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Chapter Twelve Flick

“But…you hate scary stuff.”

Every horror movie I put on—ghosts, jump scares, psychological thrillers—Knox has always spent the majority of the time scrolling on his phone. Occasionally, he will glance up and then squeeze his eyes shut at the scene playing before him. After the movie is wrapped up, he always gets the next pick; it’s usually something along the lines of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse so he can sleep that night.

“Yeah, but you don’t.”

So, that’s that.

I follow Knox out of his truck and down the beaten road that stretches to what looks like a frat house wrapped in fake cobwebs with orange lights strung everywhere. There’s a small line of people waiting to pay for their tickets to get in and the distant sound of girls screaming inside.

There’s a table under a homemade archway covered in more orange string lights and a skeleton wearing a Sigma Nu sweatshirt zip-tied to the top. A sign beneath him says, ENTER…IF YOU DARE.

I give it four stars for the effort alone.

A younger guy who looks close to Knox’s age tells us it’s going to be $5 each and that we can’t sue if we have heart attacks “or something like that.” Knox pays in cash and he directs us to the front door of the dark house once the couple in front of us enters.

Knox takes a deep breath beside me, and I reach up to grab his shoulder, a familiar move that’s getting harder and harder to do as our height difference seems to change by the day.

“We don’t have to do this. I’d be just as happy at Pork-O’clock.”

He shakes his head and bounces his shoulders a little. “No. No, we’re doing this.”

I think he’s convincing himself as much as he is me.

Suddenly, a guy in a dark gray sweater, his face lit with anticipation, turns the corner holding two sparkling bracelets. Knox jumps so fast that I swear it even scares me.

Knox’s sudden, sharp hiss of “SHIT” is immediately met with my startled, even louder “WHAT?”

The guy in the sweater holds the bracelets our way, mumbling under his breath, “You forgot your bracelets to get in. Don’t hit any of the actors. And all bathrooms are closed, so if you need to pee, do it on the back porch.” As if I have any plans of doing that. “Have a scary good time.” We grab our bracelets and make our way up the steps to the haunted frat house.

I whisper, “Knox, he wasn’t even part of the scare team.”

“I know that.” He takes the steps in long strides to be in front of me, a dearly courageous act. “I was protecting you.”

Yes. From the 150-pound boy who looks like his parents still do his laundry.

I smile into my fist before reaching my fingers over to his and lacing them together, bracelets clicking. Familiar zaps of comfort crawl their way up my veins and I sigh; it’s like slipping into my favorite hoodie.

“Thanks for the protection. Come on, tough guy.”

The first room we slip into is almost pitch black, painted cardboard walls in a makeshift hallway with massive open squares cut out where I suspect someone will jump out at any second. Fog rolls around our ankles and spooky organ music hums from hidden speakers. They really went all out in here.

I squeal as another actor jumps out, a witch lady who looks like she might throw me in her cauldron. This is incredible.

“How have we never done this before?” My laughter filters in and out of the echoes, screams, and shouts around us.

Knox, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to meet his maker as his eyes go wider than I thought physically possible.

He glares at me as I giggle back at him, but he’s holding my hand tighter than a kid clutching their favorite security blanket. Very cute.

If this was a real date, I suppose it would hold some pretty high potential for romance. The chance for me to jump in his arms, hold out for his protection, or lean into his embrace is highly probable. If it were anyone else, I mean.

But it’s Knox, so…

“I’m having the time of my life,” I reply, wiping a tear from my eye as we start down the next hall. Cobwebs brush my hair and it’s just bright enough to make eye contact with the creepy doll staring from a rocking chair in the corner of this room. A hidden door slams behind us with a loud whack. Knox flinches so hard his shoulder bumps mine, and we both jolt back again, mine with a laugh and his with a shudder.

Something skitters across the floor—I think it’s a remote control mouse, but Knox apparently doesn’t know that. He makes a tiny choking noise and grabs me fully, arms around my waist, tugging me back into him.