Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Jamie didn’t have time for this right now.
I’m sure we’ll have no problem getting Aunt Michaela back to the hotel that everyone is staying at. Gotta go, it’s opening night of the haunted house and the doors are about to open! They added a ghost emoji, a skull emoji, and a pumpkin emoji, and sniggered as they slid their phone back in their pocket. The last time they’d dared to mention their job on the thread, it had gone dead for six days. Which would be absolutely perfect about now.
***
This was Jamie’s fourth October first opening night, but the rush was as exhilarating as it had been the first three times.
Jamie had worked as a scare actor on the first two haunted houses they’d helped create. Observing people’s reactions throughout the haunt was crucial to designing them better the next time. Jamie had loved it. The theatrical anticipation of the darkness before visitors came through, the sense of camaraderie with the other performers, the intimacy of seeing people vulnerable in their fear—it was intoxicating and always made them want to go out and party after work, shaky with adrenaline and hunger. But it was also hot, cramped, bad-smelling, exhausting work that fucked up your whole schedule for a month and sometimes got you punched if you jumped out at the wrong person. So when they’d gotten the opportunity to move into Carl and Germaine’s guesthouse last year instead of needing to pay rent, they’d stopped working double duty as a scarer.
Now, instead, Jamie changed into clean clothes, grabbed their branded clipboard, and surveyed the line of waiting ticket holders: What buzz had the visitors heard? Where did they learn about the haunt? What had this friend or that friend reported when driving past last week?
People waited at the exit with clipboards and questions of their own: What was everyone talking about? How did they look? When someone chased them after they thought they were safe, what percentage of them screamed in thrilled terror and what percentage muttered? It all helped inform what they’d keep and what they would abandon.
As if the universe was colluding with the haunt, it was the first semicool night of the year, and the moon was a dim waning crescent. The smell of rain was on the breeze, but that wouldn’t deter this crowd. They were abuzz with excitement, and some of their costumes were elaborate enough to be in the show themselves.
Jamie leaned against the fence and watched the waxing anticipation. Nearly everyone had their phones out, taking pictures of the sign at the gate, the crowd, themselves. Jamie added their own phone to the mix, filming the crowd as a voice thundered out of the loudspeaker.
They risked a glance at their phone, which had vibrated several times while they’d been working, hoping Edgar had texted. He had—a cute picture of the baby grabbing Edgar’s nose. But their mother had also replied. Jamie sighed but decided to get it over with.
Jamie’s right, it’ll be fine, Emma had responded.
Slight change of plan, their mother wrote. We’ll actually need you at the rehearsal dinner at 2, Jamie.
Jamie blinked at the text, heart rate ratcheting up. What the hell?
Jamie: I can’t be there at 2. I can be there at 5, like y’all originally told me.
Jamie stared at their phone furiously. Their mother always did this! She found ways to punish anyone who didn’t do what she wanted.
“YOU ARE ABOUT TO ENTER HELL,” growled the amplified voice, signaling they didn’t have time for this.
“Already there, buddy,” Jamie muttered.
A text from Emma came through to Jamie directly. Just come at 5, that’s fine.
“Thank fucking god,” Jamie said.
The dots that said Blythe was typing—a screed, no doubt—appeared on the screen, but Jamie just thanked Emma quickly and put their phone on Do Not Disturb. There would be plenty of time to deal with whatever she had to say later.
“GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN. ENTERING HELL IN TEN. NINE. EIGHT—”
As the voice counted down, the crowd chanted along with it so that when the voice said, “TWO. ONE. NOW!” a cheer exploded. The gate swung open. The line began to move.
Jamie watched people who loved haunts as much as they did get ready to appreciate what they’d worked for the last six months to create. They allowed themself a single moment of self-pity, that instead of coming to see Jamie’s work, their family was texting them about wedding shit. But then they shook it off and let the pride replace it.
***
Jamie was riding high when they got to Edgar’s. It was late, so they knocked softly, but Edgar kept hours just as late as they did and answered the door with excited anticipation.
“Well?” they asked.
“It went so well!” Jamie said, then they were caught up in Edgar’s strong arms and crushed to his chest.