Page 36 of Heartless

“Oh, it’ssucha threat. Where’s your ticket? Don’t tell me you’ve lost it already.” She glances up at the masked man holding his hand out for the tickets, and I dig in my pocket with a scowl.

“No, I didn’t lose it.” I hand it over to him and he scans it with his eyes and a small flashlight before handing it back to me. “I’m notthatbad.”

“Uh, yeah. You really are.” Reagan is nearly vibrating with excitement as she drags me down the start of the trail, as screams echo through the trees in the distance.

It takes until we’re done with the trail for the decongestants to finally kick in. By now, my nose is sore as hell and I can’t breathe out of my right nostril, predictably, and I would sort of rather be at home under a blanket than out in the cold for another hour or so.

But I don’t want to ruin Reagan’s night. She’s extra chatty tonight and hangs onto my arm while we both giggle at the scares in the woods. Neither of us have ever been particularly afraid of haunted attractions like this, but they still make my heart race whenever someone catches me off guard.

“What’s the theme of the manor this year?” I ask, gazing up at the three-story, renovated farmhouse that’s way bigger than it needs to be. Beside it sits the large barn that’s been converted into a slaughterhouse, and I can hear the rev of a chainsaw from inside.

Honestly, out of all the things here, the slaughterhouse is the only part that sometimes unnerves me. It takes a moment for me to realize Reagan hasn’t replied as we fall into place at the back of the manor line. My brows furrow and I turn to her, surprised to see her looking conflicted with her teeth digging into her bottom lip hard enough to look painful.

“Reagan?” I nudge her as she slips her arm free of mine. “You good?”

She looks up at me, her face morphing into a smile. “I’m good,” she says finally, then tugs on my sleeve lightly. “Hey, let’s do the slaughterhouse first, yeah?” She gestures to the drastically shorter line than the one we’re in. “I’m impatient.”

“Whatever you want.” I let her drag me to the other side of the path, and we catch a spot just behind a large group that filters into the slaughterhouse door in front of us, leaving us alone in the line. The man letting people in moves to stand in front of us, breathing heavily behind his white mask.

Shivering, I gaze up at him with an unimpressed tilt of my head…at least until the chainsaw revs from just inside the door and two girls from the group in front of us scream. I can’t help but flinch, which drags a snicker out of Reagan at my side.

“They’re going to have fun with you, aren’t they? You’re jumpy as hell,” the large, broad man murmurs in a deep, rumbling voice.

“I’m not that bad,” I argue. My teeth chatter from the falling temperature, and I wish I had another cup of hot chocolate to take into the slaughterhouse with me, if only to warm my hands and my insides. The man doesn’t reply. He just watches me, and I jump when another actor brushes past me with a low hiss in my ear.

Reagan giggles at that, and latches onto my arm. “You are such a baby tonight.”

I have a reply on my tongue when the man’s walkie talkie goes off, and he steps to the side with a nod. “Looks like you’re the only two,” he murmurs. “Sucks for your jumpy friend.”

“Not jumpy,” I insist, even as Reagan tugs me to the entrance of the slaughterhouse in front of us. But it is a little eerie. I wouldn’t have minded being part of a larger group like normal, instead of only us two as we head through the doors into the dark room beyond.

I hear the rev of the chainsaw before I see it, and Reagan laughs at me once more when I stumble away from the man in a bloody apron who lunges toward us, weapon raised.

“Shit,” I hiss, grabbing her hand. “Maybe I really am a baby tonight.” Without meaning to, I speed up, my steps taking us away from the man who prowls at the entrance.

“Such a baby.” Reagan matches my steps, and she’s the one that drags me past the butcher who gets in my face with a rotating, circular saw as he talks about all the ways he could chop me up.

Maybe next year I’ll ask Reagan if we can skip the slaughterhouse. It really does scare me more than the other haunts here…or anywhere, really. And while that might be the point, I suppose, it also makes me feel constantly on edge.

Which is a feeling I don’t really enjoy, ever since existing this way twenty-four-seven as a kid with an abusive parent.

The thought puts me in a slightly poor mood, though I try not to let Reagan notice as we wind down the hallways and past more rooms. When the slaughterhouse path opens up into a large, chilly area where bodies hang from hooks, I slow down to look around.

“This is new. Wasn’t this under renovation last year?” I ask Reagan, who disentangles herself from me to walk over and look at one of the dripping, bloody torsos.

“Damn. This is cool.” She reaches out to poke it, staining her fingers red. “And yeah. I guess this is what they were doing?” She turns to look at me, her face falling in surprise. Before I can answer, there’s a loud crash. A man slams through the room, naturally holding a chainsaw, and sends the fake bodies swinging erratically.

I stumble away, hitting one of the props and tripping over the uneven floor under me with a shocked yelp. My knees slam against the concrete, pulling a curse from my lips, and I move to sit back on my ass. “Fuck!” I groan. “Fuuuck that hurt.” My knees sting, and I’m sure I’m going to have at least one bruise, if not more.

“You okay?” The man sets the chainsaw on the floor and kneels down in front of me, mask pulled up to show a concerned, sweaty face. “I didn’t mean to make you fall.” He offers me a nervous smile, hand outstretched for me.

“No, it’s totally my bad.” Gratefully, I take his hand and lurch to my feet. Looking around, I search for Reagan, who I’m sure is laughing her ass off at me from nearby.

Except…she isn’t.

Thanking the man again, I walk through the room, dodging around prop bodies and ignoring the screaming actor covered in blood in the corner. “Reagan?” My voice carries in the space, and I step through the black tarps hung up in the doorway leading to the hall beyond. “Where the hell did you go?” It’s not like her to leave me and skip ahead. Normally, she likes cackling at my reactions more than that.

Another actor prowls out in the hallway in front of me, and for a moment I think it’s Reagan. At least, until I see the grinning red mask the person wears and the knife held in their hand.

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