by Wesley Nyx

  The leaves came down. They undressed the trees, accentuating the auburn majesty of the autumn season. Perhaps, naively, Abigail could not help but wonder to herself how the trees felt when they watched all of their leaf children raked up into piles and illegally burned in the backward of each person’s home.

   She smiled and waved when old man Donahue waved at her with a toothless grin. She donned worn jeans and a thick, flannel button up shirt. Doing ones’ best impression of a lumberjack felt appropriate for the season, after all.

   Abigail appreciated this time of year. Fall was the happy medium of two extremes in the small village of North Rites, a time where you were able to step outside without being swarmed by mosquitoes and yet, all you needed in order to keep warm, was a hooded sweatshirt.

   She hopped over a ditch and into the road, kicking up some small gravel when she did. Her eyes went toward traffic, waiting for a vehicle to drive by her, only for the person to direct her forward with a waving motion of his hand. Why an individual would stop their vehicle in the middle of the road where there was not a crosswalk, for a petite young girl to cross, was an anomaly that would puzzle anyone who was not from a small town.

   Today commemorated the Nights of Past. The holiday’s traditions were foggy at best, and what they actually meant or stood for were subject to interpretation. Purists decreed it a way to honor and remember those of us who had come and went, with candlelight vigils held in their honor.

   That, however, died away over time, chipping away with each year. People were simple and liked it convenient. Candlelight vigils were replaced with candlelight’s lit on doorsteps, and then, overtime, that became leaving your porch on as a hollow sign of respect.

      Businesses, on the other hand, found new and inventive ways to market it. They created makeshift legends and newfound ideology to make the Nights of Past synonymous with sugary sweets, morbid outfits, and high-priced movie tickets. Children, in turn, who knew no better, embraced it to the fullest, whereas everyone else, as said, liked it simple and convenient.

   She smiled when she saw her friends Jamie and Todd, standing only a block away from a rundown fast-food joint called Macintosh, which, ironically, had food the farthest thing away from a healthy apple snack. The restaurant’s owner had long since retired, celebrated his ninetieth birthday, and went on to the beyond place, now having his life celebrated and revered by townspeople too lazy to buy matches and some wax. Macintosh’s tattered, dilapidated décor certainly felt festive and scenic with the evening, but they had something bigger in mind.

   “Hey, Abbey!” Jamie exclaimed, a high-pitched enthusiasm in her voice that brought Abigail right back to high school. That was the way Jamie always sounded, so peppy and full of enthusiasm. Abigail always wondered how she found the energy to be such an optimist.

   Abigail smiled back at her, closing in on her for an embrace she reciprocated in turn. Afterward, she looked at Todd who had a deer caught in the headlights sort of look.

   “’Sup?” Todd asked nonchalantly.

   Unless Abigail was mistaken, she could have sworn he even did a swiping gesture with his hands like a rapper about to breakdown in a freestyle, ‘the yo-yo’ gesture, as Abigail lovingly deemed it when they were in high school. Todd was a lot of things, be it stoic, a little awkward, or kind, but the type of person who could authentically pull off a zen, coolness, he was not.

   “’Sup?” Abigail replied in response to him. Then, she rolled her eyes and brought him in for a hug as well.

   “Never thought I would come back to North Rites again,” Todd said, his eyes wandering off, beyond the small neighborhood, where North Rites High School sat off in the distance, a glaring reminder of Abigail’s more socially inept years (and when she thoughts bangs were a good idea).

   Abigail smiled and spoke somberly, “Verdicine’s House of Horrors has nothing on the horrors we endured in that place, am I right?”

   It had been a few years since Abigail had spoken to Todd and Jamie in-person, their more recent encounters through social media or webcams. That was how high school friendships went, she supposed. Everyone had responsibilities and ambitions to pursue. Jamie was a nurse to be, and Todd’s pursuit was in graphic design at a fancy pants college in Italina. No matter though, as they met up, time felt like a fickle barrier between them.

   “Did you hear Mr. Megraw is the principal now?” Jamie said, in her quiet, squeaky voice. Her footsteps hastening in order to keep up with her much longer legged friends.

   “That sauerkraut? As our science teacher, he was a royal jackass, I can’t even begin to imagine how bad that power has went to his head.”

   “Do you remember when Tommy,” Todd started to say.

   “I was about to say that …” Jamie interjected, giggling. Then, she stopped nervously, chuckling and offering a small apology as restitution.

   “No, I don’t,” Abigail said, looking around them for an explanation.

   “Well, okay, you remember how Mr. Megraw looked right?”

   “Uh-huh,” she said.

   And she did. Mr. Megraw was an older man, with a longitudinal flap of skin dangling from beneath his chin. He had a wiry, small frame, which only made his dewlap look more distinct. His demeanor was always no nonsense, with his hands and arms at his side like they were handling the buttons on an invisible jet pack. He wore suspenders and a cardigan with dark patches on each elbow.

   “Okay, then you remember how he looked like a raisin, and how his body looked like his skin was taken off and shoved under the bed for a century, then, worn again without ironing it first?” Todd explained, eloquently summarizing Abigail’s own perception. “Well, Tommy walks into class one day and, I don’t remember what it was, but he was late for some reason after lunch. Mr. Megraw is laying into him, right?” ‘You kids need to stop jacking around! Always jacking around!’ and all that,” He continued, at a point, doing his best impression of Mr. Megraw’s grumpy, old man voice. “Tommy looked at him. And, you know Tommy, he was high out of his mind, like he always was. He looked at Mr. Megraw, stone faced.”

   “Stoner faced,” Abigail corrected with a small chuckle.

   “Stoner faced,” Todd agreed. “He looked at Mr. Megraw and that flap of skin under his neck and went,” … Todd placed his finger underneath Abigail’s neck and mimicked the gesture, tickling underneath her chin, where Megraw’s excess skin would have been, all while doing chicken noises.

   Abigail laughed loudly at the gesture, and Todd and Jaime shortly joined in with her. “Tommy was only showing he pays attention, showing Mr. Megraw the gobbler effect!”

   As they continued walking, Abigail could not help but feel nostalgic. Too often, she remembered the bad times spent at North Rites High School, but it was her friendships with Todd, Jamie, Huey, and Camden that made the time not only livable, but sometimes worth remembering.

   Speaking of, “Where are Huey and Camden?” Abigail asked, her eyes looking through the bleak, repetitive scenery that was North Rites in all its majesty.

   She had never noticed until now how many worn down buildings there were. They walked by a brick building, which was missing its front wall, but still had a door standing at the front, connected to a wooden frame. Something about it struck her as hauntingly goofy, the sight of a useless door held up, as if by magic.

   According to her mother, the building had once been a theater where her and her friends could watch movies for only a buck apiece, a bargain compared to the cost cinema’s charged nowadays. Abigail had not been alive to see the theater in its splendor, and so, she only ever knew it as a broken-down eyesore on the town, of which, there were many.

 Jamie looked at her cellphone, as though it held all the untold answers to the universe. Either that, or she was checking the time. “They said they would meet us there at around seven.”

   There was what brought them to North Rites again. There was Verdicine’s Home of Horrors, a haunted house attraction that popped up in small towns, usually unannounced.

   They drew their name from an old time God that allegedly once acted as a veil, shielding the city from evildoers and the like. Whatever the truth behind that may have been, the reviews of their attraction spoke highly of it, calling it the best throughout all of Maharris, and maybe, the world. Both Camden and Abigail had raved a lot about them over the years. As the attractions build steam, they captured the zeitgeist and the imagination of onlookers alike. The only documenting of Verdicine were through second-hand testimonials, which were difficult to have faith in. Otherwise, they had the strict demand that all cellphones be left outside upon entry.

   Whether it was worth the hype or not, Abigail was only grateful to have something actually happen for a change in their hometown, and an excuse for her friends to meetup again.

   They carried on their tread for a short while. Circling around North Rites was likely what most children did in order to pass the time in town. It was not as sad as it sounded, but it was pretty fucking close to it. Thus, doing so, along with beholding their makeshift, wannabe landmarks, felt nostalgic.

   The sun soon bid them adieu, replaced by the melancholy gleam of the moonlight overhead. Soon after, Jamie looked at her cellphone again, and, as she did, Abigail noticed a small tattoo of a rose wrapped in barbwire on her wrist. She let it be but smiled to herself.

   Everything could change in only a few years, it seemed. Prior to leaving, Jamie’s religious mother and father forbade even the littlest irregularity, and would have flipped their wigs at such traitorous, obscene blasphemy. Now, however, she was a liberated anarchist! A true rebel. Or, at least, she had a tattoo.

   As if Verdicine’s Home of Horrors could not be any more hidden away, they chose to have it smack-dab in the country of North Rites. They must have needed a lot of space to accommodate them, Abigail supposed. The sound of the great outdoors kept them company momentarily, of cicadas and dogs howling out into the night. Soon after, they heard the commotion of shouting drunks and cars revving up their engines in a battle of who could be the loudest.

   When they arrived, they saw Huey and Camden.

   Huey looked about the same as she remembered, always wearing a hoodie and shorts, in spite the fact it was freezing out. His hair was unkempt and curly, and his beard traveled down his neck. His smile when he saw them was warm and affectionate, however.

   As they exchanged pleasantries, Abigail was surprised to see how much Camden had changed.

   “Be honest with me,” Camden asked, wearing a suit and tie, and black sunglasses that must have been hell to see out of in the night. “Did you ever worry about me when I was fat?”

   “Be honest, are you sure? I feel like I was awful fat,” He pressured on. “Did you worry about my knees? I bet you could have actually heard them screaming back then. ‘Help me, Abbey! Help me!”” Camden pleaded, doing his best impression of a weak dying man.

   Abigail laughed, as did the rest of them. They were all well aware of how insecure Camden had once been about his weight, trying and failing one diet after the next. Abigail was happy to see him healthy and fit, but even more happy he was in a place he could laugh at it and put it behind him.

   They all stood in front of a large black tarp, hiding away all the spooky things contained within. For only a moment, Abigail felt intimidated by it. Like an alien spaceship had crash landed in North Rites, something important and mainstream belonged no place near their town.

   The rest of the greater Acera must have caught onto Verdicine’s hidden rendezvous as well, as North Rites now looked like a sudden hot spot, instead of that village you drove by in order to get where you were actually headed. Cars were parked unevenly around a stretch of grassland. For such a big deal, Verdicine’s setup looked hardly organized or official.

   “About as much action as this tired town has seen in a century,” Camden said, peeking out from the sunglasses he seemed committed to not taking off.

   Perhaps his way of celebrating the holiday was by commemorating the death of his own fashion sense? Abigail smiled to herself, continuing forward. “I wonder if this will bring any business back to the rest of town.”

    “That would mean there was someplace still open to bring business to,” Camden fired back.

   “I mean, … we have a school,” Jamie said quietly.

   “Yeah, maybe someone will buy a kid or something,” Todd jested.

   “I would not want any of North Rites’ kids,” Camden answered again.

   Although Camden was among the shortest of their small group, his quickened footsteps had him take lead among them.

   The crowd was a hodgepodge of different age groups, some adults, and a lot of teenagers as well. Some individuals Abigail was able to recognize, having them them around over the years, whereas others appeared not to be from the local area.

   Abigail appreciated the assortment of costumes, which ranged from white foxes to brown Dobermans, from musicians to slasher villains, and so on and so forth. What it all had to with honoring the dead, Abigail neither knew nor cared, but a handful of them looked cool. She especially liked one person’s getup, depicting a large mech, which appeared to have been homemade from cardboard and foam. It must have taken a lot of dedication and commitment, and as the individual struggled to inch his way through the crowd, Abigail only hoped it was worth it for them.

   The line was segmented and inconsistent, with Verdicine’s employees not offering a lot in the way of crowd control. Thankfully, word must not have spread too bad about their arrival, as it was crowded, but not unbearably congested. Assuming it was now public knowledge, she was happy they had gotten there as early as they did.

   They continued walking, ducking beneath the cellphone of a young woman trying to take a photograph of her son posing with the man in the mech costume. Surely, he did not intend to enter the House of Horrors dressed like that. Although the idea of him trying to outrun a zombie in the outfit amused her, especially when thinking about how the employee would likely have to walk in slow motion to make it happen.

   After an hour’s wait, they finally found themselves before the tent. Behind them, as Abigail assumed it would, a more prodigious line had formed. In front of the entrance, a man in long, dark red hair looked back at them. He wore a suit and a long, red tie, coupled with black eyeliner that helped sell the look.

   When they made eye contact, the suited man flashed a tooth grin, and his teeth looked fanged, a novelty, she assumed.

   “Rabies and germs, come one, come all, to Verdicine’s House of Horrors. Are you ready for untold frights and sleepless nights? If you are, then, step right up, but, be forewarned, the only way out is through the exit way, marked with bright neon lights.” The man spoke fast, but enthusiastically, carrying a showman’s charisma that he had likely recited a couple hundred times by now.

   At the same time, Abigail knew to take what he said with a grain of salt. Chances were that they had a mess of hidden ways out, and like any haunted house, anything too scary could be stopped by telling them as much.

   “This better scare the fuck out of us for all the hype it has been given,” Camden said.

   His confidence had certainly improved a lot since they last saw each other, a confidence that may have come off rude to the uninitiated.

   The suited man’s smile did not diminish, “I do not think you will be disappointed, Camden.”

   Camden’s face dropped a little from that comment. The remark caught everyone a little off guard, recollecting their earlier conversations, wondering if the red-haired man might have been in earshot to hear Camden’s name.

   Abigail laughed, offering an amused smile over to Jamie. Verdicine’s House of Horrors had evolved the scary, haunted house shtick into an art form. So much so a bout of psychological torment had already started before they even entered.

   The red-haired man turned his back to them, turning the doorknob, and unveiling the entrance to the House of Horrors. The entrance spoke little of the contents within, beyond the door was a long hallway, with light bulbs hanging from the ceiling by thin strings, stuttering off and on like they could leave them in the pitch-black darkness by a small gust of wind.

   Abigail gulped.

   Her hairs stood up, and, for a moment, she wondered why she had thought this was a good decision. She had always scared easily, too afraid to watch horror movies, let alone whatever she was about to endure.

   She was broken out of her trance when she saw Camden lead the way into the room, unbothered by the, admittedly, simple presentation. Something changed the very second, she stepped into the hallway. The acoustics were different, where the only thing she could hear being what sounded like exhaust fans and the amplified sound of her footsteps as they echoed against the smooth concrete floor. The air was cold and wet, and, in time, they were able to see the faint fog that went up to their knees.

   “Good luck,” The red-haired man said from outside, but before Abigail could turn to look back at him, she heard the door slam behind them.

   When it did, the light bulbs overhead stuttered harsher, until, at last, going out completely, leaving them in the dark.

2.

   Camden kept reins at the helm. “I can tell all of you really like your dry ice!” Camden exclaimed, beholding the décor with cynicism.

   They had since turned the corner on the hallway and were now in a room decorated like a medieval dungeon. Guillotines were posted around the area, with faux headless humans positioned in them. There was a setup to their right that assembled the area beneath the gallows, with nooses hanging down from a couple of the opened fall away floors overhead.

   “Cut it out,” Jamie said softly, acknowledging Camden, offering a smile meant to entail a playful tone, “You have to be willing to embrace the theatrics every now and again. Makes it more, …,” That was about as far as Jamie would get before a man in a mask appeared in front of her, letting out a freakish wail.

   Jamie screamed and then, nearly fell, but Abigail caught her before that could happen. Camden, on the other hand, once more, seemed unsold by the effort, playing it off in dramatic fashion. Abigail rolled her eyes at him but chose not to say anything aloud. As Camden sighed and carried forward, it was clear he was no longer the same fun-loving person she remembered in high school.

   They sidestepped around the slasher villain, whose outfit resembled a hodgepodge of other characters from the movies, donning a hockey mask and a puke-green jumpsuit. As they did, a loud cranking noise went off, and, in even louder fashion, was a row of bodies slamming down from their thick-roped nooses. The scare was enough to make Abbey jump, and she felt Todd’s shoulder flinch against hers.

   “Fuck, that was a cool gag,” Huey said, walking over to one of the bodies by the gallows. “You could even hear their necks breaking, I think.”

   Camden shrugged, “I mean, a bag of sand and sound effects.” He walked over to the corpse and tapped against its leg. When he did, however, the corpse reacted, shaking and convulsing like a man after sticking a fork into a light socket.

   This time, Camden flinched as well, drawing laughter from Abigail and Jamie alike, which summoned his indignant glare in return. Unfortunately for him, Abigail did not flinch, maintaining a satisfied smirk.

   Their eyes went toward the exit way, a large while double-doorway. They ventured further, still shaken by the earlier jolt. It was shortly after that they fell victim to the next gag; the bodies dropped from the ground, and each slowly resurrected to their hands and knees, cocking their heads upward and staring at them with bright red eyes. Like that, they began to speed toward them, an act that brought a reaction out of all of them, each speed-walking toward the exit way.

   When they opened the doors, however, a zombie dove its head out and screamed, flailing, and wailing, kept captive on the other side by the chains that shackled the door shut.

   “Fuck,” Abigail said, and she really meant it, with all her might.

   Upon inspection, she shortly realized the zombie that stuck its head out from the door was mechanical and not a real person. Guess they could not chance someone overreacting, booting the door shut and decapitating one of the employees. Good scare though.

   They turned around fast, only to see an angry mob of zombie-like creatures running toward them. With nowhere to go, they were left to remain still and prepare for the worst. That was when the creatures were brought to a halt by the nooses wrapped around their necks, acting as makeshift leashes for them. The creatures growled and snarled, barking and slobbering like madmen with rabies. Abigail took in a breath and let it out, trying to regain her composure.

   Ding!

   A small light came on from one corner of the room, a white lightbulb that highlighted the small door beneath it. That would be the actual exit-way, it seemed. Abigail was the first to the doorway, opening it up as they made their leave. Her heart was still beating fast.

   The next room was very different from the first, and yet, very similar to an old-fashioned science fiction film.

   The air remained cold, but she could now smell the scent of bleach and other cleaning supplies. There were tables with row after row of beakers and jars of fluorescent green liquids. Some jars, in-particular, looked like they held fetuses and malformed heads. They were fluorescent as well, which made it all the easier to single out their individual details in the dimmed room.

   “Five bucks if you drink the baby juice,” Huey challenged, looking over at Todd as if it were a real proposition.

   “That’s a sentence I never want to hear again,” Jamie interjected, walking over behind one of the empty green jars, marveling at it.

   From where Abigail stood, with Jamie behind the jar, she carried a green aura that appeared stretched and distorted by the glass.

   “What about you, Camden? I remember back when, you’d eat anything!”

   “A lot has changed since then,” Camden replied, in a deadpan way that made it seem like the comment might have legitimately offended him.

   “Oh, come on! Now, you are all health nut, I bet you this looks a lot like one of your fruity supplement drinks!”

   It was unclear whether Huey meant ‘fruity,’ as in the content within the supplement drink, or fruity in-reference to the individual who drank them. Abigail hoped it was the former. Either way, Camden took the comment as derogatory, scoffing at the remarking and walking away from them.

   They continued forward, small plaques were stamped underneath certain jars, offering a brief summary of who each individual had been, and what, eventually, went wrong with their experiment. The mad doctor whose name was signed on each of them? Dr. Rindan.

   Dr. Rindan was a name often referenced in the Maharris history books, a relic of yesteryear, whose atrocities had been the stuff of nightmares, including experiments on patients that, more often than not, proved fatal. His infamy had proven ideal fodder for horror stories, be it fiction or dark biopics.

   A wolf’s howl caught their attention, and, shortly after, an unsettling presence happened upon them. The man donned a helm meant to resemble that of a wolf, and dulled green armor, not unlike one of Dr. Rindan’s alleged victims in the history books.

   Jamie yelped, an easy get, whereas the rest of them were more interested in what he intended to do. The man with the wolf helmet ran toward them, and, while doing so, tripped over his own feet, knocking into a shelf, and shattering nearly a dozen jars; their green ooze spilling out onto the floor in a bright array. The man stayed still for a moment; his helm pointed at the ground as though he was surveying his own destruction. Beneath his breath, Abigail could have sworn she heard him say, “Oh, dammit.”

   Camden was unable to contain his laughter, laughing at the fallen man’s misfortune. “Guess you will have to explain to your boss why all his props were broken, huh?”

   “Are you okay?” Abigail asked, walking over to the man.

   As she did, however, the man in his helm looked up at her and growled, staying in-character, even after that. Abigail had to give him credit. She turned away from him, and walked with the rest of the group, while the wounded dog was left to lick its wounds.

   They ventured further, until they met a series of doorways, none of them marked, no one door particularly distinguished from the other, simply a section of doors that appeared to lead to different rooms. Or, for all they knew, they were different entryways into the same room.

  When they decided on a door, they were met with a black hallway similar to the one they first entered. Abigail was leery and imagined the same likely applied to the rest of them. Haunted houses had the tendency to set ones’ teeth on-edge, never knowing if someone would jump out and scare you at any moment but knowing that was absolutely their intent.

   The cool air felt more prevalent, and, once more, they heard the loud exhaust fans. In time, as they continued, they found themselves outside the haunted house. They were confused to say the least. The black sky overhead and a view of the cornfield in front of them, they were all left to vocally reflect on the experience with the same sentiment: “That’s it?”

   Camden had a field day with the outcome, criticizing and picking apart every aspect of the setup, cast of characters, and anything else he could think of, whereas everyone else was left to carry a disappointed, dejected disenchantment.

   Maybe they had chosen the wrong door? Maybe another door would have led to another room, and they needed to reenter the House of Horrors in a series of trial-and-error games?

   “The door’s locked,” Todd said, having returned to the back entrance where they had left, hoping they could reenter and see for themselves.

   “No reason to let it ruin our night,” Abigail said, trying to see the upside to things, “Let’s not forget how things have changed since when we were in high school. No sneaking around to buy alcohol, and my father has a projector I am sure he would lend out for the night. We could have ourselves a little movie night together.”

   It was a half-baked suggestion she expected to hear swatted down with a great vengeance, and under normal circumstances, perhaps it would have been.

   This time, however, everyone’s attention was on the man standing in front of them from afar. His getup was menacing, for certain. He wore a dark blue face mask with eyes and nothing else to it. His body was lumbering, well over six foot, and his clothes were tattered, a thick jacket and mud-stained cargo pants. In his left hand, he held what appeared to be a harpoon. Maybe a fisherman’s tool did not carry the same bravado as the classic machete, but Abigail appreciated his dedication, nonetheless.

   As they turned the corner around him, his head turned in their direction. They were at the front of Verdicine’s House of Horrors now, and yet, found themselves surprised to see all the vehicles had driven off and cleared out. It made sense, Abigail thought, given how short the attraction turned out. Everyone most likely did a go through and decided a double-dip was not worth the time or effort. That, however, seemed farfetched.

   “I can’t say that I recognize you, man,” Huey commented, walking over to the man with the dark blue mask. “Are you from some foreign movie, maybe? Maybe something from Olzaric?”

   The man said nothing to him. Instead, he remained still, looking at Huey with nothing indicative of what went on in his mind.

   “I will admit,” Huey said, motioning toward the Verdicine building, “You were scarier than anything we saw in there, am I right?”

   Huey laughed at his own joke. Abigail doubted even he thought it was very comical, but the man’s presence felt like he knocked all the wind out of everyone he was around, and all he had to do was stand there to do it.

   When the masked man remained quiet, Huey’s expression went to that of confusion, walking past him and starting to return to the group, “Have a good night, man.”

   Huey visibly rolled his eyes as he walked back to them, what he could not see was the masked man turning around to face him. Not saying or doing anything, merely looming over him like a black, looming shadow.

   Abigail felt the hair on the back of her neck erect but felt better once Huey was back with them. As the rest of her group started off and away, she held her stare with the man; petrified, it seemed. Eventually, she felt Jamie hook her arm in hers and lead them back towards the way they came.

   “Forgot how everyone was always such an asshole in North Rites,” Camden commented.

   Soon after, Verdicine’s House of Horrors was a relic of yesteryear, a bygone memory of disappointment; one of many they had associated with their hometown.

   Their tired feet wandered the small, unusually quiet streets of North Rites. It was not unusual for the streets of North Rites to be quiet, quite the contrary, but it was peculiar, given the circumstances. No matter how bad of a dud Verdicine’s House of Horrors might have been, Abigail would not have expected for everyone to go flee the scene as fast as they did. She thought about smaller events, like when this halfwit magician came to town and did a show. Even then, they had cars parked, lining up sides of the roadway.

   Townspeople liked to participate in events that made them feel important, because, frankly, it did not happen that often. And yet, where had they all gone?

   Momentarily, Abigail’s own paranoia had gotten the best of her, rolling out one nonsense conspiracy theory after another, offering ridiculous explanations in place of something more realistic. Could it all have been a ploy? Maybe it was not the real House of Horrors, but a distraction? Maybe the real House of Horrors still awaited them someplace, like a morbid scavenger hunt?

   Abigail shook her head, it all seemed like too much trouble to go to for a small village like North Rites. Which, in itself, might have been the answer to their own disappointment. Why would the Verdicine company roll out the red carpet for their small town? Maybe they should have simply been grateful for what they had gotten.

   “Looked like he was ready to throw down with you,” Todd commented dryly once the actual discomfort in the air had the chance to go away.

   “Everyone likes to act like they are some tough guys when they are behind a mask, but none of them would know what to do with themselves in an actual fight,” Camden commented, bypassing the fact Todd’s comment had been directed as Huey.

   “And I am sure you would rip him a new one, huh? Isn’t that right, Cam-Cam?” Huey jested, offering a playful elbow to Camden’s midsection that he did not seem to appreciate at all.

   “I did not exactly see you squaring up to him now, did I? No, I think you would have given him your lunch money if you asked, matter of fact.”

   Huey rolled his eyes in distaste at Camden’s comment and offered a faux grin in an effort to extinguish any fires that had been started. Jamie smiled, walking in front of the group, “Let’s try to do something with the rest of our time! I have not seen any of you guys in years, and, chances are, with the way things go, it will be years til I actually see any of you again.”

   Huey’s irritated expression softened, as did Camden’s after some time. Abigail bowed her head in silent support of Jamie’s efforts. Even if they might have been at different places in their lives, the bonds they had established years ago were what brought them together again, not some stupid haunted house.

   It then, however, as everyone was rallied, looking to Jamie for guidance, that a harpoon impaled the back of her skull; as it punctured out the front of her face, it sprayed each person with the crimson rain.

3.

   The only mourning fate would afford them on Jamie’s account was the horrific, trance-like stupor they fell into for a small moment, their minds trying, and finding themselves unable to, comprehend what had happened before their eyes.

   That moment, like Jamie, was short lived, as the masked man motioned toward them, with only a mere block or so ways of distance separating them.

   Abigail was too afraid to move but was forced to do so by the brute encouragement of someone yanking at her arm, who it was, she was too afraid to check.

   As the masked man approached Jamie’s body, he circled around it, stalked it even. There was no way he was not absolutely for certain she was dead. Was he admiring his own handiwork? Abigail could not be for certain. The mask hid away his mannerisms and his facial features, leaving only black holes for the eyes and the mind’s speculation for explanation. At once, he tugged at the harpoon, trying to tug it out from Jamie’s skull. At first, it was a challenge for him, but he succeeded by scraping her remains off with his boot.

   The masked man crept forward and then, let out a loud, guttural battle cry, sprinting toward the group with the blood-drenched harpoon in his hand.

   Abigail felt the heat in her chest but ignored it. Instead, when she finally had the courage to turn her back to the masked man, she ran, with no intent to stop herself.

   She ran and ran. She ran as fast as she could, as fast as her body would allow. She had no endgame in mind other than creating distance between her and him.

   She saw Camden a little ways ahead of her, whereas the rest of the group appeared to have dispersed in separate directions.

   The harpoon struck down behind her, coming only about a foot shy of clipping her leg, which would have been enough to spell out her end. She continued running, not allowing herself to stop to regain her composure. In front of her, Camden veered to the left and then, the right, and it was only after a few seconds she realized the obvious – how much more difficult it was to hit a moving target compared to one running in a straight line.

   Abigail willed her way forward, venturing off road into the long, unkempt grass behind the North Rites schoolyard. She nearly lost her footing, traversing a large ditch, but managed to stay vertical. She kept on her course, entering the playground, feeling no nostalgia and yet longing largely for any time other than the present.

   When she turned around, she was surprised to see the man with the blue mask no longer had her in his sights.

   Instead, someone different now had her in their cross hairs, a brown skinned man with a whited painted face. It was difficult to single out specific details of his face from afar, but, when he smiled, his teeth appeared like an extension of that white face-paint; the only distinct characteristic she saw in the darkness of night.

   He crept forward. His movements, for lack of a more apt word, were peculiar, with his wiry, long limbs dangling at his side, and his mouth shakily unhinged, like a mad dog. In his hands, he carried nothing with him except for a small knife, not as harsh a weapon as the other man’s harpoon at least.

   “What do you want!?” Abigail shouted in fear, for a reason she knew not.

   If the man was aligned with the other attacker, she had no reason to think why he would not playing the quiet game as well. She maintained her speed, only looking back when she felt certain she had created some space between them.

   There should have been the sound of loud, scurrying footsteps, of heavy breathing, or maybe even a guttural grunt, but there was none of that. And yet, when she turned around, she was met with a slash from the man’s knife.

   She pulled her hand back to her side and let out a small whimper, feeling the blood dampen her clothing before it dripped onto the mulch padding the playground. The man’s knife left a gash, slashing down the palm of her hand.

   Abigail dropped to one knee, on impulse and fright above all else, which kept her from the man’s second attempt at an attack, liberating a swing set from one of its rope fastenings. Abigail took advantage of the small opening, starting at a crawl, then, returning to her feet and running, turning the corner around the brick school building.

* * *

   Huey gnashed his teeth with such ferocity he thought they might chip off at a moment’s notice. Although the man with the blue mask was no longer in his line of vision, he could still hear his purposeful, distinct movements, less like plain footsteps, and more comparable to swift stomps, crackling the autumn leaves with his boots.

   Like a possum before a predator, Huey did his best impression of a corpse, lying on a set of railroad tracks, hoping the rails on either side of him, coupled in with the darkness, would be enough to obscure him from sight.

   Everything felt prolonged and elongated, if they were seconds, they were the longest seconds of Huey’s life. Why couldn’t the footsteps stop? Why couldn’t he have flaked out on his friends and not showed up at North Rites at all? Huey did his best to slow his breathing, to make his body as still and lifeless as the dirt beneath him. That was when he felt a person’s hand over his chest.

   “Huey,” Todd said in a shouting whisper, a whisper that pierced Huey like a dagger to the chest. “Huey. He’s gone, … we have to go.”

   Huey sat up, skeptical, as though he expected the man in the blue mask to step out from the shadows at any moment. When he didn’t, it felt like he was intact and lucid once more.

   “Where is he?”

   Todd shrugged his shoulders; an act Huey was only able to make out from the faint glow of moonlight. Todd’s exasperation was apparent, but where was everyone else? Where was Camden and Abigail? “Jamie,” Huey blurted out, only now remembering the tragic hand she was dealt. “What the fuck, man!?”

   “I know!” Todd exclaimed. “I know,” Todd repeated, sounding like he was about to say more, but then, he didn’t. And yet, Huey felt like he understood him on some level; parallel thinking, he supposed.

   Once Huey was back to his feet, they stayed low, yearning to stay as out of sight as they could. “Honestly, back there, I was terrified I would start hearing vibration and be flattened by a train,” Huey said, and then, laughed nervously.

   Todd offered a weak chuckle in turn, but offered little to him beyond that, still in shock by the night’s events. In his right mind, he might have acknowledged the obvious – for the entire time they had lived at North Rites, not a single train had driven on those tracks. It had been segmented and out of service for more than a quarter of a century, much like everything else in the decrepit little town. A town that, now, more than ever, Huey no longer had any intention on coming back to.

   Although they had not spoken on the subject, Huey already knew his next course of action. As far as he was concerned, the rule book was thrown out the window with Jamie’s death. His cousin lived only about a block away from where they were at, and although he would not be ecstatic for Huey to kick down his front door, if he did not answer after one knock, that was exactly what Huey intended to do. After that, they could do whatever they needed to do. They could call the authorities and they could hide in the crawlspace or something until they arrived.

   As much as it hurt him to think he was deserting Abigail and Camden, leaving them out there with ‘him’, he had a pregnant girlfriend back home and every intention on returning to her. There would be no heroics on his part, and as Todd quietly followed him, he assumed they had an unspoken agreement on that.

* * *

   In a last-ditch effort, Abigail tugged at the front door to the school, surprised to discover the door was unlocked.

   North Rites was never the best when it came to basic sensibilities; this, evidently included not restricting access to a building usually inhabiting mass amounts of children. Even then, it felt peculiar and unexpected even for North Rites.

   She ran inside and never looked back to see whether the man was still in her pursuit. She ran down the steps, went by the cafeteria, and soon, found herself in the gymnasium.

   In her head, it seemed as ideal a hiding spot as any. Maybe she would hide under the stage, or head out through one of the emergency exits, throw her pursuer off the scent. She found her emotions begin to calm and her thoughts became more rational and levelheaded.

   “Abigail, Abigail,” A voice called out, amplified by the speakers strewn around the rafters, “How does it feel to be back home in North Rites?”

   Shortly after the words sounded, a small spotlight found itself moving from the gymnasium on the side closest to the stage, until the circular light shone itself over Abigail. As she moved one way, it followed her. When she moved the other, it did the same. Her eyes tried to find the perpetrator, whose presence appeared like a black silhouette in front of the bright light.

   “What do you want!?” Abigail shouted as loudly as she could.

   “I want to be entertained,” The man answered, a casual cadence behind his voice. “Really though, that is not what you want to ask yourself. It does not matter what I want, after all. What you really want to ask yourself is what does he want?”

   Another spotlight appeared, a small, round light amid the darkroom, no different than the last. It spun around directionless, until, at last, stopping at one of the doors, from which, the dark-skinned man with the white, painted on smile appeared.

   Abigail ran, and so too, did he. He was faster than her. That much was clear early on. As she ran, she noticed the spotlight continued to highlight her presence in the dark room. How many individuals were in the room with them, involved in all of this?

   She was headed toward the other exit way, at least by leaving the gymnasium she could spare herself the theatrics, but that opportunity was soon taken away from her. The man ran up the bleachers and leaped off, landing in front of her, his knife in hand.

   She was fucked; royally fucked. It was then that Camden showed himself, attacking the man from behind with a metal folding chair, like some sort of maniac professional wrestler. The man with the painted face reacted but was not taken off from his feet.

   Instead, the knife was lost from his hand, falling down against the lacquered floor. Abigail did not hesitate to react. It would have been a lost cause to try and grab it herself, but at least she could keep it away from the man. With a swiping motion, she kicked the knife out from his reach, sending it spinning someplace under the bleachers.

   The man ignored her, turning his attention over to Camden.

   “Well, well, well,” The voice projected from the intercom called out, “It looks like another challenger has entered into the fray now, doesn’t it?”

   Camden was noticeably disturbed by the man’s exclamation; unaware that they had more pursuers to factor in.

   However, when the man with the painted face turned to him, he swung the chair at him with all the gusto he could muster. The man reacted accordingly, throwing his hands up in order to deflect the attack. One of the man’s legs buckled. Abigail’s eyes were on the knife strewn underneath the bleachers. She ran forward, climbing beneath them and falling down to a crawl. She didn’t stop to see if she was being pursued, staying fixated. Soon, she held the knife in her hands, her eyes went up to the man.

   Camden stayed on the attack, walking near him with the beat worn down chair. About the easiest weapon to come by in the dirt-poor town of North Rites. This time around his approach was different, walking with the chair in hand like he intended to jab him in the neck with it.

   Abigail breathed easy, at least now, it appeared like they had a momentary advantage. Knock him down and run, that was her plan. She would leave the school and find somewhere to lay low until the cops came. They would be in the back of an ambulance, a black security blanket over each of them in no time.

   As Camden neared him, the man with the painted face looked at him, then, shrieked.

   The man’s mouth opened wide; wider than what was humanly possible. His tongue elongated, sharp and wet like a snake’s. His teeth were sharp and prickly, and his intent was vile. Had Camden not flinched when he did, Abigail had no doubts he would have had his head bitten off like his neck were an apple stem.

   Abigail wanted to scream, but she was too stunned to enunciate her own shock. Worse yet would be if she caught the creature’s attention.

   The creature lunged forward toward Camden, and, although he tried to flee, the creature caught his foot in his mouth. Camden shouted and pleaded, but the creature did not care about his cries for mercy. As it bit down, Camden tried to crawl away, he fought, digging his fingernails into the floor, trying to claw his way to freedom.

   It was all moot in the end, however. Soon, his entire leg was in the man’s mouth, in spite the absurdity of the fact.

   It was as though the creature’s stomach was a bottomless pit or a black hole.

   Camden’s screams were loud, but they felt so distant, like a faint echo beneath the ringing in Abigail’s ears. She held the knife in her hands; a weapon that now felt useless and trivial in hindsight. It felt selfish not to do something, not to make some type of effort to save him, but what could she be expected to do against that thing?

   As the creature finished its meal, blood dribbling down its chin, its eyes looked over to Abigail’s, a new prey to devour.

   The fear Abigail felt made her want to fall into a fit of hysterics, but she fought the urge and turned herself, dodging the pillars and supports underneath the bleachers. She found herself about halfway to the other side of the large gymnasium before it occurred to her that she was not being followed.

   The man merely looked at her from afar, not moving or reacting, cocking his head to the side, and staring at her. In his hands, he held something, but Abigail hadn’t the faintest idea of what it might have been.

   Then, a mechanical noise sounded.

   It was the bleachers retracting back into the wall. It took Abigail a moment to realize the ramifications, running forward in a dire attempt to make it to the other end of the gymnasium before she was crushed.

   Maybe it would have been a shorter distance to have gone the way she came, but she would have rather been crushed to death by the bleacher than be dealt the same fate as Camden. Still a way away, she felt herself hugged between the walls and the bleachers, having to pivot her body in-order to continue forward.

   She made a leap, not of faith, but of desperation, a last ditch effort at survival. It was by dumb luck she managed to escape to the other side as the bleachers closed in.

   She looked behind her as the painted man was already making his way toward her, and ran out the exit way, hearing canned applause play over the speakers while she did.

4.

   As they arrived at the house, Huey beat down on the door with a ham fist knock. Todd stood beside him. For a reason he could not make sense out of if he were pressed, it seemed right Huey who knew the person inside be the one to knock in the dead of night. Awaiting a response and receiving none, Todd peeked his head in the darkness, worried he might see the return of their masked assailant. When Huey saw Todd, his upper body was leaned over the porch’s wooden guardrail. The aura a nearby streetlight shone over Todd made Huey anxious.

   “Get back,” Huey yelled in a shouting whisper, “Once we get inside, we will have the town swarming with cops, but let’s not draw any attention to ourselves in the meantime.”

   Todd said nothing, but he knew Huey was right, and he showed it by joining him at the door.

   No noise came at the other end. No rustling footsteps. No one peeking from behind the curtains. Nothing.

   “Maybe no one’s home?” Todd suggested.

   “The lights are on,” Huey responded, looking through one of the windows. It did him little good, most of the inside was blurred by a thin white curtain.

   The sight of Jamie’s demise flashes in Huey’s head again, as though the graphic was right-clicked and saved, forever available to torture him with. The panic returned to him shortly thereafter, “I am not fucking around with this!”

   Todd played the fool, but he knew what Huey was about to do and certainly did not object to it. In a blunt effort, Huey drove his boot into the front door, an act that failed to bring the desired effect. Huey glared at Todd who took the hint, helping him ram the door open. It took one synchronized boot from each of them, forcing the door open and letting them inside.

   Silence remained on the other end. No one alerted or at all concerned with the disturbance.

   Huey continued forward.

   Todd closed the door behind them and followed.

   “Let’s hope that your cousin is one of the only people left in the world who still has a landline,” Todd commented.

   Huey’s cousin was an older man and was exactly the type of person who would still have a landline, but Huey didn’t bother to say that. Maybe it was because he knew something was wrong with the situation. Where was he? Why were his lights on?

   As they entered the living room, which had the basics: a small couch, a reclining chair, and a modest television set to aim it all at, they were able to see that they were not alone.

   Across from the living room, in the dining area, a skeleton sat at a table, and even though it was not possible, Huey felt confident that skeleton was smiling at them. The skeleton pointed his head up at them, “Well, it seems you have found yourself on the wrong side of tracks, my friends.”

   His voice was crackly and yet, radiated a playful humor. Huey, on the other hand, felt too caught off guard by the mere audacity of what he was seeing to say a word. This was a skeleton. No skin. No meat on the bones to speak of. He looked like a decoration you might have seen at a supermarket around this time of year, and yet it was upright and talking in the real world like it was no big deal.

   “I can see neither of you is much the one for banter or discussion,” The skeleton said, replying to himself. “No matter.” The skeleton snapped his fingers, offering them little more than that. “Gandhi. Go fetch!”

   They heard movement. It sounded like a large dog hurdling its way down the stairs of the two-story home, and, as it arrived, as the so-called “Gandhi” arrived, the assumption seemed both appropriate and grossly incorrect. It was a hairless man, naked, frail but frantic and ravenous. They heard more movement from the staircase to their right. A lot more.

   “Although you are, by my approximations, reluctant participants, we all have our roles in this performance, and this is the part where you need to run for your life.”

   And run, they did.

   Todd was the first out the doors, but Huey shortly followed. Both of them running the way they came, uncertain of the horrors headed their way, but no less terrified. Huey looked back behind them, pale-skinned creatures poured out of the house like a ruptured water main. They chased after them, crawling on their hands and knees toward them.

   Todd had a sizable lead, but, as he came closer to the train tracks; one more impossibility occurred. The abrupt sound of a train whistle and the vibration of the ground beneath them. Todd looked for the source and soon found it, a train was indeed closing in; the conductor being a skeleton, theatrically hanging his body out the window, bumping his hand to signify the blaring air horn. Although there was no way to say for certain, and no reason to think it, Todd felt confident it was the same skeleton they had left back inside the house. But, how!?

   As both Todd and Huey stopped themselves, too taken and petrified by fear to continue, it was Huey who was first met the detriment of that mistake. Huey let out a loud scream of agony, devastated by the pain as the frail creatures dug their teeth into his body. No one body part in-particular was special, no favoritism shown, the creatures fought over him like a slab of meat, ripping one limb off, then, the next. The screams were loud until they weren’t. They continued until they didn’t, replaced by the sloppy, ugly sound of gnarling animals devouring their meal.

   All Todd could do was watch on, knowing the same fate awaited him.

   Unless.

   Todd looked at the train tracks and then, at the train still a ways away. Maybe he could escape them. Whether he could or could not, it was the only option he had. Todd looked at the creatures, seeing that a couple of them were no longer preoccupied with Huey and were now in-search of their next meal.

   Todd fought forward with all his might. His legs felt light and wobbly, disheveled like they could give in at any moment. His whole body shook; anxiety putting him at risk of either vomiting or losing consciousness. But still, he fought. He fought until the very apparent realization set in – that he would not be able to beat the train.

   Close enough to feel the wind of the train, Todd stopped dead in his tracks in front of the tracks, looking forward at the train as it went by him.

   In fear, he turned back, looking to see how close the creatures were to him, but was met by the gust of wind brought on by a second train, now parallel to the first.

   Todd fell to a seated position, standing in awe of the train in-front of him and behind him. This wasn’t possible. None of this could be happening. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. Some type of reaction or hallucination. This wasn’t real.

   That was about as far as his panicking reached before the next realization set in, his back was leaned up against something, something that had not existed prior. He turned his attention to it, sliding his hand over the cold steel of the rail.

   His eyes went to the bright lights of the train hurling toward him.

5.

   Abigail remained silent. She held her breath, cupping her hands over her mouth to make sure no sound was allowed to escape her. She had wedged herself into a locker and closed the door, the only small visual she was allotted being the small slits on the locker that peeked at the hallway outside.

   She awaited the footsteps. Any moment now. Any moment, she would see the man with the painted white face, stamping his feet through the halls, blood dripping down his chin from his eaten prey.

   Abigail resisted the urge to let out a small whimper. This would be how everything ended. She tried to reassure herself. She always knew she’d die in this town.

   Instead of footsteps, however, she saw something different. The spotlight from the gymnasium had followed her, it seemed. Whatever sense that made. The spotlight circled around the lockers, shining a light over each of them. Starting with the ones in-front of Abigail, then, the row she was beside. They circled around the room again and again. The sight reminded her of a lighthouse – spinning, spinning, spinning.

   At last, it stopped. Directly over her.

   A siren blared; like the school’s fire alarm had been set off.

   “Would Abigail please report to the principal’s office? He would like to see you now,” The voice called out, the same announcer’s voice as she had heard prior.

   In a moment’s notice, the locker door was yanked off of its hinges. The man with the painted-on smile stared at her with vile intent. His mouth appeared stretched out in some fashion, like a monster whose human suit had become wrinkly. The man grabbed her by the throat, lifting her out from the locker and suspending her in the air. Abigail could feel herself fade; the bright spotlight hovering over them.

   In desperation, her hands felt around aimlessly, trying to retrieve the knife out from her front pocket. Once she succeeded, she wasted little time before plunging it deep into the side of the man’s neck.

   She took large breaths, gasping for air, as the man released her from his clutches. The man pampered his neck, cupping both his hands over where the wound would have been. Could he have been wounded? Could it even bleed?

   She could spend no more time recovering, however, and soon after, she was back on the run. Her body willed its way forward, running down the hallway. She would never be able to outrun him. One way or another, he would catch her.

   She went into one of the classrooms and closed the door behind her, locking it. That would not be enough to hold him. Not if he wanted in. She ran over to the teacher’s desk and stood in front of a black chalkboard. On the chalkboard it read thus:

Jamie

Camden

Huey

Todd

Abigail

   As frightened as it made her, she fought that into the back of her mind. She shoved the large, metal desk forward, scooting the desk until it acted as a barricade in front of the door, creating a loud screeching noise as the table legs scratched against the tattered, old tiles floors.

   Offered no time to admire her handiwork, the creature’s face crept up in front of the door window, his teeth appeared sharpened and ferocious, ready to do to her what he had already done to Camden.

   Abigail flinched. Pretty soon as the creature realized it was not able to open the door, it moved forward to a new tactic, headbutting the glass door. The first time accomplished very little, but the second attempt created a small crack on the door.

   Abigail turned her back to him. It would be a two-story drop out of the school building, but, as flashes of Jamie and Camden’s death flashed through her mind, along with speculation on her other friends’ demises, it seemed like a risk worth making for her survival.

   She prodded open one of the windows, looking down at the ground that awaited her, at least thankful it was grass and not asphalt.

   By now, the creature had already shattered the window and was maneuvering to try and open the door from the inside. Once realizing the desk in his way, he started climbing through his makeshift entryway, blood dripping from his forehead to remind him of how it was made.

   Abigail did her best to stuff the fear in the back of her mind. She tried her best not think about the way down or what might happen if she landed on her neck or broke a leg. The fall was sudden, knocking the wind out of her, but she was satisfied by the simple reality that she had not heard a body part crack and, of course, was not dead.

   Maybe it was the adrenaline that coursed through her, or some primal instinct, but she found herself able to muscle back to a standing position. Her body ached and she walked with a limp, but, in spite of that, she continued.

   What she, at first, presumed as sweat began to drip down her forehead and over her eyes, creating a blurry, red tint in the process. She wiped it off and continued, leaving the school grounds, and venturing out onto the road.

   She walked only a short way until she was met with a new surprise – a door.

   It was a door unlike any other, one that disobeyed everything she had ever come to know as logical or reality, but a door, nonetheless. It was a door that stood in the middle of the road, no walls supporting it and nothing behind it, and yet, it stood, as if by some type of black magic. Floating over it was a large exit sign, highlighting itself in bright red lettering.

   Abigail held the doorknob in her hands and turned it. As she did, on the other side, she saw a man – a man she recognized: it was the red-haired man that had welcome to Verdicine’s House of Horrors. He stared back at her with a large, toothy grin and spoke: “So, how’d we do?”