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‘That’s inviting,’ Tess says sarcastically.

We approach slowly, passing a row of empty carnival games. Mallets rest abandoned beside a strength-test game, and the giant clown-faced target at the top grins down at us, its paint cracked into spiderweb-like veins. A soft hiss of air escapes from somewhere within it, like it’s breathing.

‘I fucking hate clowns,’ Tess mutters, looking warily up at it.

As we walk, more scare actors appear, lurking near stalls, slumped in doorways, shuffling across our path at odd angles, zombie-like.

‘I hate zombies,’ I add, a shiver running down my spine.

They’re convincing, with their jerky movements and timed jumps. A burst of adrenaline surges through my chest each time one lunges. Elodie laughs. Tess has broken into a nervous sweat.

‘Ohh, let’s get a pic!’ Elodie says, pointing at a mirror.

It looks like an old funhouse mirror, warped at the edges, its frame carved with twisting vines and painted skulls. The glass reflects us in smudged streaks of red-and-purple light. We lean in together, and I feel something warm settle in me. We do look good, dressed in matching styles: knee-high boots; short, fitted dresses that cling to our curves, with hemlines ending mid-thigh; hair curled, glinting under the moody carnival lights.

It feels good to have fun again. I haven’t been out like this in ages. Work, study, deadlines – they’ve been eating me alive. Tonight feels like coming up for air. Being with Tess and Elodie, laughing, wandering around a creepy theme park in cute outfits seems to be just what I needed.

‘Okay, pose!’ Elodie says, angling her phone.

We shift closer. I give a small smile, Tess tosses her hair dramatically, and Elodie raises her chin as she always does in photos, for a ‘better angle’. The glass in front of us warps our reflections just slightly, stretching our legs, narrowing our waists, and turning us into eerie, glamorous versions of ourselves. Elodie takes the photo just as someone explodes out of the darkness behind the reflective glass surface. A shriek tears out of me so violently, my knees buckle. Tess yelps and nearly drops her bag. Elodie scream-laughs, her grip on her phone wobbling.

The scare actor crashes forward, slamming his hands against the glass from behind it. The entire mirror rattles on its crooked hinges, dust shaking loose from the frame. He’s dressed like an undertaker in a long black coat, with pale makeup, hollowed-out cheeks, and a top hat that casts his eyes in shadow. He grins through cracked black lips, then drags one finger slowly down the inside of the glass, leaving a dusty trail.

‘Oh my God,’ Tess gasps, clutching her chest.

Elodie is wheezing with laughter. ‘That was amazing, did you see Bryn’s face?’

I’m still gripping her arm, my pulse racing, my breath coming out in short, fast spurts. He taps the glass once more then fades back into the shadows behind it, swallowed by the dim red light.

‘That almost put me into cardiac arrest,’ Tess mutters.

Even as my heart hammers, a grin sneaks onto my face. It’s been a long time since something scared me in a way that made me feel alive like that. We continue moving, Tess glancing over her shoulder like the undertaker might bolt out for round two. Ahead, a jagged archway marks the entrance to The Lost Path maze. Red fog spills out from within, illuminated by hidden strobes, so the mist seems to flicker in and out of existence.

‘Okay,’ Elodie says, clapping her hands, ‘I’m going first. Let’s do it.’

We step beneath the archway, swallowed by fog and the thumping bass of a sound system that must be planted inside the walls. The path inside is narrow, claustrophobically so, and lined with high, dark walls. Lanterns sway overhead, casting dim pools of light around us, but barely enough to see anything more than a metre ahead.

‘Right or left?’ I ask.

Elodie spins dramatically. ‘As Beyoncé would say, to the left.’

We follow her. The corridor funnels us into a larger chamber alive with distorted moaning sounds. Tess’s shoulders are practically at her ears. More fog rises, reaching knee height and glowing faintly blue this time. Fake branches hang low enough that I brush one and nearly leap out of my skin. Something – hopefully a mechanical spider, not a real one – skitters across the floor, and the sudden movement sends Tess squeaking and grabbing my dress.

Elodie cackles and rushes ahead, turning a corner. ‘This is awesome!’

‘Elodie – wait!’ Tess calls.

We hurry after her, but the passage splits unexpectedly; two identical openings veer in opposite directions.

I grab Tess’s sleeve. ‘Which way did she—’

A scream echoes down one of the corridors. Not a terrified scream – Elodie’s delighted, chaotic cackle-scream.

‘Great,’ Tess says flatly. ‘She sounds like she’s having too much fun with all of this.’

We choose the left path again. The walls lean inward here, and the space feels even smaller than before.

‘Turn back, if you do not have a death wish …’ an eerie voice whispers. My stomach drops, and the hairs on my arms stand on end.