that screamed, “I’m pathetic! Pick on me?”

Of the three of us, I wasn’t the smallest. And I didn’t think I looked like easy prey. I was just… normal. Unremarkable in every way.

Before I got too far away, Bane appeared directly in front of me, blocking my path. My head whipped to the rear. The spot where he’d been standing a moment ago was empty. It must’ve been another actor, I thought. There must have been multiple guys in the same costume. Or lack of costume I should say, with the same intricate Celtic tattoo. Like everything here, it probably wasn’t even real, just one of those stick-ons. It was all an illusion, designed to thrill and horrify at the same time. That would explain why I kept seeing him everywhere. Although, it was pretty impressive to find so many guys with the same muscular frame and perfectly imperfect tousled hair. And his eyes. That fucking smolder. Maybe they were twins. Or triplets?

My face flushed when I realized I’d been staring at his abs for way too long, temporarily mesmerized by the way they flexed, the way the specks of blood glistened with each breath. I was in decent shape thanks to the job, but goddamn. I would have been all too happy to help scrub the blood off of him.

Clearing my throat, I wove around the guy and shoved one hand in my pocket, trying to subtly adjust my growing hard-on. I spied my salvation up ahead—a haunted house.

“Do you want to go in one of these?”

I asked my friends over my shoulder. I couldn’t help but glance around for any sign of the guy in the black mask. He’d vanished again. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

Taylor gave an enthusiastic, “Yes,”

while Malcolm merely grimaced, trudging after him.

Tucking the stuffed rabbit under my arm, I led the way into the haunted house, regretting my choice the second I was inside. It looked like it was going to be fucking clown-themed. Not that I had a particular fear of clowns like some people, but they were not my favorite spin on Halloween or horror. The creepy one that had been following me hadn’t won me over, either.

The interior of the first room was painted with neon colors, glowing harshly under black lights. It was garish, to say the least. My eyes spasmed painfully within two seconds of stepping inside.

Malcolm clung to the back of my jacket and nearly dragged me to the ground when a hidden panel slammed downward with a thunderous bang! Behind us, Taylor laughed.