Page 25 of Hunting Her
It’s a campsite I recognize.
A stream is just beyond the campfire, and on the other side of that is a forest service road. This is the first unsanctioned campsite you can find a short walk from that dirt road, and it’susually full of drunken high schoolers or college kids like these guys.
And a short ways down the forest service road… My lips spread into a grin.
I know exactly where I’m going to hide.
Lady Morena’s Haunted Mansion is a tall, artfully worn down, black-painted building backing the evergreen forest. Out front is a small pumpkin patch and then vast fields of corn with paths winding through them.
The building is dark, shut down hours ago. As I step onto the creaky porch, none of the spooky animatronics move to scare me. They all stay immobile, ready for the staff to come and pack everything up for the season tomorrow morning.
I worked here one year. A lot of the scare actors are high schoolers. It was an easy, seasonal job where I got to spend time with my friends—and the more time I spent away from home, the better.
After a season scaring the pants off of people, I know every nook and cranny of this haunted house—including the hidden storage room that’s almost impossible to find if you don’t know what you’re looking for.
Walking around the corner of the wraparound porch, I pass through the curtain that hides the area where the staff entrance sits. I would try to pick the lock, but I don’t even have to. From a large jar full of fake eyeballs, placed as decoration at the edge of the porch, I fish out the spare key.
I’m not supposed to know about it, but the owner is forgetful. One night I was early for my shift—it was a bad day at home, andI decided I would rather wait in a rainy pumpkin patch than be there—and watched her use it.
She didn’t know I was around, or I’m sure she would have moved it by now.
Unlocking the door, I pause to listen for anyone inside. Once the echoing creak from the side door fades, there’s only silence.
I step in and lock up behind me. This area isn’t part of the haunted attraction, but it’s creepy all the same. I move past the staff lounge and changing rooms before opening a door and parting a curtain to enter the customer-facing section.
All the hallways are long and narrow, twisting and turning nonsensically while also clearly being designed to funnel everyone through on a singular path. There are very few forks in the road or choices that have to be made.
I’m taken up a set of stairs to the second level, the floorboards rickety enough they make you wonder if you’re about to fall through. I’ve never been sure if that’s a feature intended to add to the vibes, or if the house is poorly-maintained enough that I should actually be worried.
Tonight, nothing can worry me more than the demons hunting me.
I get halfway through the dark haunted house before I start looking for what I came for. Behind a fake spider web guarded by a realistic looking giant wolf spider, I can feel the seam of a door frame behind a black curtain.
Bingo.
Feeling down the wall until I find the doorknob, I glance back over my shoulder before I open it. There’s not a sound coming from anywhere in this haunted house, and no one to be seen in the hall. My thirty minute head start has to be over by now, but it’ll take them a while to find me.
Maybe all night.
I doubt they’ll be expecting me to hide in the secret storage room of a local haunted house. I slip into the room and close the door behind me with a soft click.
The layout is the same as I remember. There’s a workbench along one wall with some drawers full of tools and hardware beside it. Along the opposite wall is shelving full of totes that will be mostly empty at this time of year. And the final wall, across from where I stand by the entrance, is empty of shelving but holds a mishmash of random large items.
There aren’t many right now. Most will be out in the haunted house. I can only see a cage, shaped like a bird cage but sized for a human, and a few deflated inflatables.
I don’t have many options for places to hide. Hopefully the hidden nature of the room means that won’t matter, but it’s best not to count on that. Keeping my footfalls light, I tentatively lift one of the inflatables.
The material crinkles as it slides against itself, and I cringe. If I hide under this, then any movements will make sound. It’s the only option unless I want to try and fold myself into a tote bin or put myself in the cage and cover it with a curtain.
I shudder. I’ve been behind bars enough—I don’t want to hide there.
Laying on the floor beside the cage, my knees curled up to my chest, I pull an orange jack-o-lantern inflatable over myself. It smells musty, and dust settles over my body, making me sneeze a few times.
I’m pointedly not thinking about all the insects that could be residing in this seldom-used room. It’s the only way I’m able to settle, letting the side of my head rest against the floor. My heart rate slowly declines to a steady beat as the adrenaline of fleeing fades, and I relax.
There isn’t a sound for a long time.
So long that I get hopeful, wondering if I’ve hidden well enough that I’ll win.
