Page 26 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

As per the rules, we’re supposed to hold form for another half hour, letting townsfolk tour our grotesque works of art, so I don’t corner Maggie like I crave.

Desmond’s buddy Kyle Jackson walks by with his wife. Kyle is a former jock from their football days—a big Black man with an infectious smile and a rock-hard build. Cearra is a local tattoo artist, sporting a cool collection of ink. Instead of looking appropriately scared, they glance at Des and laugh.

“Dude,” Kyle says, pointing at him, “your butt crack’s showing.”

Max giggles.

Des startles and glances over his shoulder. “Crap. Man, you gotta fix it.”

Kyle guffaws. “And ruin that view? Not a chance.” He walks off, laughing harder.

Des fumes. “Someone call for Sadie.”

“Nope,” I say. Like there’s any chance I’d miss the opportunity to humiliate Des.

Snarling at me, he breaks character and yanks up his swim shorts, while E and Max almost die of hysterics. We resume our roles, and I take in this amazing festival—how much work Maggie must have done to pull it all together, celebrating Halloween and Windfall’s farmers in a wacky, fun event.

A piercing scream cuts through my enjoyment.

This isn’t an actor-in-character scream. This is a child screaming, as though being tortured. Another shriek follows, of the B-movie variety, loud and shrill, followed by pandemonium. Young kids—younger than the fourteen-plus age limit—are suddenly everywhere. They’re running past the gory tableaux, trying to escape the fenced area of horrors.

Terrified cries of “Mommy!” ring out.

Zombies jump into action, attempting to corral the screeching children, no doubt scarring them for life. The It clown is roaming with its terrifying teeth exposed.

The only person not moving is Maggie.

Instead of busting into damage-control mode, she’s off to the side, frozen, her eyes wide and face pale, watching with abject horror as things go south fast. Instantly, I move. I bust out of the shark mouth and weave through the madness, jogging toward the entrance. Whoever they hired to keep kids out must have died or left their post. Best way to stop a flood of screaming children is at the source.

Partway there, a cute girl with pigtails blocks my way. She takes one look at me and wails so loud my eardrums ring. Guess the beet goop and falling-out-intestine is as realistic as I hoped.

“I’m not scary,” I tell her. She screams louder. Guess that’s that.

I race to the entrance and find it abandoned. An A-frame sign is tipped over—the one warning people of the gore in the fenced area. A family wanders over, drawn by the shrieks and shouts.

I barricade the entrance. “Sorry. This area’s being used as a set for a student film. No entrance at this time.”

They frown and move along.

When Desmond’s friend Kyle and his wife try to leave the war zone, I block their way. His huge muscles are exactly what I need. “You two can’t leave.”

“It’s worse than The Evil Dead in there,” Kyle says, hooking his thumb toward the mayhem.

“Exactly. I need bouncers. Guard this entrance with your lives. No one gets in.”

Cearra salutes me. “We’re on it.” Hopefully her ink and piercings will up their intimidation factor.

I race back inside, tearing off my hanging intestine as I go. I help a few zombies herd crying kids toward their parents. A yellow Labrador retriever has gotten loose and is covered in beet gore. I nab his leash and tug him back to his owner. I spot Kyle’s grandmother, Mrs. Jackson—one of the few people who doesn’t look like a horror movie extra—and ask her to help clear out the last few children.

As the pandemonium settles, I find Maggie at my shark display, staring blankly at the empty tableau.

“The area has been contained,” I tell her, my adrenaline ebbing. “Just cleared out the last of the traumatized children. Kyle and Cearra are guarding the entrance.” I stop at her side, a cool breeze reminding me I’m in a bathing suit on this brisk fall afternoon. I cross my arms over my beet-dyed chest.

Maggie picks a bit of beet goop from her jeans and flicks it on the ground. “This was the first event that was all mine—my idea, I led the team. My boss fought me on the concept at first, worried it would be too scary for kids, but I convinced her I had it under control.”

I hate the defeat in her voice. Nowhere in there is the Maggie who dared me to belly flop naked.

I move in front of her and tilt up her chin, letting my thumb linger on the thin scar almost hidden under her freckles. “This is just one section. Out there—” I gesture to the booths of farmers and food, the happy townsfolk mingling and shopping “—that’s a raging success. The kids are learning about our local agriculture. People are sharing fun pictures on social media. They’ll be talking about this event for months.”