Page 41 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

Jamie

“Try it now!” Jamie called, clawing sweaty hair out of their face.

From above, the chain saw roared back to life.

“Got it!” Randall yelled back.

Jamie pulled themself out of the tiny control room concealed beneath the stairs and closed the hidden door.

“Alright, are we good?” Marty called. “Shut up, please! Quiet! Are we all good?”

“I need two minutes,” someone called.

“Okay, everyone stay put .”

Jamie slipped their phone out and took a selfie of their sweaty, dust- and paint-streaked face and sent it to Edgar.

Jamie : T-minus 1 hour til we open the gates!

How do you look so good even covered in disgusting filth? Edgar replied. Congratulations, baby—I know it’s so great and scary.

Warmth flooded Jamie at Edgar’s words. It was happening a lot lately.

Jamie’s phone buzzed again, and they looked at it eagerly. But it was just a message from their mother on the family text thread, which conjured the opposite of warmth.

I know it’s still early to think about this, but your aunt Michaela will need to be picked up from the airport before the rehearsal dinner. Be a dear and get her, Jamie?

Sorry, I can’t. I’ll be at work.

“As you know,” they muttered.

Their mother typed for a long time and then apparently deleted the message.

Well can you at least take her to the hotel after the wedding , came Blythe’s eventual reply.

Jamie didn’t have time for this right now.

I’m sure we’ll have no problem getting Aunt Michaela back to the hotel that everyone is staying at.

Gotta go, it’s opening night of the haunted house and the doors are about to open!

They added a ghost emoji, a skull emoji, and a pumpkin emoji, and sniggered as they slid their phone back in their pocket.

The last time they’d dared to mention their job on the thread, it had gone dead for six days.

Which would be absolutely perfect about now.

***

This was Jamie’s fourth October first opening night, but the rush was as exhilarating as it had been the first three times.

Jamie had worked as a scare actor on the first two haunted houses they’d helped create.

Observing people’s reactions throughout the haunt was crucial to designing them better the next time.

Jamie had loved it. The theatrical anticipation of the darkness before visitors came through, the sense of camaraderie with the other performers, the intimacy of seeing people vulnerable in their fear—it was intoxicating and always made them want to go out and party after work, shaky with adrenaline and hunger.

But it was also hot, cramped, bad-smelling, exhausting work that fucked up your whole schedule for a month and sometimes got you punched if you jumped out at the wrong person.

So when they’d gotten the opportunity to move into Carl and Germaine’s guesthouse last year instead of needing to pay rent, they’d stopped working double duty as a scarer.

Now, instead, Jamie changed into clean clothes, grabbed their branded clipboard, and surveyed the line of waiting ticket holders: What buzz had the visitors heard? Where did they learn about the haunt? What had this friend or that friend reported when driving past last week?

People waited at the exit with clipboards and questions of their own: What was everyone talking about?

How did they look? When someone chased them after they thought they were safe, what percentage of them screamed in thrilled terror and what percentage muttered?

It all helped inform what they’d keep and what they would abandon.

As if the universe was colluding with the haunt, it was the first semicool night of the year, and the moon was a dim waning crescent.

The smell of rain was on the breeze, but that wouldn’t deter this crowd.

They were abuzz with excitement, and some of their costumes were elaborate enough to be in the show themselves.

Jamie leaned against the fence and watched the waxing anticipation. Nearly everyone had their phones out, taking pictures of the sign at the gate, the crowd, themselves. Jamie added their own phone to the mix, filming the crowd as a voice thundered out of the loudspeaker.

They risked a glance at their phone, which had vibrated several times while they’d been working, hoping Edgar had texted. He had—a cute picture of the baby grabbing Edgar’s nose. But their mother had also replied. Jamie sighed but decided to get it over with.

Jamie’s right, it’ll be fine , Emma had responded.

Slight change of plan , their mother wrote. We’ll actually need you at the rehearsal dinner at 2, Jamie.

Jamie blinked at the text, heart rate ratcheting up. What the hell?

Jamie : I can’t be there at 2. I can be there at 5, like y’all originally told me.

Jamie stared at their phone furiously. Their mother always did this! She found ways to punish anyone who didn’t do what she wanted.

“YOU ARE ABOUT TO ENTER HELL,” growled the amplified voice, signaling they didn’t have time for this.

“Already there, buddy,” Jamie muttered.

A text from Emma came through to Jamie directly. Just come at 5, that’s fine.

“Thank fucking god,” Jamie said.

The dots that said Blythe was typing—a screed, no doubt—appeared on the screen, but Jamie just thanked Emma quickly and put their phone on Do Not Disturb. There would be plenty of time to deal with whatever she had to say later.

“GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN. ENTERING HELL IN TEN. NINE. EIGHT—”

As the voice counted down, the crowd chanted along with it so that when the voice said, “TWO. ONE. NOW!” a cheer exploded. The gate swung open. The line began to move.

Jamie watched people who loved haunts as much as they did get ready to appreciate what they’d worked for the last six months to create.

They allowed themself a single moment of self-pity, that instead of coming to see Jamie’s work, their family was texting them about wedding shit.

But then they shook it off and let the pride replace it.

***

Jamie was riding high when they got to Edgar’s. It was late, so they knocked softly, but Edgar kept hours just as late as they did and answered the door with excited anticipation.

“Well?” they asked.

“It went so well!” Jamie said, then they were caught up in Edgar’s strong arms and crushed to his chest.

“I knew it would,” he said softly and kissed Jamie’s hair. “You smell like… What do you smell like?”

“Er.” Jamie sniffed at themself tentatively. “Maybe the smoke machine? But also maybe general haunted house ick? It’s a particular funk.”

“Come in. Tell me all about it,” Edgar encouraged, waving Jamie into the living room. “Want something to drink?”

All Edgar ever had to drink was water and ginger ale, and Jamie needed something a bit more potent.

“Do you mind?” Jamie held up a tin of edibles.

“Please,” Edgar said.

They settled on the couch, and Edgar got Jamie water anyway. Edgar dug strong thumbs into their left instep. Jamie groaned.

“God damn, that’s amazing.”

“Good,” Edgar murmured.

“Dude. It went so well! At first, everything was going wrong—of course. But it came together at the last minute, like always. It’s so wild how two hours before opening, we can be a total shambles, but then it all gets done.”

As Edgar rubbed their feet, they told him about the anticipation of the crowd, the satisfaction of hearing the screams and curses as people went through, trying to guess which frights had gotten which person.

They told him about the videos already making the rounds on social media, declaring House of Screams the best haunt in Louisiana.

“We’re sold out for the next three nights, which is awesome because Marty gives us a bonus for every fifth night we sell out.”

They tried to paint a picture of the night for Edgar without sharing any details that would scare him.

This meant Jamie found themself saying things like, “And then this enormous, hairy, er—kitty jumps out while they’re looking in the triptych mirror, and they can’t figure out which way to run to get away from it. ”

Quickly though, it became clear that Edgar didn’t need the details. He was just proud every time Jamie said something went well. Jamie was pleasantly stoned at that point, able to relax for the first time in what felt like weeks.

“The only bummer… Never mind.” Jamie waved it off.

“What?”

“More texts from my parents and Emma. Wedding stuff. They probably didn’t even know it was opening night, but…”

But Jamie knew their mother drove to work directly past a billboard advertising the haunt. She’d probably seen it every day for the last month.

“Would you want to invite them?” Edgar asked.

Sweet, innocent Edgar.

“I have. The first year, I was working as one of the actors in the haunt, and I put tickets aside for them at will call for opening night. I texted them two weeks before to let them know.”

Jamie couldn’t believe they’d ever thought their parents or Emma would go through a haunted house.

It was laughable now. But that first year, they’d still had hope that their family might be happy for them.

After all, they were getting paid to do what they’d always wanted.

But when Jamie had gone to the ticket booth at the end of the night, the envelope of tickets remained untouched.

Jamie bit their lip. “Ugh, let’s be done talking about this now. It went great, so. That’s good.”

Edgar opened his mouth like he wanted to add something but closed it. He redoubled his efforts at foot massage.

Jamie let their head droop over the armrest like a morning flower heavy with dew and let themself drift away on a sea of comfort, safe in Edgar’s hands.

***