By the time the lady in the food truck is handing me my food, I’m ravenous and shaking with the need to sink my teeth into something of substance.
Grease sizzles on our fries as we shove them into our impatient mouths, forcing us to suck in air as they singe our tongues. And by the time we find an empty bench, my fries have already been devoured, and I’ve taken several delicious bites of my sandwich.
Daya’s even further done than I am—probably because the wench has been relying on me to find the spot to sit.
Finally, I sit down and shove the sandwich in my mouth, not caring about the juices dribbling down my chin.
In the back of my mind, I wonder if Zade is here. Watching me like he usually does. Would he be disgusted by my lack of manners?
I fucking hope so.
Then again, the prick would say something about how he likes me dirty, and then I’d want to vomit in his face.
Liar.
Just as we finish our food, the haunted houses come to life, the lights switching on and signaling that it’s time for guests to get in line.
Daya and I rush over to Annie’s Playhouse first, nabbing a spot pretty close to the front.
We’re leaning against the rails when an icy feeling tingles at the base of my neck, traveling down my spine. It feels like holes are being drilled into my back.
“Addie?” a voice calls from behind me along with a soft tap on my shoulder, just as I’m getting ready to turn around.
My eyes widen, and I whip around, coming face to face with Mark.
Oh, fuck me.
“Mark!” I exclaim in surprise, forcing a smile onto my face. I’ve never been very good at acting, especially when I have to pretend to be glad to see a pedophile standing behind me.
Make that four pedophiles.
With him is Claire, and three other elderly men. I vaguely recognize them, and assume they’re politicians of some caliber as well.
“What are the odds? I didn’t know you came here,” Mark says, his eyes consistently straying to Daya. “Who’s your friend?”
Daya smiles, though she doesn’t even try to make hers seem genuine. “Daya,” she answers for me.
Sensing her indifference, Mark flashes a tight smile. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you. Addie, these are my colleagues. Jack, Robert, and Miller.”
We exchange pleasantries, all the while inching up in the line.
“So where is Zack?” Mark asks, peering around me as if a man well over six feet would be hiding behind me.
“He went to find a bathroom,” I lie. I don’t know why I do, there’s no reason to. But I have a gut feeling that if Mark thinks Daya and I are here alone, that maybe he’ll pull something shady.
“Speaking of Zack,” Miller cuts in. “I heard you two are quite the lovebirds. How did you meet?”
My heart drops, and for a moment, I think maybe Mark might’ve found out about the movie theater incident. But then I remember Zade assured me the cameras have been wiped when he drove me home.
Miller looks like he needs to be carrying an oxygen tank around with him. Mark is well into his eighties, and I’m sure the other men aren’t far off, but Miller in particular seems as if he’s defying gravity by standing upright.
I spin the same made-up story that Zade did in Bailey’s, hoping that the knives usually in my eyes when dealing with my shadow are replaced with hearts.
Claire asks a few questions of her own, her voice demure. Like how long we’ve been together, and if we’re planning on getting married soon.
Sweat lines my hairline, the lies spilling from my mouth like the fantastical worlds from my fingers when I write. Luckily, it takes only a few more minutes to come up to the front of the line, and we’re free of Mark and his creepy friends.
Even though we’re walking into a stuffy haunted house, it feels lighter in here.
The house is adorned in pink, with white wooden floors, frills everywhere, and dead little girls giggling all around. Down the hall, I swear I spot a four-foot doll crossing the hall, her body distorted from the colorful smoke and her face bloody.
She’s gone before I can tell for sure.
Daya and I huddle together, looking left and right—not quite sure which direction to go. A man with a peeling, bloodied face slips out from the shadows before us, and another girl dressed up as a demented doll comes out, a bloody knife in her grip.
It’s so sudden, I jerk back. Daya’s screams pierce my ears as they give chase, pushing us towards a living room with a blue couch and a mannequin giving birth to a child.
I don’t get the chance to look long enough before another monster is jumping out at us.
I laugh through a scream, running away from a mechanical mannequin that resembles a Grim Reaper.
Daya’s nails dig into my arm. An assortment of monsters and dolls jump out at us, getting in our faces and scaring the living daylights out of us.
One reason that Satan’s Affair is so popular is that they carefully pick their actors.
They’re too good at their job. Not only do they have the best makeup, but they know exactly what to do to scare the absolute shit out of you.
We swing around back to the foyer, but this time, we’re chased up the stairs. Daya trips on one of the steps, and her curses are swallowed up by my cackling.
“Fuck off,” she squeals through laughter, her eyes still wide with fright as she continues to fall up the stairs to get away from the monster.
We finally make it to the top, nearly sprawling on the floor as we’re overcome with a mixture of laughter and terror.
The monster leaves us be as we right ourselves and make our way down the hallway, the flickering strobe lights creating a trippy effect. The smoke is heavier up here, making it harder to see.
At the very end of the hallway is a massive mannequin, its skin burnt so severely that it’s bubbled up in boils. An unnaturally wide bloody mouth, and big yellow eyes top off his grotesque features. We veer into the closest room, avoiding that monstrosity.
We enter into what looks like a doll’s bedroom. More pink and white décor, a twin bed filled with deformed, creepy dolls, and a mirror in the corner of the room that I’m almost sure is going to show something standing behind me.
It looks innocent in here, but the strobe lights flash ominously, while the blue, purple, and pink smoke swirls around us like wicked fingers, and the music in the backdrop creates a dangerous vibe.
And then, out crawls a demented looking doll from under the bed, her body twisted oddly as she comes skittering towards us.
Daya’s and my screams pierce the air as we trip over each other to get out of her way. We run towards the other exit door and are led out into another room.
It takes all around ten minutes to get through the rest of the house. My adrenaline sinks lower and lower, leaking down in between my legs as monsters chase after me.
It’s my favorite aphrodisiac, and something I can never assuage until I’m home alone afterwards.