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ChapterOne
Opening Scene
October 27th
Muffled screams pierce the crisp night air as I stand in line, waiting for the last group to roll out of the haunted attraction. Dim red lights illuminate the entrance, where an old neon sign with bright bold letters spells the word Slashed atop the porch. A bouncer stands at the door, holding a walkie-talkie in his broad hand, almost making it appear minuscule. His gaze travels over us as he scans the lot.
Bobbing my head to the rhythm of the faint rock song playing outside the house, I turn to look at my two friends: Jennifer Strode and Nancy Prescott. They’re wearing matching shirts, one saying, ‘Dead inside’ and the other ‘Spooky vibes’ with a skeleton between the words. A mix of fear and excitement covers their faces like a mask adhering to the flushed skin of their cheeks. Behind them, four white guys wearing varsity jock jackets attempt to make small talk with us.
The haunted house of Slashed is an immersive experience of what a slasher movie would be. It starts with a full group and the deeper we go into the attraction, the people get separated and ‘killed’—which is just another way of saying they’ll get removed from the game—until one remains. The last person in the group to ‘survive’ will earn the title of Final Girl.
Since it was only Jen, Nance, and me, the organizers paired us up with the following group so we could get the complete experience. Oddly, the thought of being put together with four guys makes the competitive side of me spring to life. There were a few girls that needed more participants, but they matched us with men.
As if we required the help.
Annoyance sizzles under my tan skin, slithering through my veins like a slow-acting poison. My need to be the winner might have made me delusional, but I will win the stupid title.
I’m not scared easily. Well, like any other person, my heart races with jump scares, and I get a rush from watching gory horror films, but my instincts are solid. I inherited it from my grandmother. She could be crying hysterically and terrified, and still react with a clear mind.
Though, if I’m honest, I think I could make a good final girl, not just here, but in a real slasher setting. I know I could live through it, or I’ve fooled myself into thinking I could. Sometimes I can be incredibly delusional and need something to snap me out of it, even if it’s crazy enough, like signing up to be traumatized by a few scare actors in masks and gory makeup. If anything, we’ll laugh at each other later for believing we could go through it without sobbing.
Besides, someone was reselling the tickets at a cheap price. All the other haunted attractions were sold out in the area, especially five days before Halloween, so this seemed like fate. We needed to do something this week that wasn’t attending another miserable house party with last-minute costumes.
“Did you guys see the news?” A jock says, loud enough for us to hear.
“What news?”
“There’s a killer on the loose. They’re saying he escaped from prison.”
Nance lets out a choked whimper as she taps on her phone, looking up an article about it. Her bright blue eyes shine with fear.
“Oh God,” she mumbles under her breath. “This is the intro of a horror movie. Someone’s going to die and it’ll probably be us. The cute girls always get killed first.”
The guys snicker, elbowing each other as if they’ve made the greatest joke in the world. Assholes. I’d like to see their smug grins fade when we walk into the house. I bet my car that they’ll be the ones to tap out and squeal at the first sight of danger. After all, the dumb jocks rarely make it alive to the finale.
Swiftly, I snatch the phone from Nancy’s grip. She lets out a tiny squeak of protest, but I refuse to back down, and shove the device in the pocket of my black jeans. Her hands fly to my butt, and Jennifer interferes before we end up fighting like a pair of kids.
“Stop, he’s just trying to scare you, Nance,” she butts in, smiling at our frightened friend. “No one has escaped from anywhere, and if they had, there’s not a single prison nearby.”
Nancy nods, accepting the information, and her blonde curls bounce with the movement.
“Can I have my phone back?”
I shake my head.
“I’ll return it after this is over. I know you, Nance. You’ll talk yourself out of going in, and then it will cause a whole ordeal because we already paid for the ticket and signed the waiver,” I remind her in a soft and persuasive tone, redirecting her thoughts to a practical problem.
“But didn’t you read the fine print?” she presses the subject, her eyes pleading me to see some reasoning. “They can grab and chase and shove us into corners and different paths! That’s fuckin insane! Are you sure we aren’t signing up to be consensually killed? Because I don’t consent to that.”
A snort comes from behind us.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be here to cuddle you if you get too scared,” another guy supplies, slurring his words a bit.
Loud cackles echo in the line, and I know for a fact they’re drunk. Not enough to be shit-faced, but enough to not give a fuck about harassing us. Although, I guess they wouldn’t care about doing it sober either. Catcalling seems to be something they do daily. Even the bouncer standing in front is giving them a cautious glare.
Next to me, Jen groans and crosses her arms above her stomach, adopting a defensive position. She’s holding back from clocking the guy in public. If she waits until we’re inside, then anything goes. She could play it off as if she lost control of herself due to fear. Panic responses can be random and uncontrollable. I know that far too well.
We exchange a glance, and her brown eyes roll dramatically, showing that her annoyance is as big as mine. I imitate her actions, sharing the feeling for a split second before choosing to speak up. They’ll continue to behave this way if we sit tight and ignore them.
