Page 21 of The King of Halloween
It should have taken him longer to drive out to the old hotel. Everyone in town knew where it was, sticking up on a hill next to the lake like a corpse’s hand plunging through the mud. But every time Adam thought about those children in his masks, his car went another five miles per hour faster until he was zipping past everyone on the road.
He didn’t know what to expect. Maybe a gold brick road to lead them up to Oz. The gravel caught him by surprise, and the dirt parking lot even more so. While the hotel sat at the end of a circle drive, every car was turning onto a mowed-down field where light streamed from an open barn.
“I’m just here to talk,” Adam said as he put his car in park and took out the keys. “Maybe it’s all a mistake. He got some hookup with a guy who does movie masks. I’m imagining it.”
The Monster Mash danced its way from speakers hanging above the barn doors. Teenagers and college students alike flocked inside to escape the cutting winds. Adam ignored the cold and took in the scenery. Not much thought or effort had been put into it. There wasn’t even a ghost in the hayloft windows. Critiquing helped to calm him down, but in this case, he noticed a convenient pitchfork leaning against a barrel.
“Going to forget I saw that,” he said and walked into the beam of light on the abandoned country road.
The wall of voices hit like a freight train. He should be used to customers giddily touching everything with sticky hands and complaining about the price, but something in this place made it a hundred times worse. He could hear everything. Every piece of high school gossip, every costume that was too slutty and not slutty enough, every whirling noise maker, and sound effect.
Closing his eyes, Adam tried to steady himself when a single voice cut above the melee. Standing center stage was the ringleader. He carried a baton in one hand and used it to direct people to their heart’s greatest desire. Raj was all smiles as he pointed people to sweaters and t-shirts bearing the logo of his haunt. Adam hated to admit it, but the aesthetic of the hotel’s skyline melting into the text was impressive.
If he didn’t hate the man, he’d get one for himself.
“Excuse me,” a kid called out, barreling into Adam’s shoulder. As he couldn’t move the adult, his armful of goodies went flying. Adam paused to help him gather it up when he ran his fingers over a ninja turtle costume.
A costume.
Snapping to his feet, Adam stared past the throngs of bodies. Hands grabbed capes, wigs, plastic swords, and fishnet stockings. That bastard was running a costume shop out of his god damn haunted hotel.
“Are all the masks half off?”
The color drained from Adam’s cheeks. He couldn’t be serious.
“No,” Raj said to the teen asking him. Whew. “They’re seventy percent off. Tonight only!”
Red flashed before Adam’s eyes. Maybe the rage tore his retinas, or he popped a blood vessel in both eyes, but all he could see was that monster dancing on his grave in red, sparkly tap shoes.
The mob moved like pigs in a chute toward the back wall. As Adam lifted his head, his heart sank. Dozens of Styrofoam heads held masks he’d never seen. Intricate designs, horrors ripped from the nightmares of demons, hair stitched by hand, and real metal poured on—they were all beyond perfect. And they could only have come from one hand.
“Baph,” Adam snarled.
?CHAPTER SEVEN
?
WINDS STIRRED THE trees. Porcelain faces clanged together, their black eyes churning through the branches to gaze down at all who trespassed. Golden wind chimes rang out adies iraeacross the bitter farmland. Unlike the other rural roads dotted with orange pumpkins, ochre corn stalks, and amber dirt, this place was a crypt.
The black farmhouse would send the Amityville home scampering under the bed. Two windows hung at the top of the A-frame, both pitched to the side as if they were inspecting all who trespassed here. Adam gulped and nervously rubbed back his hair. For most of the drive, he was running on rage, but the second he took that turn and all the birdsong died, so too went his nerve.
No. He was a grown man. A few weird sculptures of torn wires stretched over metal scaffolding wouldn’t scare him. Even if staring at them made him contemplate his own meager existence in the tapestry of the universe.
“Baph!” Adam shouted, his voice catching. He coughed to lower it, then called for her again. “Are you inside? Probably baking the heart of a teenager with skin as white as snow into a pie?” He whispered that last part to himself while trudging up the path to the front door. The wraparound porch had a bench swing. Rather folksy decor if the whole thing wasn’t made of rusty nails.
Adam eased up a step when he caught movement. “Baph?” He turned his head, and horns rose from the darkness.
“Shit!”She did it. She raised a demon and…
A brown eye stared at him, its rectangular pupil contracting to a slit. The black tongue sliced through the air, and it screamed, “Baaah!”
The goat racked its horns under the swing, knocking it back as it strode onto the porch like it owned the place. The hide was black as tar with white spots on its nose and around an eye, giving it the look of an old Victorian demon with a monocle and mustache. Its long beard only aided in the illusion. The goat leaped, shook its horns, and slammed both front legs to the porch. “Baaah!” it shrieked at Adam.
“What’s the matter, Chernie?” Her voice lilted around the place instead of booming like the fist of God. Adam took a step back to find her when the goat threatened him again.
He raised his hands and froze, uncertain how much damage those curled horns could do to his intestines. As this was probably Baph’s goat, he’d guess a lot.
“Oh.” She strode across the grounds, managing to keep herself in perfect silhouette. Adam didn’t need to bother shielding his eyes to see through the darkness. No one else was insane enough to live here with her. As she paused just on the edge of light, she cocked her head. “I see we have a visitor.”
