Page 9 of Property of Anchor
By the time the wheels touched the other side, it felt like I’d driven through some kind of invisible curtain.Normal life behind me.Something darker ahead.
The road narrowed and curved through the woods, gravel crunching beneath the tires.A massive wooden sign arched overhead:Welcome to Skull Island Haunted House and Ghost Boat Tours.
It looked hand-carved and weathered by years of sun and rain.Creepy but charming.Kind of like a Halloween town gone rogue.
There were no other cars in the lot when I pulled in.Not even a staff vehicle.Just rows of cracked pavement and faded yellow lines.I parked near the entrance, turned off the ignition, and sat for a beat.
“You’ve got this, Pearl,” I muttered.
I grabbed my canvas bag from the passenger seat, stuffed with sketches, color swatches, and paint samples.The strap caught on the gearshift, and I nearly spilled the whole thing trying to yank it free.Classic.
Outside the truck, the quiet was immediate.No birdsong.No voices.Just wind through trees and the distant creak of something swinging.A sign?A shutter?I didn’t know.But it fit.
I looked down at myself.
Paint-splattered shirt with a smiley face sticker I hadn’t removed from my last job.Ripped jeans.Work boots covered in paint splatters.My hair was in a messy braid, and my hands still had a smear of green across the knuckles from the painting I had worked on over the weekend.
Maybe I should have dressed...less like a rogue Crayola box.
But it was too late now.
I followed the wooded path leading into the main attraction area.The gravel crunched beneath my boots.The trees opened into a clearing, and the attractions spread out like a bizarre theme park.
To the left: a crooked concession stand shaped like a witch’s cauldron.The menu boards were made to look like burned parchment, advertising ghost chili nachos and witches’ brew slushies.
Farther up: a fortune teller’s booth.Purple curtains fluttered around a crystal ball.A wooden sign readMadame Doom Knows All.
Across from it was a gift shop with a crooked roof, carved skeletons hanging from the eaves, and glowing red eyes peeking from boarded windows.The door was chained shut.
And finally, straight ahead.
The haunted house.
It loomed at the top of the hill, a hulking two-story monster of a structure.Black shutters.Creaking porch.Real vines clinging to the sides.Thunder rumbled from a hidden speaker as I stepped closer.
“Whoa,” I whispered.
The photos hadn’t done it justice.This thing was massive.Bigger than any haunted house I’d ever seen.
I took a step toward the porch, and a deep, gravelly voice rumbled behind me.
“We’re closed.Tourists aren’t allowed on the island right now.”
I whirled around, startled.
And forgot how to breathe.
He stood halfway down the path, arms crossed, muscles bulging beneath a black tee that clung to him like sin.Leather cut slung across his shoulders, weathered from wear.His hair was a mess of dark waves, like he’d just rolled out of bed and into a fight.Tattoos snaked down both arms, inked muscle and menace.
But it was his eyes that hit the hardest.Icy and sharp, like he could see right through me and wasn’t all that impressed.
My heart stuttered.
“Doll,” he said and tilted his head.“I’m sure you’re disappointed you can’t get your rocks off being scared right now, but you’ve got to go.”
His words hit me a second too late.
I blinked.“What?No!I’m not getting my rocks off.I mean, I’m not here to.”
