Haunt

Chapter 4

4

The door clanging shut behind me feels so…final. I turn to look over my shoulder in time to see Harrow lean back against it, his mask seeming to taunt me in the dim hallway.

“Am I…” I don’t even know what I want to ask. But he doesn’t move, only watches me, and it almost seems like he’s patiently waiting for me to ask my question.

A scream makes me glance forward, but I look back at him for some kind of reassurance that he definitely isn’t about to give. Sure enough, he just fucking stands there. “I know you aren’t going to say anything to make me feel better…or at all.” Sighing, my foot scuffs on the floor, and I find myself shivering even in my hoodie and fleece-lined leggings. “I’m just rambling, okay?”

He still just stands there.

“Okay, okay.” I suck in a breath. “Do I just…walk? That way?” Again I shiver, this time my teeth chattering a little just in time to hear the sound of a revving chainsaw. “Wow, I hate chainsaws.” It’s probably the wrong thing to say, since this is a haunt designed to absolutely destroy me.

I swear I hear him give a soft huff from behind his mask. Turning, I find Harrow pushing away from the wall to stalk closer to me, one hand raised and reaching toward me. Instead of pushing me back or spinning me around, his long fingers wrap around my throat tightly enough for my breath to catch in my throat. I reach up, fingers hovering over his wrist. I don’t think I’m really allowed to touch him back, after all.

He pushes me, forcing me to walk backwards down the dim hallway at a pace that makes it somewhat easy for me not to trip. His thumb moves as we walk, stroking along my jaw in a way that makes my stomach twist with something that isn’t at all fear.

“Sorry,” I murmur, not sure what I’m even apologizing for. But for some reason Harrow stops, studying me from behind his mask as he strokes over my jaw again before letting go and dropping his hand.

For just a few seconds, everything in the warehouse is silent. Nothing moves around us, and the sounds of screams and whatever else have fallen away in a lull. As he stares at me, I swear he’s going to say something. Especially when he lifts his hand again, only to drop it with a shake of his head.

It’s…confusing, to say the least. Harrow brushes past me, banging on the closed door at the end of the hall, making the metal clang as the sound echoes through the enclosed space. I can’t help my wince at the sudden, sharp noise, and as I watch, the door swings open to reveal Doll Mask, whose fake alias I don’t remember.

When she sees me, she goes up on her toes, excitement in every line of her body. She’s spattered with what I hope is fake blood, but as she takes a step toward me, Harrow reaches out quickly to grab her arm and pull her to a stop.

She glances at him, shying back like she’s afraid of him, but he steps closer and leans in, their masks so close I’m surprised they don’t touch. Whether he says something or not is lost on me as another scream echoes through the warehouse.

When it’s over, they’re both looking at me. Harrow releases her arm and steps back, standing by the open door and leaning his weight on it to keep it from closing. But this time, he doesn’t stop her from skipping toward me, arms outstretched like she’s been waiting to see me.

I cringe away from her, expecting the worst, but she only wraps me up in her arms, having to stand on her toes to be face-to-face with me. “ Pretty ,” she breathes softly, her eyes barely visible behind the mask. She holds my gaze, her fingers gripping my hoodie and pulling me forward as she dances backward.

“All I have to do is safeword, right?” I breathe, heart thumping in my chest as she pulls me towards the open door. She doesn’t answer, instead glancing over her shoulder at Harrow, a question in her movement.

He’s the one to nod once, head dipping in assent at my question, so I take a breath and stop resisting her, instead letting her pull me through the open door completely at her leisure.

And on this side, the door is just as loud as it slams closed behind me, making me jump and causing Doll Mask to giggle in my ear. “So jumpy, aren’t you?” Her fingers twine with mine. “You’re just so easy.” She sounds so pleased with herself. Like she’s done something to be proud of that she can’t get over and wants the whole world to see.

In a way, she reminds me of a cat presenting their owner with a dead mouse.

“I’m not trying to be,” I admit, twining my fingers with hers in return. The action seems to shock her, judging by the way she looks down at our hands for a few seconds. But then she shakes her head and looks at me again, her black dress stiff in some places with what looks like dried blood.

“We’ll go see Banshee first.” The way she says it is conversational. “She does such creative things in her room.” She swings her arm, gripping my hand so I’m forced to swing mine as well as I walk side-by-side with her down a hallway with multiple doors lining either side. It’s maybe not quite what I was expecting, but dread makes my stomach twist when she stops in front of a pink door.

Demurely, Doll Mask knocks, waiting for something I can’t hear before twisting the handle and opening the door to the room beyond it.

Lights assault my eyes instantly, causing me to blink away the spots that dance in my vision after going from the dark hallway to the brightly lit…circus tent?

That’s what it looks like, anyway. But it takes a few seconds for my brain to recognize what I’m seeing, and I lock my teeth together tight to remind myself this isn’t real.

None of this is real. But the point is to make me think it is, so as long as I keep reminding myself of that, I might actually last five minutes in here.

A wheel spins lazily against the far wall, and from it hangs the most realistic looking fake body I’ve ever seen. Knives stick out of the man’s body, pinning his hands and feet to it and sticking out of his abdomen like a pincushion. There’s a bag over the man’s head, preventing me from seeing what his face looks like, and when Doll Mask tugs on my hand, I turn to look at her, not as freaked out as I was expecting.

Until I see the other girl, who’s wearing a clown mask, sitting on top of a plastic picnic table. She runs her fingers over the circular saw in her lap, covered in blood from head to toe. When I gasp, she looks up at me, hopping off the table to prowl toward me with the saw.

“You’re so lost,” she murmurs when she’s close enough. “Here.” She grabs my free hand and rests the blade of the circular saw against my palm, not letting me pull away as she slides the bloody flat of the blade against my skin. “Is it still warm? Everything’s always so cold to me.”

“No,” I whisper, eyes on the blood as carnival music plays softly in the background. My hand shakes as she strokes the edge of the blade along it, and I can’t help noticing just how keenly Doll Mask watches her do it.

“Don’t cut her,” my companion murmurs. “Don’t mix their blood.”

Clown Girl glances her way with a quiet scoff and lets go of my hand so I can drop it back to my side. “I’m not like Blight.” Her voice is thick with scorn. “I won’t break your pretty friend. Come here.” She reaches out, tangling her fingers in the strings of my hoodie and dragging me across the room. “Look at what I did. Look how pretty they are. ”

Against the far wall, two more bodies are slumped on the floor. They’re very clearly dead, or faking it more likely, with their heads covered by clown masks and blood pouring from the eyeholes that are pierced by long metal skewers. Clown Girl kneels down beside them and drags me down with her until my knees hit the concrete floor and something wet soaks into the fabric.

It’s not real blood, I tell myself, repeating the sentiment over and over again. It’s so not real blood. That’s what I have to remember about this.

Doll Mask kneels behind me, arms wrapped around my shoulders as she watches Clown Girl reach forward, her fingers teasing at the end of a skewer. “Would you like one?” she asks offhandedly, and before I can tell her no fucking thank you, she rips the metal stick out of the clown mask, the bloody end of it nearly turning my stomach.

I lurch backward into Doll Mask, who giggles and holds me relatively still. Blood and viscera drip from the end of the skewer, where the remains of the fake eye dangles precariously. God, it looks so… real.

“It’s not real,” I tell myself in a whisper as Clown Girl holds the skewer closer to my face. “Fuck, that looks so real.” Not that I know what my eye would look like in this…condition.

“It isn’t? We’ll have to tell her that.” Clown Girl sidles closer to the masked body and reaches out to tap her shoulder. “Hey, Hannah?” she hums. “Your eye isn’t real. Noa said so.” Her use of my name makes me shiver, and I try to stand up only to be held down by Doll Mask. “So you’re okay with me taking it, right? Actually…”

She stands up and Doll Mask drags me up as well. “Why don’t you take it, Noa?” she chirps.

“No, I don’t…That’s okay,” I reply as my heart races nervously in my chest. “I think maybe you should keep it.”

“I have three more. Five more, if I want to take his.” She looks at the wheel and reaches out to grab my wrist, her bloody hand sliding over my skin and leaving a red swipe behind. “I said take it, didn’t I?” she asks, forcing my fingers to close over the end of the skewer where the fake eye is, even as I yelp in protest.

But I can’t stop her from making me crush it between my fingers, the fake eye squishing like jelly and seeping out from between my knuckles in a way that makes me want to puke. The moment she lets go, I jerk back, staring down at my hand in revulsion while Doll Mask just giggles and rests her head against my arm. “This is so gross,” I whisper, shaking my hand and causing the viscera to spatter against the floor. Looking around, I look for anything to wipe my hand on, even as Doll Mask tugs me back toward the door.

“She likes to have alone time after,” the girl whispers in my ear while I surreptitiously wipe my hand on the fabric covered wall. “She’ll get mad if we don’t leave her alone.”

“Oh, you won’t get an argument out of me,” I assure her with a forced, nervous smile. Honestly, as gross as the fake eye on the skewer was, it feels…tame. I’d expected to be hauled around or tied up. Hell, I’d even prepared myself for waterboarding.

Relief uncurls in my chest as Doll Mask pulls me out of the room and down the hallway. It occurs to me that if this is going to be more me looking at things and having to put gross shit in my hand…and circular saws…maybe I can do this after all.

“If you want to keep her”—Clown Girl’s voice rings out down the hallway and I turn to see her leaning on the bright door of her room, mask tilted in our direction—“take her somewhere Rav won’t find her.”

It’s just part of the act , I remind myself again as Doll Mask glances back at her coworker. She gives a small nod and turns to another door, this one a pristine white…except for the blood smeared over the surface near the knob.

“Let’s play,” she whispers, and drags me inside as my stomach twists and I ask myself why the hell I did this to myself.

Especially on my own.

The room is remarkably less overwhelming than the circus tent. I’m surprised to find I’m in a child’s bedroom, or what looks like one, with a wrought iron bed in one corner and a table holding a dollhouse in the middle as the main feature of the room. A light bulb flickers above us, and when Doll Mask tugs me further into the room, I nearly stumble when my sneakers sink into the soaking wet carpet.

Looking down is a bit of a mistake, though. I bite my lip to stifle a gasp when I see blood bubbling to the surface of the plush fabric, streaking along my sneakers. I follow the puddles of blood, seeing that they end near the bed.

I’m not sure I want to know why.

“Come see.” Doll Mask doesn’t give me much of a choice. She drags me over to the dollhouse, showing me the side that opens, which immediately makes me gasp in surprise.

It’s covered in blood, and what looks like entrails are draped garishly over it like streamers or fairy lights. But my new friend doesn’t even hesitate. She picks up a string of gore, running it between her dainty fingers before holding it out to me.

“N-no, I—” She doesn’t give me a choice. She reaches out, looping the stringy mass around my wrist, her hands slipping in blood as she tries to tie them in a bow to form a little bracelet.

It’s not real.

The warm, slick slide against my skin turns my stomach. It’s so hard to remember none of this is real when another scream rings through the building, and both of us look toward the door.

“Ooh, I didn’t realize she was still alive,” Doll Mask comments. “Let’s go see.” She grabs my fingers in hers, skin slick with blood, and tugs me to the door. Subtly I pick at the ‘bracelet,’ dropping it to the floor with a shudder.

Not that Doll Mask even stops to notice. She heads for a black door and pushes it open, dragging me inside as I brace myself for something just as bad as the last two rooms.

But what I get is so, so much worse.

Dalton sits in a chair in the middle of the room, covered in blood and sobbing. When he sees me his eyes go wide, and he struggles in the chair where his arms are cuffed to the rails beside him. “Help me!” he screams, rattling the cuffs. “This isn’t fucking fake! Help me!”

Dread settles in my chest and I look at the man behind him, the one in the scarecrow mask. He stares back at me impassively, then leans down to pick up a chainsaw from the concrete floor.

Fuck, I hate chainsaws in haunted houses.

“Help me!” Dalton screams again, unable to see what Scarecrow is doing. “It’s not—These guys are fucking insane! Ivy’s dead, and—” The chainsaw revs and he stiffens, a look of pure terror going through his eyes.

“S-so safeword out,” I stammer, unable to take my eyes off of the chainsaw. “Just say?—”

“I fucking tried! Fair’s fair! Fair is fucking fair! ” He’s hysterical with fear and panic, and I glance between the two actors, expecting them to stop, to untie him. To do…something.

But Scarecrow just revs the chainsaw again, despite Dalton’s screams of protest. With Doll Mask’s hand tightly holding mine, I can’t even look away as Scarecrow strides forward. He reaches out, stroking bloody fingers along Dalton’s face, and leans in to whisper something to him I have no chance of hearing.

Whatever it is, though, has the man in the chair looking floored, disbelief in his eyes as he turns his head to look at the masked man. “No, I…how do you…” he trails off. “It’s not my fucking fault!” he sneers, struggling with renewed urgency. “It’s not my fault!”

He screams the words as Scarecrow pulls the string on the chainsaw, starting it effortlessly. I stare at it, watching it vibrate in his hand as my heart tries to escape the cage of my ribs by any means possible, making my chest ache with the ferocity of its pulse.

“Fair’s fair,” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away. I watch as the chainsaw comes down and makes contact with Dalton’s outstretched left arm just below his elbow.

“Fair’s fair,” I breathe again, as the chainsaw presses down, down …the revving of the motor unable to completely drown out Dalton’s screaming.

I’ve never heard someone scream like that before, or seen blood spray and arc while someone tries to rip free. I can see the cuff on his other hand cutting into the skin of his wrist as he tries in desperation to break out of the chair.

I fucking watch when the chainsaw sparks against the metal of the chair, severing Dalton’s arm and making him slump back in the chair. His forearm is still cuffed to the chair, but falls to hang by the wrist, almost touching the floor.

That’s what does it, for some reason. The sight of his arm just hanging there, like a prop, while blood sprays from his elbow, has me ripping my hand free of Doll Mask and turning to sprint to the door. I can’t do this. It looks too real, and I absolutely have to get out of here. My hand goes for the doorknob, and it takes me a few seconds longer than it should to rip it open to the hallway beyond.

Only I find my path blocked by the man in the skeleton mask. Ravage. I remember his ‘name,’ after the impression he’d made out in the lobby.

“Fair’s fair!” I gasp, panicked as he just leans against the doorframe as casually as if we’re about to discuss the weather. “I-I can’t do this. I want out, and?—”

“You want out?” He reaches up, fingers wrapping around my throat to drag me closer until I can see the glint of his eyes in the dim light. “Princess, where do you think you are ?”

“I’m…” I start to look over my shoulder, until I hear the revving of the chainsaw again, along with another choked off scream from Dalton. “We’re at Grim Descent. The extreme haunt.” My words come out almost like a question, and I hate the way his eyes narrow in amusement.

“ Are we? Are you sure that’s where you are?” He drags me closer, forcing me to stumble over my own feet until my body is only inches from his. “Or did you maybe end up somewhere you shouldn’t, in a game you weren’t invited to?”

“But…”

“Maybe it wasn’t your friends who were in the wrong place, Noa.” I can hear the excitement in his voice, along with something darker that fills me with dread.

“Maybe you wandered somewhere that you shouldn’t have, and now you don’t get to wander back out.”