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Bane had seized him by the collar of his tattered black shirt and yanked him away from the building. Rat-guy struggled, hands swinging wildly to reach the man behind him, but Bane held on, raising a rusty old knife. No, not a knife. A machete.
Looking right at me as he did it, Bane dragged the blade across Rat-guy’s throat.Slowly. Drawing out the moment, like a tease. Dark red liquid poured down the front of his victim’s chest as he twitched and shook, his craggy teeth gnashing at the air, until finally, he went limp.
Bane dropped his “dead” cohort to the ground unceremoniously and stepped over the crumpled body. He walked forward, one measured step at a time, his gaze fixated on me like a cat stalking a mouse. Throat tightening, my heart rate picked up again, caught between primal fear and the thrill of being noticed, of being singled out in a crowd.
The closer he came, the more I could make out the blood on his body. It dripped from his pecs, running down the sculpted grooves of his abdomen, like someone had flung red paint at him. I watched one bead as it snaked downward, disappearing into the dark denim slung low on his hips.
Lifting a blood-covered hand, Bane slapped it against the window. The people closest to the glass jumped, oblivious to his sudden appearance. Unlike me. I wasveryaware of him.
He didn’t take his eyes off me, nor I him, even as he dragged his hand down the dirty glass, leaving a bloody streak in the wake of his palm print.
“I think he likes you,” Malcolm said beside me with a chuckle.
“Uh-huh.” I shook my head to snap out of the reverie and forced myself to turn away from the window before I did something embarrassing, like pop a boner over a scare actor. As hot as he was, I wasn’t thirteen anymore, fantasizing about what Billy and Stu got up to between murdering their high school classmates. Although, I was grateful for the little adrenaline rush Bane’s performance provided since it meant I was a smidgen less tired than before. And I’d have plenty of “material” to work with later.
Glancing over my shoulder as the line shuffled forward, I was surprised to see Bane was still there, staring at me through the glass. It wasn’t just the staring that got to me, it was the intensity with which he did it. The heat returned to my skin, spreading from the back of my neck across my cheeks, crawling over my skin like a fog—or his bloody fingertips.
“Stop flirting with the carnies,” Taylor said, shoving my shoulder.
I whirled around as I stumbled, giving the zombie nurse behind the counter an apologetic smile.
“Sign this,” the nurse barked at me, shoving a ratty old ledger across the countertop. A centipede scuttled down her hand and dashed over the yellowed pages, disappearing over the edge of the peeling counter.
“What is that?” Malcolm asked beside me.
“Probably a waiver or something,” I replied, scribbling my name as quickly as I could before any more bugs showed up.
“Oh, this is probably one of those interactive places!” Taylor smacked my bicep, his eyes alight. “They can grab you and shit!”
“Is there a way to opt out?” Malcolm asked the zombie nurse.
She simply stared in return, the white film over her eyes making her even more unsettling to look at. Mold dotted herface in a few areas, eating away at her gaunt cheek. Props to the makeup artist, for real. It didn’t look like paint, or whatever. There was actually a fuzzy texture when she turned her head under the light.
“Just sign it so we can go!” Taylor slapped the pen in Malcolm’s hand.
“You’ll be fine,” I said with a little more sympathy. “We’ll keep you between us.”
Malcolm added his name on the page a second before Taylor snatched the pen out of his hand and tossed it on the book.
As soon as we were signed in, we hurried through the dented backdoor of the gas station and out into the night.
“Wait, did you guys pay?” Malcolm asked, patting his back pocket, presumably for his wallet.
“I—” I glanced between the two of them as a memory fought its way to the surface of my brain. “Yeah. Right before I signed. Didn’t you?”
Malcolm blinked and then his brow smoothed out. “Oh, yeah. Duh. I must be tired too.”
“Not you too,” Taylor sighed. “It’s barely past seven, for Christ’s sake!”
We ignored him and resumed walking, following the flow of the crowd again.
The back of the gas station was fenced off on one side where an old tow yard used to be. Along the other side, unharvested corn blocked us in like a wall. More of those dim, old-fashioned bulbs were strung up on leaning poles overhead, barely lighting the way. A series of ripped and tattered tents stood at the end of the lane. Carnival music played from somewhere in the darkness, punctuated by shrieks and screams, chainsaws and nervous laughter.
“This is going to be so sick,” Taylor said, throwing his arms around our necks and practically dragging us along at a faster pace.
Up ahead, a grotesque clown loomed over the approaching visitors, its gaping mouth serving as the doorway. I ducked under the yellow, jagged teeth, my pulse hammering a little harder, trying to predict what thrills lay ahead for me and Taylor—and what nightmares waited for Malcolm.
True to my word, I anticipated a jump scare from the right, just inside the entrance. I swept an arm in front of Malcolm as a headless ballerina approached from the shadows. A series of green, glowing necklaces were looped over her arm, giving her skin an eerie cast.
