Right on cue, a body drops from the ceiling directly in front of me, the torso slapping me in the face as it settles.
I can’t stop the scream that escapes me. My hands flying out to push it away. The body is sticky, leaving some sort of residue on my face and hands. Then the buzzing starts.
I know instantly what it is.
Harrison’s stories are beginning.
This one is a re-enactment from one of his earlier books. A modified hanging where the victim had just enough of a foothold to stay alive, but every time they moved, razor wire would slice their skin, resulting in a bloody, sticky mess. When they didn’t bleed out fast enough the killer got upset with how long it was taking and released a bunch of flies in the room. They surrounded the still living victim, laid eggs, and well, suffice it to say there’s a reason why Harrison was labeled the King of Horror.
I wipe my hands down the front of my dress and keep moving forward. Lights flicker to my right. A gory corpse stares at me with a mouth that is drawn open and eyes that are dead inside. Reminiscent of how Harrison looked when I found him in the pool.
Deep breaths.
In—two, three four.
Hold—three, two, one.
Out—two, three, four.
I continue to feel my way forward, unsure where the rest of the group went since it feels as though I’m alone in this now. Something pokes me in the side, I turn, but can’t feel or see anything. The same thing happens on the other side. It feels like the end of a stick. Thin and blunt.
I turn again. “Hello?”
My voice echoes back at me. “Hello.” Poked from the back.
“Hello.” Poked from the side.
“Hello.” The front.
The back.
The side.
Over and over. Each poke harder than the last. Feeling as though they’ll leave bruises around the softer parts of my body. I try to fend them off with my hands but there are too many coming at me from all angles. The word ‘hello’ coming at me faster and faster until it merges together into one long hum. The pokes non-stop.
I don’t think I can handle this.
A scream percolates in my throat.
I’ve got to get out of here.
I push my way forward, ending headfirst in a wall.
I turn to the opposite direction. Another wall.
That wasn’t there before. Was it?
I reach my hands to the sides. Wall and wall. Then turn and do it again. Oh my god, I’m boxed in.
How did this happen?
I don’t like small spaces.
“Help!” I cry out, not caring who hears me. Or if the kids make fun of me. I don’t like this, and I want out. “Hello!”
The enclosure I’ve been boxed into tips forward. I put my hands out to stop my fall, but there’s not enough space. My face hits hard. Pain explodes behind my eyes.
“Oh, fuck!”
