by Lori Adams
“Um, so, no Boo Bingo or Pumpkin Bowling?” The tense group breaks into snickers, and Holden wraps an arm around her shoulders. Bailey navigates to the front of the crowd.
“Okay, okay. If we’re playing Extreme Haunted House here, I wanna know what the real prize is. I mean, seriously, what do we win in the end?” Everybody nods in agreement.
“Ah, greedy little beggars, are we?” Dante says derisively. “I suppose keeping your souls is never enough. Very well, what would you like?”
Casey, in his blue English bobby uniform and black helmet, suggests the winner gets to drive Dante’s car. “For a week!”
Dante folds his arms with a doubtful look. The guys confer, and then Freddy Krueger aka Pacer asks, “How ’bout three days?”
Dante blinks.
“A day?”
“A slave to your materialist proclivities, I see.” Dante seems disappointed by their predictability and lack of ingenuity. He eventually agrees but there is a mixed reaction from the group. “What? You ladies object?”
Lizzanne tosses her long Bride of Frankenstein hair. “If the winner is a girl, she gets a date with you.”
Dante registers appropriate surprise and then gives me a smug look. I roll my eyes. All narcissism aside, he says, “I hardly see the value in that.”
“That’s for us to decide,” Lizzanne says.
Harper Rose and Sarah chime in, “Sounds good to me,” and it is settled.
The soul catcher distributes three souls—or metal crosses—to each of us, and then Dante motions for us to turn around. We are standing in a huge entertainment room amassed with flat screens—all shattered—and electronic paraphernalia and pool tables. The far back wall is adorned with numerous pictures inside individual red hearts. They are pictures of us. Everyone in the room, plus every teacher and town council member, is represented on the wall.
“We shall begin with Hearts of Pain,” Dante says. “The object of this intrigue is simply to hit a picture.”
Vaughn moves through the group, thrusting a small silver knife into every hand. I haven’t touched a knife since the night I threw one at Steve, so when he reaches me, I decline. He gets antsy and refuses to go away, holding it out, willing to wait. I cross my arms. A war of attrition is fine by me.
Dante continues his instructions. “Find a face of interest. If you hit a classmate, you may take all of their souls, leaving them to go through the intrigues without protection. If you hit a teacher or a town council member, you may take one soul from anyone. Or you may give one away. Thrower’s choice. If you hit your own picture, well, you are most likely an idiot but you may steal a soul. You are allotted one throw.”
All eyes search for targets, and there is chatter about strategy and skill. Finally, Sarah and Harper Rose step to the designated mark. One following the other, they fling the blades in a rather wobbly effort. The blades reach wood but no pictures. They shuffle back disappointed. Duffy misses his target, and Lizzanne almost hits my picture. When she smirks at me, I decide to take it personally.
Holden the Cowboy hits Mayor Jones and a cheer goes up. J.D., the lone Musketeer, hits Mr. Cummings and nearly starts a riot. The guys contemplate their “soul options” and end up trading one soul from the other. They are best friends and back to square one, which isn’t the point at all.
Jordan and Pacer miss and stomp off angry. Bailey nearly clips her own picture, while Rachel throws so poorly that her knife bumps the wall and clatters to the floor. She doesn’t mind a bit.
That leaves Casey and me. He throws pretty good, almost hitting Mr. Wagner. Dante walks to the wall to verify that it is a miss.
All eyes shift to me, so I say, “Look, guys, I’m leaving soon so … somebody can take my turn or my souls. Whatever. I don’t care.” The ball is in Dante’s court and all heads swivel to him across the room.
“We cannot amend the rules now,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the far wall. “You will throw the knife, Sophia.”
Vaughn pushes it at me, but my jaw is set. I clutch the three small crosses in my hands and glare at Dante. I’m not particularly anxious to make a scene or come off like a wimp. I have my own reasons for not touching the knife and it’s nobody’s business.
“I. Don’t. Want. To.” I grind out low and decisive.
Dante yells, “Throw it!”
“No! I—”
“Throw it!” Vaughn pushes it at me.
“No!” I turn away, and he grabs my arm.
“Throw it!”
Wolfgang’s deep voice booms from the shadows. “Throw the fucking knife!”
Rage explodes inside me and in one fluid motion, I jerk free, snatch the knife, and whip it through the air. It whirls end over end and slams into the wall three inches from Dante’s temple.
The crowd gasps and then everything is dead quiet. Even I’m not breathing, just staring wide-eyed at Dante. He didn’t blink or twitch or show a sign of fear. And now, there is a triumphant smile slowly parting his lips.
I think I’m going to vomit. I’m overcome with the memory of Steve and the night I slipped out of myself and tried to kill him. The night I became someone else.
My legs are trembling and making the rest of me shake. Casey says, “I didn’t know you were left-handed,” and I look down. My right hand is clutching the crosses and my left hand is empty. I instinctively make it into a fist.
“Who’d she hit?” Harper Rose asks, and we all look.
Without moving, Dante stares hard at me and says, “You have decimated poor Miss Minnie.”
Jordan the Leerer claps in mock approval. “Good aim.”
“I wasn’t aiming!” I snap.
“No, if she were aiming she would have hit me.” Dante strolls over and stops before me. “And now, Sophia, would you like to take a soul or give a soul?”
“I don’t care.”
“Give me one.” Jordan’s greedy hand shoots out, and I think he’s got a lot of nerve considering how we hate each other. But I doubt Dante wants him behind the wheel of his Lambo, so I deliberate.
“Sophia does not want to win a date with me?” Dante pouts but I’m not buying it. I sport a look of cool indifference, raise my cross, and drop it into Jordan’s hand. He clutches it and spins away, too stupid to understand that I just won the battle.
Then again, I don’t like the way Dante grins and says, “Now we are ready for the real fun to begin.”
Chapter 37
Land Mines and Lullabies Dead Ahead
Santiago belts out “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo” by BRMC as we file out of the entertainment room like convicts headed to the gallows. It is a morbid tune, drumming slow and methodical—the cadence of the damned. We pass through the massive great room, heading toward the equally massive staircase, when Santiago cuts a finger across his throat and grins.
The first group up the stairs is Lizzanne, Harper Rose, and Sarah. They head to the top and turn right along the balustrade. They peer around hesitantly, and everything seems copacetic until halfway down the hallway they start shrieking and jumping and running headlong toward a room at the opposite end. They disappear inside and slam the door, leaving us with Santiago’s melancholic tunes droning in our ears.
Casey, J.D., Jordan, and Pacer are next. They proceed likewise, up the stairs and along the seemingly innocuous hallway. Soon enough, they are yelling and running for the same door. They burst inside and slam it, and we are left baffled.
Our group consists of Holden and Duffy, plus me and the girls. When we reach the top of the staircase, we peer cautiously around the railing. The corridor is one wall of dark paneling, a carpet runner to the end, and nothing else. The open banister gives a close-up view of the hanging corpses and the gargoyles that have returned to their perch. The gargoyles are now fitted with shackles around their necks and ankles that chain them in place. They watch us with intense interest, and I feel like prey. I’ve never seen anything so lifelike and wonder if Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion shou
ld be notified.
The guys decide there is nothing to fear so, like the idiots we are, we follow as the others have done. Halfway along, I feel tiny electrical impulses through my satin slippers. Within moments, everyone feels it. The carpet runner is a live wire, and we are hopping and yelping and running toward the same door the others had used.
It opens to a short hallway where we stumble inside and collapse in a heap. The door slams like an expletive, and we wail and complain and rub our feet.
“Holy shit! Talk about a party foul!” Bailey yells to no one in particular. Duffy and Holden regain their cool and haul us up. We take a minute to compose ourselves and then move down the dimly lit passageway. Rachel asks where the others are but no one has an answer. We are alone.
A bright light clicks on and illuminates a small room several feet ahead of us. The entire room is mirrored and the floor is crawling with hundreds of snakes. We shrink back in horror and turn for the door only to discover that it isn’t there anymore—it has been replaced by dark paneling. Our hands pad along the surface in vain.
“Please find the doorknob, somebody!” Rachel cries out. She seems especially terrified of snakes. “Oh, God, please! Find the doorknob!”
Duffy scoffs. “Yeah, and poof, it’ll automagically be there? I don’t think so. We have to find another way out.” We turn as a group and stare at the snakes in the bright room.
Holden creeps closer. “Hey, wait a minute. Look. They aren’t coming after us.” We bunch up behind him and study the floor. Reality dawns and we all look up. The floor is a mirror, too, and the mounds of snakes are actually behind a Plexiglas ceiling. We breathe a collective sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness!” Rachel releases the death grip on my arm. We take another minute to laugh at ourselves. Of course the floor wouldn’t be covered with snakes.
The monklike-hooded Frankenstein of a soul catcher appears out of nowhere and offers up the cauldron for any takers. The exit is another hallway across the room. It seems simple enough, so Duffy says, “No way, man. We’re not giving up any souls here.”
That’s when the first snake drops from the ceiling. We gasp and cling to each other all over again.
The Plexiglas ceiling is drilled with holes every five feet, and the snakes are slithering over each other to find the openings. Long and black, the snake on the floor raises its head, flicking out a thin red tongue to sense the distance of its prey. Then another snake drops, and Rachel crawls up Holden’s back.
“I’m giving a soul! I’m giving a soul!”
Bailey cowers behind Duffy and peers over his shoulder. “They can’t be real, right?” The snakes hiss and slide, and we know.
Holden unwinds the lasso from his belt and provokes the snakes in a different direction. Two more drop, and then another.
“There’s no time!” Duffy barks, unsheathing his plastic pirate sword and jabbing at a snake. They are moving in, so Duffy orders Bailey to climb onto his back.
“Sophia, come on!” She reaches for me as they start across the room.
“No, you go ahead.” It’s obvious that Duffy can’t hold both of us. He tells me to stay close behind them but this won’t work either. There are too many snakes dangling and dropping from the ceiling, and the thought of one creeping up my dress is petrifying.
“I’m fine!” I croak. “I’ll give up a soul and meet you on the other side!” I look down at the two remaining crosses in my hand and comprehend what I have done. I didn’t win the battle with Dante. And now I’m at a bigger disadvantage.
When my friends are safely across the room and the floor is amassed with snakes, I drop the cross into the cauldron. There is no resounding clang to indicate it hit bottom, but a wall to my left slides open, and the soul catcher abruptly pushes me into the gaping hole. I yelp and stumble backward. Panic hits me as the wall slams shut and I am thrown into pitch-darkness. I cry out, reaching for the opening.
It’s the kind of blackness you find in caves, as though light never even bothered to look inside. Boiling hot with stale, rancid air, I suck in a breath and then cover my mouth. Not only does it taste foul, I realize I’m standing in six inches of smelly water. Terror fills me, and I grope the wall for a lever or crevice, anything to help pry it open. I pound and yell until my throat closes up. It’s too hot and I can’t breathe. I think something long and slimy just swam along the hem of my dress.
I flatten against the wall as fear curls my stomach. I hear splashing in the dark and start making outlandish deals with the higher-ups. Sweat prickles my skin but I feel clammy and light-headed, on the verge of hyperventilating.
Without warning, the air is sucked from the room and the intake pulls at my dress. To my right, a rectangular shaft of light cuts into the blackness, and I see I’m at the wrong end of a long corridor. A door is open and a dark figure is standing aside, waiting.
I clutch my dress, running and splashing until I am up the incline and several yards through the doorway. I hear squealing and thrashing in the water behind me, and then the door slams and I whirl around.
Wolfgang.
I am shaking and fighting to catch my breath. On the whole, I’d rather not leave myself in Wolfgang’s care, so I stave off a deep desire to pass out and be done with it all.
Wolfgang has evolved from Evil Skeleton Man to Evil Captain of the Guard. He is dressed in a formal blue uniform with shiny brass buttons, gold cuffs, formal tails, white gloves, black pants, and boots. His hair is slicked back and his face shaven. Wolfgang is twitchy like an impatient waiter.
We are standing in an expansive ballroom that can’t possibly fit inside the mansion. It’s better suited for a palace, with its baroque walls and gilded mirrors, its spacious dance floor and glittering chandelier.
Wolfgang walks toward me, his boots throwing echoes against the lofty ceiling. He is tugging off the white gloves and watching me with an absence of sympathy for my terrifying experience.
“Hello, Sophia.” His voice is deeper and more potent in the hollow room.
“Now what?” I make a stab at coming off unaffected, but my voice does a lovely vibrato and betrays me. I can’t calm down yet. Wolfgang’s eyes fall on the remaining cross clutched in my hand. Yeah, okay. I didn’t get past the first intrigue without losing a soul. Funny thing is, I don’t care.
“You gave up another soul.” He clicks his tongue disdainfully as though he’s disappointed yet not surprised. “Not too attached to them, are you?”
“So what happens now? Where are the others?”
“I don’t think you’ll be seeing them again. They took a … different path. I’d say they had more guts than you.”
“I just don’t like playing games.”
“Oh, I think you do.” He circles me, slow and menacingly. “I think you played Dante pretty well. Strung him along—”
“I didn’t string anyone along.” I turn, watching him watching me. “Tell me what happens now.”
We face off, and he slaps the gloves against his palm. “You have two choices. So let’s see how brave you are.” He gestures around us. “We are in a ballroom, Sophia. You can either dance with me or …” He flips the gloves in the direction of a wall to my right.
There is a hidden door in the ornate gold wall that I hadn’t noticed before.
“That’s all?”
Wolfgang’s face becomes dark, and he looks at me with your garden-variety serial killer smile, Hannibal Lecter before he takes that first spoonful of brains. I step back and he cocks his head in question. I assess my surroundings and fail to find any doors or windows or wizards with balloons willing to take me home. I hear a deep machine-gun-esque noise; Wolfgang is laughing, or rather, the place in his chest where his heart should be is.
I throw my chin up and say in my Yes, I am stupider than I look voice, “I don’t get it. I play Dirty Dancing with you or What’s Behind Door Number One?”
He stares.
“So … what is behind the door anyway?”
&nbs
p; I blink, and Wolfgang is beside me with his hand clutching my throat. My cockiness falls off as I claw at his hand and struggle to breathe. My eyes shift nervously as he leans to my ear.
“Now that would be cheating if I told you. And we can’t cheat fate, can we? So you have to decide. What do you fear most? What you can see? Or what you cannot see?”
His breath is fire in my ear, and I imagine it burning through to bone. I want to cringe but he is holding me too tight.
I’m thinking this is some insane joke that will end any second, that Wolfgang won’t hurt me, that the snakes weren’t real, none of it is.
And then the screams come. Somewhere in the mansion, tortured screams echo and stab at my ears. Not special effects but the cries of my friends. I look at Wolfgang and see madness in his eyes. They are as black as obsidian and swirling. I stare in horror, the rotation making my head swim. I close my eyes and scramble for a practical thought.
“No music,” I murmur, and immediately hear a symphony swell inside the room.
Wolfgang releases me, and I clutch my neck, gasping for air. He smiles and tosses the gloves aside.
“I’d like to feel your skin beneath my hands. I’ve been wondering how soft your thighs could be.” He thinks I have consented and offers a large calloused hand.
Wolfgang’s definition of dancing obviously differs from mine. How far is he meaning to take this game? More screams make me twitch, and then Wolfgang runs his tongue over his teeth in anticipation.
“I don’t want to play anymore,” I say, my voice quivering. The hand and the smile drop. “Please, Wolfgang, I can’t go through the door; the last door was … I think something bit me. Please!”
He inhales deeply and closes his eyes, relishing my fear. “Ah, the begging.” My pathetic plea is an elixir that gets him high. He grins dreamily, and then opens his eyes. They are glassy and turning like pinwheels again. He stares hard at me.
“Dance with me,” he commands.
“What if I give up the last cross?”