Page 29 of Real Fake Hauntings

It was early night on the Friday before Halloween, and the streets were beyond crowded. I got a few appreciative comments about my hat and green makeup on the way, and a concerned drunken woman asking me if I needed a tissue to wipe the puke off my face.

You couldn’t win them all.

The Modern Cabinet of Curiosities was bustling. A couple of groups hovered outside, and there was a small line to take photos with a creepy old animatronic butler standing by the door. The pentagram was still there on the back alleyway in all its bloody gore, but someone had added a smiley face to the middle space.

Before going inside, I gave Crane another call and wasn’t surprised when nobody in his office picked up. I left another voice message and joined Dru at the ticket booth. The vendor was a young woman of about Key’s age, looking as if boredom was all life had to offer.

“Hi,” I said, projecting maturity and confidence.

She glanced at the top of my head and rolled her eyes. “Nice hat.”

“Thanks. Happy Halloween!”

The young woman sighed. “How many tickets?”

“Actually, I’d like to talk to your manager.”

Another long sigh followed. “We don’t provide refunds.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. We don’t have a problem with the Cabinet.”

“If you say so.” With languid movements, she brought out her phone and texted someone. “He’ll be out in a moment.”

I widened my smile. “Thank you.”

A few minutes later, a tall, thin, bald man in a shirt and slacks showed up from the depths of the darkened hallway opening next to the ticket counter.

He strode up to us, his attention narrowing on me. “I’m Laurence. We’re not responsible for your kids having nightmares or damaging your eardrums with their screaming, and we won’t be giving any compensation.”

Strange opening salvo, but okay. “Hello, I’m Hope Avery. I run a tea and coffee shop in?—”

“We don’t allow refreshments inside.”

“Carpet hard to clean, huh?” I said.

“Damn nuisance,” he agreed.

“We’re not here about drinks. We?—”

“What then?”

If he thought this attitude would shoo me off, he was in for a shock. I hadn’t survived this long in the service industry by letting rudeness affect me.

I amped up my smile to sugary-drip levels, the fake, syrupy kind full of artificial sugar extracts, guaranteed to induce the zoomies. “A friend of ours found a pentagram drawn on her shop this morning. We were wondering if it might be related to the one on your wall.”

His scowl lightened. “You know who did it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Can you think of anyone who would target you specifically?”

“No. We’re a tourist attraction.”

“Nobody suspicious lately?”

“I don’t usually see the visitors.”

“Do you have security cameras we could check?” A cursory check of the corners of the entrance gave me a negative, but I hadn’t gotten this far in life by accepting things at face value.

“Are you the police?”

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