AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ames’s eyes flicked to Bex’s before she smiled. “Sure, Wren.”
* * *
But we didn’t waituntil the next weekend. Bex surprised me with tickets this morning, passing them to me across the kitchen table as if they were no big deal. When I saw the paperwork, I honestly had no idea what she was attempting to give me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Bex had been filing a sexual harassment complaint.I feel unsafe in the workplace, with my charge constantly attempting to flirt with me and masturbating with her bedroom door unlocked.
The tickets caught me off guard, and I felt the surprise on my face as I read what they were for.
“Fright on the Farm?” I asked, reading back through the tickets as if they were Ikea instruction manuals rather than a pair of tickets for a series of haunted houses.
Bex shrugged, eyes on her breakfast as she explained, “It’s a local Halloween attraction. Ames and I used to go when we were teenagers. I thought you might want to go tonight. It’s a blackout night, so there aren’t any lights on at the venue, just flashlights.”
It sounded perfect, exactly the kind of thing I had been looking for when I asked everyone to come the day before. I waited a moment, sure this was the start of another game, but when Bex didn’t say anything else, I found I didn’t care. I appreciated the gesture, Bex going out of her way to buy us tickets after I’d been so disappointed the night before.
But I also hated the small tendril of hope - which had started growing in my chest when she walked in on me and chose to stay - getting that much stronger, turning toward Bex like the petals of my flowers tilted toward the windows in my apartment. Despite knowing it was a mistake, that I should make an excuse to keep my distance to save myself the heartbreak, I hugged the tickets to my chest, shooting Bex a grateful smile and winking as I said, “It’s a date.”
* * *
And even thoughI had been joking, it almost felt like a date. When Bex drove us, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearshift, fingers so close to my leg I could almost feel their warmth. When she pointed out the neighborhood she and Ames grew up in, lived in until their parents died and they’d sold the house. We didn’t turn in, but she’d tilted her head to the side, indicating the cute neighborhood with moderate-sized, two-story homes in various colors and shapes, all with towering trees and playsets in the backyard.
“That’s where Ames and I grew up.”
It was blunt, but it seemed monumental, one of the few tidbits of personal information she had willingly shared with me. Bex never spoke about her parents with anyone but Ames. She never spoke about herself at all - save for her never-ending stories about her failed relationships and what she learned from them - which made this morsel of information that much more precious. I filed them away in a folder in my mind - a sparse, almost-empty folder full of scraps of paper with little facts written in barely-legible handwriting.Knows how to make apple pie because of her dad. Grew up in a cute, suburban neighborhood. Likes MMA fighting. Has good taste in sunglasses.
It felt like a date as the two of us walked over the gravel drive leading up to the makeshift cashier stations, a line of jack-o-lanterns tracing our path. Bex had told me about how the farm turned its empty barns into a series of haunted houses - including a haunted hayride - in its off-season, making use of the dried corn stalks and empty fields and turning them into something more sinister.
Bex passed over our printed passes, exchanging them for a set of colored tickets that would allow access into a different part of the farm.
“As a reminder, tonight is a blackout night,” the teenaged employee droned on in a bored voice, likely having delivered this spiel dozens of times tonight. “There will be no lights in the farm, except for those we’ve incorporated into the haunted houses and attractions and the flashlights you and other guests have brought. There will also be additional crew members attempting to scare you as you go from house to house. Have a frightful night.”
Bex passed me one of the flashlights we’d brought from my apartment. She’d offered to pick up some higher-lumen flashlights - from Alex’s house, where I knew he and Dev had a stash of various security equipment (legal and otherwise) - but I’d argued my shitty flashlights would add to the experience. We clicked both on, the dim light barely making a dent in the inky darkness.
“It’s so much darker here than at home,” I whispered to Bex, the eerie feeling setting in quickly as we crossed from the ticketing booth toward the first batch of haunted houses. There was an empty path that led there, allowing plenty of fear to seep in between the points of civilization.
I stuck close to Bex; pride had no place here. When the first of the actors jumped out, I let out a shrill scream, pressing myself even further into Bex’s side. By the time we reached the end of the path, which opened up to reveal a bonfire as well as dozens of people darting between houses with flashlights gripped in their fists, Bex had an arm around my shoulders, likely in an attempt to keep me from crawling on top of her.
After a short debate, we chose the smallest haunted house to start with, aiming to end our night with the haunted hayride leading to a trail through the back edge of the property. We approached the first house and were funneled into a quick-moving line as couples and groups of friends disappeared into the dark doorway of a building that likely served as storage during the farm’s growing season.
Surprisingly, Bex kept up a steady stream of conversation as we waited in line. She asked about the last haunted house I’d been to (in college, with a group of casual acquaintances I hadn’t kept in touch with since moving from the west coast), my favorite part of Halloween (cute kids in their costumes and hot adults in theirs), my favorite part of my job (the smells, the colors, the creativity), and my least favorite (men who didn’t know their partner’s favorite flowers or colors and acted outraged when I didn’t know either).
Even more surprisingly, she answered each question when I turned them around on her.
“I came here last year, with Ames. The theme was clowns, which only made her freak out more because she’s terrified of them.” She smiled softly at the memory. It was a fond smile, the kind I never saw Bex give anyone but her sister, but she wiped it away quickly to continue answering the questions I’d shot off in a rapid fire, scared if I took my time she’d clam up. “I like the jack-o-lanterns and the haunted houses best. I used to like trying to scare Ames on Halloween, and I’d always dress in the scariest costumes I could find. My favorite part of my job is…everything. I don’t dislike anything about my job.”
“Not even small, annoying florists who don’t belong?”
Bex just shrugged, not taking the bait as she leaned against the railing that kept the line in order, answering, “Not even them.”
Our conversation petered out after that, both of us lapsing into silence. Me, because I was shocked at her response, the indirect admission that she didn’t mind my presence despite spending weeks trying to prove otherwise. Bex, because silence was her default setting.
Before long we were up next, flashlights barely allowing us to see a few feet in front of us as we looked into the void of the first haunted house. I shivered at the sound of the echoing screams of previous guests, slight doubt making me inch that much closer to Bex’s side. We handed our tickets over to the employee manning the door, and she ushered us inside, the darkness quickly enveloping us both.
The theme this year was Childhood Horrors, meaning each of the haunted houses we entered had a different focus, all inspired by common childhood fears. The first was clearly a dollhouse, the actors creeping around on stiff legs with fake, painted smiles stretched across their cheeks. Empty rocking chairs moved back and forth, while a child’s voice called out in a creepy whisper.
A chill made its way down my spine as we entered a room toward the end of the house, eyes tracking the decor. Bex raised a brow at my reaction, and I whispered over the haunting music being piped in, “I hate dolls.”
“Funny, you look just like one,” she muttered, glancing down at my petite form.
I ignored her ribbing, too busy looking at the mannequins dressed like dolls hanging at varying heights from the ceiling, their sightless eyes moving as the bodies swayed. “Their beady eyes creep me out.”
