Page 17 of Things Get Dark

“I’m not scared of you. Are you done?” The sarcasm rolling from her tongue has my smile widening. I wonder if she’s as fascinated by me, as I am with her. By the end of tonight, perhaps she will be.

This woman is temptation personified.

There’s no sense of fear there. Freedom shines bright in her eyes. No sense of the darkness that me and my chosen family have fallen prey to, stares back in those pretty grey irises. I wonder, after tonight, if that will change.

I don’t think it will. That is what makes my decision so much easier.

The consent form I pull out from inside the desk drawer is for her and her alone. One so much more detailed than those from the standard pile that sits on the counter. With much darker promises that can be fulfilled. For us, and for her. Her eyes barely leave mine as she signs the form. She hasn’t read a word, but she’s accepted all the same.

Perfect.

She’ll be scared tonight.

She wanted the extreme experience, but she’ll be getting a lot more than she bargained for. By the end of the night, we’ll have her begging for more.

Chapter Three

Lexi

He thought he couldscare me, yet his incessant staring just egged me on, amplifying my excitement for this night. I knew nothing could really hurt me. They could touch and push, maybe even tie me up, I don’t know because I barely glanced at the consent form I signed, but they could only go so far.

I couldn’t wait.

The thrill of it licking at my insides, stirring up a whirl of anticipation that this scare was finally here. It wasn’t the first time me and my friends had come to an extreme haunt, but this one had a reputation of being the best. Or the worst, depending on which way you looked at it.

My friends all practically bouncing with their own enthusiasm as they banter back and forth. Taunting each other about who is going to cry and freak out. Who will wuss out and ultimately be escorted out of the attraction and deemed the biggest loser of us all.

It won’t be me.

I live for this shit.

Handing over my signed form, I give the guy with the painted face a cheeky wink, not letting his tactics of intimidation scare me for a second. His mouth curls upward in a smirk and he winks back at me.

“Come, time for you to experience a night you’ll never forget.” His words hold a promise and my body shudders at the timber of his voice. I let out a breath, one I didn’t even realise I was holding as he ushers us along to his fellow performer.

One by one we are led into the darkened abyss of the tent and my stomach churns with anticipation as I somehow have made myself the last of my group to go inside. So I distract myself watching the entrance trying to figure out what happens inside. Is it a maze? An escape room?

The performer that takes each person in seems to have a real flare for this. Not dressed up per se, but his whole demeanour screams crazy, with a large smile and bright eyes. His slight form is a contrast to his skin that is covered in strange tattoos, or more likely prosthetics as they protrude slightly. Like cuts sewn crudely together by crisscrossed stitches. Some red, fresh and painful looking, others are black, beginning to fall loose with healing skin beneath. Scattered throughout there are the silvery scars almost beautifully shining in the moonlight.

My friend waves as she disappears behind the curtain and laughter bubbles up my throat as she calls back that ‘hopefully she’ll see me on the other side’. She’s so dramatic.

I am next.

Shifting my weight from one leg to the next, I tap my fingers on my hip with restless energy. It could only have been a minute or two but as the curtains shift and a man beckons me, I feel only one thing.

Disappointment.

It thrums through me, hollowing my excitement and replacing it, just like the man I had been expecting has been replaced.It is not the one with the fascinating stitches I had wanted a closer peek at who beckons me, instead a gruff looking man with dark eyes peering from an opera mask. Strange. Must be a shift change.

This guy scowls at me as I move towards him. I’m not sure if this is part of the act, or he just isn’t happy his shift has been switched. As soon as the tent curtains close, he grips hold of my wrist and pulls me onward into the dark. I try to pull back but his nails bite into my skin, so hard I already feel the indents of half-moons marring my skin.

It is what I consented to; I remind myself as I am pulled along. He drags me roughly through twists and turns. Lights flash, illuminating neon paintings of eery images and symbols I don’t understand.

After what could have only been a minute, he releases my wrist and positions himself behind me, steering us towards a cart ahead. It’s nothing special, but in the gloom, I make out that it is a single person coaster on tracks. I almost laugh in relief that I won’t be with this man much longer. Something about him makes me feel gross, I guess he is supposed to.

A sharp shove from behind and I’m falling, toppling inside the carriage, banging my knee as I try to manoeuvre into the seat. I barely have a moment before he puts down the safety bar so harshly I lose my breath.

“Enjoy the ride, you little slut.” The words are spoken so softly, and with so much venom, I think I must have imagined them. Either that or it was some fucked up part of this experience. I don’t let it faze me either way, it’s not like I haven’t heard worse throughout the years.

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