I can hear their snickers in response. Even though no one responds. Are they crowding me on purpose? I’m pushed roughly to one side – bumping hard into what I think is the wall.
Panic sets in. I don’t like feeling out of control.
“Curious? Eerie?”
Neither girl answers.
The space around us is pitch black. I can’t see what’s in front of me. Their bodies close in further. I feel suffocated. I don’t like having this many people so close to me. Even if two of them are my stepdaughters.
A maniacal laughter sounds off from the Fun House, making me jump. I know it’s for effect but that doesn’t make it any less creepy. My imagination runs a bit wild, and I can’t help the fear that closes in.
I don’t like that I can’t see anywhere around me.
I’m not comfortable in such a confined space.
“Girls?”
Why aren’t they answering me?
If they believe I killed their father, why ask me to join them at the festival? Why not continue to ignore my calls?
Maybe they’re trying to get back at you.
By what, Genevieve, scaring you to death?
I try to laugh off my thoughts. But my heart is pounding radically in my chest. I hate this feeling of not knowing what’s going on. Growing up in foster care, you never really know what’s going to happen from one day to the next. Will you remain in the home? Will you get moved to another? Might this be the day you are finally adopted. It creates such a desire for some semblance of control, that it’s hard to continue life without it. I close my eyes for a moment and focus on relaxing my body and my mind.
The stress surrounding me starts to dissipate.
Just a little scare. No big deal.
Oddly, nothing had really shown up in the Fun House yet. We’ve just been in a maze of dark corridors. I thought it was more a tour of all the fictional victims.
As though I’ve summoned it, strobe lights start, blinding me with their brightness. Faces pop into my periphery at random. I can’t tell if they are real or fake. The maniacal laughter sounds off again. I feel around with my hands but can’t touch anything. It’s disorienting.
I close my eyes and try to center myself. It’s just a space for amusement at a festival. Nothing here can harm you. Harrison’s lifeless body pops into my mind. With his gaping mouth and vacant stare.
It’s just a memory. It can’t hurt you either.
In—two, three, four.
Hold—three, two one.
Out—two, three four.
Calm. Center. Breathe. Relax.
The lights stop, thrusting us back into total darkness.
My eyes can’t adjust fast enough and all I see each time I blink are starbursts of color.
Whispers fill the air around me. Unintelligible, but everywhere at once, like they’re touch us as they dance by.
Why did I agree to this? I’ve never been a fan of the dark. Hence the sleeping pills with wine. If I could be a day sleeper I’d do much better.
“Hello?” I call out. The Fun House operator would know if something nefarious was going on, right?
The whispers stop followed by a loud click, similar to how gallows sound in movies when releasing a body to hang.
