Page 4 of Magpie
We arrived early, but the line for the House was already wrapping around the building. I was surprised to find it nestled in an abandoned Victorian-era farmhouse instead of set up in a big warehouse like the haunted houses in bigger cities. It’s nothing like I imagined it would be. It’s so…normal.
A tall man in skeletal makeup was the first actor we encountered, a doorman of sorts, although there were no tickets to be had.
I wondered how the House survives when they don’t charge for admission.
The skeletal man looked down at us with his glowing red eyes, and it took everything in me to not take a staggering step back.
The makeup team must be incredible; he looked terrifying, and I felt my heart beginning to speed up.
I was expecting a ghoulish painted-on face, or a plastic mask, but this man looked every bit like a dying soul.
His eyes caught mine, sending a stirring feeling snaking around my heart as he flashed me a crooked grin.
He unclipped a velvet rope, allowing us to enter the queue for the House.
As I passed by him, our fingers grazed for the barest of moments—and I felt .
For the first time in years, something broke through the numbness in me, and made me feel again.
Tim and Jessica were already several paces in front of me, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the man staring down at me with piercing red eyes. He looked as if he was going to reach out to me, and all at once the cold rose up, terrified to be broken again, and I bolted from him.
Catching up with Tim and Jessica, I heard the last of the conversation they were having about the House.
“—you never know where it will be, or what kind of structure it will be in, so each year it’s a different scare,” Tim said.
He gripped my hand, tugging on it, and I realized I was staring at the strange man.
Breaking my gaze, I let Tim pull me after him as he continued, “You can go every year of your life and live a different adventure inside this place.”
Now, the House looms before us, only a few patrons in line ahead.
Our turn to enter will be soon. I can still feel the gaze of the skeletal man searing a hole in the back of my head, and can’t help but turn—just in time to see him clip a black velvet rope behind us, turning away another group that protests loudly before sullenly walking back toward their car.
“I guess we made it just in time,” I comment to Tim and Jessica, but they are too busy chattering away about what they think the theme of this year’s House is going to be.
I feel the infection, the festering darkness, beginning to wake up as we wait, growing stronger as my mood sours.
I’m damp from the misting rain and freezing from the autumn wind, wanting nothing more than to be back in my room, wistfully scrolling travel websites.
Exactly what part of freezing my ass off in the middle of a field is supposed to be fun?
The line moves, and we step closer to the House, the evening dimming around us.
Eventually we are the only ones left waiting, and I notice just how quiet the night truly is without the voices from the other groups around us.
After the last group makes their way inside, I turn and notice the skeletal man is moving with us, keeping the black velvet rope just behind me the entire time.
Almost like we can’t escape. I scoff at that idea, turning back to wait.
The rain turns from a gentle, if annoying mist to large drops, and I can’t take it anymore. I spin on the man, who looks as though he hasn’t taken his eyes off me the entire time I’ve been here.
“Excuse me, but are we going to go inside anytime soon?” I snap, gesturing to the House before planting my hands on my hips. Jessica and Tim gasp behind me, and I roll my eyes. I wasn’t being that harsh. I turn to tell them to calm down, and I see what they really gasped at.
The front door stands open.
Turning back to the skeletal man, I see he is grinning broadly, his long arm gesturing for us to go inside.
I turn away from the man and his intense eyes, unable to resist the call of the House any longer.
It’s just a house. I tell myself that I’m just playing into their hands by letting myself feel the first real bit of fear.
Then Jessica squeals, breaking the spell the House has over me, as she takes the porch steps two at a time, not hesitating a moment before she enters.
The shadows of the House swallows her instantly, but I can hear her nervous laughter calling out from deep inside.
Tim is following close behind. He turns and notices me still standing on the lawn, just looking up at the windows.
“Come on, Maggie,” he says, before rushing inside.
“The House is waiting,” the skeletal man says behind me, his voice deep.
Shivering, but not from the cold, I trudge up the stairs, trying to ignore their creaks and moans in the silence of the night.
I can hear Tim and Jessica giggling wildly inside, but past the threshold of the open door, all I can see is darkness.
The rot, the numbness inside me rises up, answering the call of this desolate place, and I step over the threshold into the Wandering House.