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.
I give them a once-over, noticing the pristine shoes and tailored jeans. All brand new and expensive. It’s easy to profile them from their appearances alone. They carry themselves with an absurd confidence, and not the sexy kind. It’s in the annoying way that comes off as stubbornly cocky. Nothing more than a bunch of rich, privileged kids who haven’t known an ounce of responsibility in their lives. Spoiled rotten by equally privileged parents.
As much as I can smell their entitlement from a mile away, I can tell what their futures will be like. They’re the people who peak too early in life, after picking on the underdogs, and think they’ll rule the universe. The sad thing is that, in the world we live in, they’ll probably grow up to become some hotshot senator because their daddies helped them get there.
Still, I arch a brow like I am better, and straighten my spine to say, “No one asked for your help, high school has been. Go back to the stupid frat house you crawled out from.” Gently, I push Nancy to the front to install some distance between them and us. “Can’t wait to be separated from them,” I tell Jen.
“Agreed.”
More muffled screams break the tension gathering around us, and I turn my head toward the side exit of the house where the other bouncer stands. That’s where we’ll emerge from once we escape Slashed. Half a beat later, a dark-skinned guy struts out with a triumphant smile.
“I made it!” he shouts, fisting the air in elation.
Our line breaks out in loud cheers, applauding and hyping him up. A worker approaches him with a yellow folder and a plastic medal, and inevitably, the corners of my lips twist into a smirk. They move from the exit, allowing more people to come out, and that’s when I spot him. Not the now-titled final guy, but the man standing a few meters away from the spotlight.
From afar, I can’t tell how tall he is. But there’s something about the aura surrounding him that takes over the place, almost as if he were towering over the house’s structure. Plastic covers his features; the shapes of small horns protrude from the upper corners, and a devilish static grin stands out among the creases of the worn silver mask. White fabric stained with red splashes hug his torso under an open black button-down shirt, and I allow my gaze to travel along the length of his arms to the beginning of leather gloves.
Though I can’t see his eyes with the mask, I swear he stares right at me. His head tilts to the left, and without missing a beat, his hand makes its way behind him for a second. Slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, he pulls it back with his fingers wrapped around the thick hilt of a hunting knife. Holding it up in front of him, he sweeps a leather-clad finger over the edge of the blade, teasing.
He must be one of the scare actors from Slashed. I could give this place a five-star review based on his performance alone, simply because he hasn’t broken character outside of the house.
Even though I know this is an act, the inside of my mouth dries. A spark ignites in the pit of my stomach, almost turning into desire. It’s not logical. I can’t say I’ve ever had a kink for masked men or being subtly threatened with a knife, but watching him, I’m unable to stop the filthy thoughts from flooding my brain.
I’m still staring when one of the jocks slams against my back and I’m pushed forward. Jen and Nance come to my rescue before I eat the ground, holding me steady as I fight to keep my balance.
Cabrón.
A rush of heat settles above my cheekbones, and blood pumps in my ears. Anger fueling me.
“Sadie, don’t.” Jen’s bronze hand clasps around my shoulder, forcing me to face the house when all I want is to turn and give the bastard something to think about. “We’re almost inside. Come on, we didn’t wait this long to get kicked out before we get to go in.”
Her words keep me calm, but barely. I wish we’d had enough time and tickets to bring a group of friends. That way, we wouldn’t have to worry about these assholes. If it weren’t because we’ve been waiting here for an hour, I would walk straight up to the bouncer and ask to be paired with someone else. It’s too late to back out now.
Searching for a distraction, I direct my eyes to the masked man, who hasn’t stopped staring. The hand holding the knife no longer hangs in front of him. Instead, it’s lowered to the side of his thigh, point facing the gravel under his feet. I look down at the blade and notice the low shine reflecting on the metallic surface as he twirls the hilt, fidgeting impatiently.
His position remains the same; still as a statue. However, his demeanor has changed. The energy shifted in the air, erasing the thin line between the caress of a tease and the stab of a threat. A menacing aura sharpens the rough edges of him, making him appear frightening. And it’s when I finally notice that his stance is different. It has slightly turned to the left, away from me, and directed toward the group of jocks who haven’t stopped laughing about the way I almost fell.
About how they shoved me, I correct myself.
Bitterness pools in my mouth, leaving an acrid aftertaste coating my tongue. But it’s not enough to distract me from reacting to Silver Mark.
Chills spark along the skin of my torso, traveling up to my neck, where it descends my spine. Shuddering, I run my palms over the length of my arms, hoping to regain some sense of control. It doesn’t do much to appease the turmoil creating havoc in my core.
“Are you okay?” Nance asks in a sweet tone. Her voice brings me to reality, pulling my thoughts away from the man.
I dip my chin into a nod as I say, “Yeah. I’m excited to start this.” The lie slips from my lips as smoothly as the knife’s surface.
A knot forms in my throat as the memory of him caressing the blade sneaks into the forefront of my brain.
I need to get it together soon. Distractions aren’t something I can afford when I’m ready to kick these guys’ asses.
“Next group,” the bouncer calls, gesturing for us to come closer.
“Fucking finally,” Jen mumbles and pushes Nance forward.
My feet barely move, staying in a spot where Silver Mark is still in my vision.
The bouncer walks toward us, holding seven neon red wristbands with the word Slashed plastered over them. A tiny flat box lies on top of it, resting on the skin of my wrist when he straps it as he goes through the directions one last time.
“Remember, Slashed works the same way a slasher film would. You may be stained with fake blood, and Slashed is not responsible for any damaged items or clothes. As you signed in the waiver, you consent to be chased and scared by our actors. They will use a variety of props that may look real but can’t do any physical harm and will only scan the wristband. If a scare actor does so, it means you’ve been killed in the simulation, and you will not get to complete the experience. If you haven’t been killed, the game will continue until you walk out of the exit. The one to make it out will receive the title of Final Girl, Boy, or Person.”
He pauses as his eyes roam the group, squinting at the jocks behind us as if he knows they’re going to be a problem, so he adds, “Please, and I emphasize this, don’t physically attack our scare actors. Legal action will be taken if there’s an altercation. That being said, if you feel like Slashed is more than you can handle, I encourage you to press the box on the wristband. This alerts the scare actor you’re withdrawing consent and no longer want to be a part of the Slashed experience. The nearest staff member will escort you off the premises. Though be warned, you won’t be allowed to return inside the house. It’s game over after that.”
One jock snorts behind me. “Hear that? You can call it quits at any time, pretty girls.”
Jennifer makes a disgusted face, curling her lips and wrinkling her nose. “As if.”
“Everyone clear with the rules?” The bouncer asks.
Collectively, we agree.
But before I move my legs, I steal a last glance at Silver Mask, hoping he’s still there. Just to see him again.
To my satisfaction, there he is, standing in the same place. This time, he looks at me. The silver mask lowers in a nod, and a silent agreement forms between us. No words are needed to know the promise lingering in the air we share.
With a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, I step forward to enter the house.
He’ll meet me inside—within his dominion.
The thought alone is enough to make me shiver in anticipation.
