Page 36 of Scary In Love
Some people say they don’t make scary movies like they used to, but a few people fell asleep in the first ten minutes, and the rest enjoyed spoiling every scene before the big reveal.
They lost all interest when Joyce regaled us with a story about going to see it at‘the flicks’when it originally came out, and how the boy she was‘courting’at the time ran out screaming. I told her he sounded like he might have been a relative of my disastrous date, and we had a good giggle about it.
These are some of my favourite days at work, when our activities unlock old memories, and I get to hear all about the lives they lived before they moved into our care.
The dating scene might look a lot different now, but from the way she describes her youth, the butterflies are timeless, and mine are running wild.
After work, Dad and I changed into our outfits; him a vampire and me a witch. The trick or treaters started early and finished late, and we took turns to leap out from behind the bushes and frighten the kids before filling their buckets with sweets.
Marcus and I loved trick or treating when we were kids, but I always took it too literally. He’d ask for a treat, and I always asked to betricked. None of the houses we visited ever prepared an actual scare, and the parents of my classmates would look at me like I’d brought dogshit to their doorstep. I’d skulk home disappointed nobody had cast a spell on me, or snuck a frog into my bag of goodies.
I read all the spooky stories I could find, and believed them, too. The Halloweens of my teens were spent trying to summon ghosts with a homemade ouija board, and hanging stick figures in the woods. If magic exists, I don’t seem to possess any, but I still lean into the spirit of the holiday.
When I arrive, the gates are locked, and I jump when they creak open before I reach the intercom. They’re too old to have automatic sensors, so I know Mason must be watching me, but from where?
The haunt team has cleared out quickly, and the long walk up to the house is deathly quiet. Gone is the ticketing booth and queuing system, the lights are off, and the crows in the trees might still be there, but it’s hard to tell. There’s no moon tonight, and my eyes play tricks on me in the pitch dark.
The front door is ajar, but unlike when I’ve been here in the daylight hours, Mason isn’t here to greet me. I slip inside and push it closed behind me. It’s not much lighter in here, and I immediately look around to see where he might appear from.
Haunt music is still playing from the speakers he has hidden around the place, but it stops suddenly, and a shiver zips down my spine when a voice crackles over them instead. Low, slow, and a little bit flirty. It’s not Mason’s natural voice, but it’s undeniably him.
“Welcome to the Miller Mansion, Miss Laing. Your host for the evening has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
“That makes two of us,” I mutter to nobody. The voice continues, and I stand tall, listening intently.
“Mr Miller has chosen you personally for one unforgettable night of surprises, but there are a few things you should remember as a guest in his home. Number one, expect the unexpected. Number two, you can run, but you can’t hide. And number three, if you scream, only the ghosts will hear you. Are you ready to find out if you will survive the Miller mansion?”
It’s the same question Jessop asks when guests arrive at the haunt, before he tells them about the history of the family and sends them on their way.
“Oh, Jenna,” Mason sing-songs. “I asked you a question.”
I thought this was a recording, and hadn’t realised I’m supposed to answer out loud.
“Yes,” I answer, turning in circles, still no clearer on where he actually is. “I’m ready.”
“Good girl,” he says. “Now find the key, and find your freak.”
The sound cuts out, leaving me in silence but for a few distant creaks. With the way my heart is pounding, I can’t tell if I want to find the key quickly, or drag this out. I look around the entrance hall for clues, but there’s nothing waiting anywhere obvious.
It’s not on the table, or the stairs, or hanging from any of the doorknobs. I feel my way around the tops of doorframes, desperation building in my chest.
Finally, I find it on a hook behind one of the dark velvet drapes. A large old key tied to a paper label that says‘The Doctor’.
I flip it over to find rough lines scribbled on the back, and it takes me a minute to understand it’s a map. Once I get orientated, I head through the doors at the back of the room, and follow his directions into part of the house I haven’t visited before.
Like most of the rooms, dustsheets cover everything, but there’s no time to take it all in when I’m on a mission to find him.
The line stops at the end of a hallway, but there are three doors, and I don’t know which to choose, until I spot a notecard pinned to the one which reads:
Please wait inside. Your physician will be with you shortly.
My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob. I’ve never been this nervous or excited in my whole life. Shaking my arms out, I psych myself up, force a few deep breaths, and head inside.
22
Jenna
Liketherestofthe house, the room is dark, except for an examination table in the middle of the room, lit from above by a tall angled lamp. Unlike the rest of the house, it smells faintly of bleach. Silent and clinical.
