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Her gaze softens as she moves toward me. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Could you ask for my phone? I can’t find it, and I’d really love to call my dad.’

‘Sure, hon.’ She smiles. ‘Let me get right to that.’

She quickly bustles out of the room. With lightning speed, I yank everything out of me, barely flinching as pain darts up my arms where the tubes were. I tear at the gown and throw on my bloodied, ripped shirt that was bagged and left on the table. I stomp into my shoes before high-tailing it out of the room.

‘Hey!’ a voice calls, but I’m down the hall and stepping into an elevator within seconds.

I draw in greedy gulps of fresh air as I run, pushing around people, not caring if I make contact with them. Everything hurts, but I only run faster.

They won’t ever catch me.

4

BRYN

Now

The moment we step through the rust-red gates of Shadow Land Amusements, a chill inches down my spine.

A low buzz emits from the lights overhead. Dusty glass bulbs cast a dim glow over the ground as fog machines pour out more smoke than seems reasonable. The mist curls around our legs, rising in clouds that swallow the path before us. Somewhere beyond my sight, a ride creaks; a slow, mournful sound that drifts through the night air. Above us, the lights pulse again, dimming in and out of brightness, making it difficult to see our surroundings. After a moment or so, my eyes adjust.

Tess stops beside me, tugging her jacket tighter.

‘Is it supposed to be this empty?’ I ask.

‘It’s Fright Night, Bryn. They’re setting the mood,’ Elodie replies.

The carousel at the park’s centre groans into motion even though no one’s near it. Horses rise and fall slowly, their glass eyes catching the light, unblinking, like they’re watching us. They’ve done an excellent job at making this kid-friendly park seem creepy as hell.

A warm wind skims across my neck. Behind me, a metal gate slams and heavy footsteps thud, though when I glance around, no one is there.

‘Okay, that was definitely staged,’ Tess mutters, but her voice wavers.

Ahead of us, a trail of fake blood leads toward the Haunted Midway. A sign above it reads WELCOME TO FRIGHT NIGHT: DON’T GET LOST. The last word is smeared, as though something dragged claws through the paint. Elodie bounces on her toes in excitement.

‘Come on, let’s find the maze. The reviews said people actually cried their way out of it.’

I swallow, feeling a little uneasy. My pulse shouldn’t be racing – this is all just props and actors and scares – but the shadows seem to darken the further we go. The fog parts abruptly, and a sudden chorus of pounding footsteps explodes from the alley to our left. Tess gasps, stumbling back into me as a wave of figures bursts through the smoke. Scare actors come sprinting toward us, their silhouettes warped by strobe lights. They’re dressed in dark clothing with a variety of masks: cracked porcelain grins, stitched leather mouths, deep black eyes. One drags a metal chain behind him, the sound giving me goosebumps.

Elodie shrieks and grabs my arm, her nails digging in, but the actors veer at the last second, splitting around us like a current rushing around rocks. Their laughter is manic as they disappear down the path behind us. A group of people a few metres back screams.

‘Nope, nope, I’m done, fuck this!’ one of them cries out, sprinting toward the gate, causing a few of the actors to cackle in glee.

The chain-dragger skids to a stop, pivots, and barrels after them.

‘Holy hell,’ Tess breathes, her hand pressed to her chest. ‘They don’t usually run at guests like that, right? That felt like they were actually going to plough through us.’

The fog seeps back in, swallowing the last of the fleeing figures until it’s like nothing happened at all, and only the echo of footsteps remains.

Elodie forces a laugh. ‘Okay, that was a bit extreme.’

‘Extreme is one word for it,’ Tess mutters, rubbing her arms as if she can scrub off the chill they just gave her.

Speakers crackle with distant screams and distorted laughter, the sounds warped and creepy. We press deeper along the Midway, swallowed by rows of attractions on either side. Shadows from the rides loom over us: outlines of roller-coasters, the silhouette of a stalled Ferris wheel, its carts rocking faintly in the breeze. The lights here are dimmer, tinted red and purple, casting everything in a deep, coloured light. Fog thickens around our ankles, turning every step into a wade through ghost-water. A distorted carnival jingle begins to play somewhere to our right. Elodie shivers, but her excitement starts to return – she lives for this kind of sensory overload.

‘I think the haunted maze starts up ahead,’ she says, pointing at a cluster of black-and-white striped tents. A giant sign above them blinks THE LOST PATH, though half the bulbs are dead, making it read more like THE LO T P TH.