 
Scream Season

Copyright 2016 L.C. DeMaio. All rights reserved.

Published by L.C. DeMaio at Smashwords

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, settings, and incidents described within are entirely of the author's creation. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, business, companies or real-life events are purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Twenty-Eight Degrees

Tears and THC

Everything is Fine

Joel and the Whale

Epilogue

About the Author

Twenty-Eight Degrees

"I don't remember it ever being this packed." Joel sighed, bumper to bumper in a sweeping row of cars awaiting entry into the park. His fingers began to patter on the wheel, his mind tortured by the tedium of inching up in line.

"Well we did get those tickets absurdly cheap. What were they, something like forty a pop?" Shane replied from the back seat, strategically wedged in between Joel's younger sister and her new boyfriend—as per Joel's demands. "Even when I worked here I never saw them drop that low. Five Banners must be getting desperate."

"You told Mom our tickets were eighty dollars each." the girl to Shane's left grumbled.

"Shut up, Nora." Joel replied. "I'm the one here doing you a favor driving you and your boyfriend to Scream Season. Would you have wanted Mom driving you, pulling you guys out of the park at nine when all the cool shit starts?" He crooked his head over his shoulder, his dark, bushy eyebrows clenching into an intimidating glare and his ruddy complexion exaggerating the intensity of his anger. "You think our psycho mother would let you stay here 'till midnight?"

"N-No, Joel."

"So why are you trying to blow up my spot right now?"

"I was just saying, Joel."

"Hey, ease off your sister, man." Mitt barked from the front passenger seat, lightly slapping his friend's face as a grin filled his own. "I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it."

"Yeah, we are so grateful, Joel!" Brett called, squeezed into the other side of Shane, a nervous smile across his pimply face. "Right, Nora?"

"Right." she replied. Her eyes wandered out to the sea of cars spanning an endless parking lot. Security guards, dressed head-to-toe in winter gear directed waves of park goers through the chaotic backup, the glow of their traffic wands intensifying as the sun continued to set.

"Shit." Joel exclaimed, noticing the thickness of their clothing. "You did dress in layers like I told you to, right Nora? I heard it's gonna be freezing out there tonight."

"I thought my brother was driving me, not my mom." she replied with a stiff eye roll.

"Twenty-eight degrees to be exact." Mitt exclaimed, glancing down at his Apple watch.

"Five hundred dollars well spent." Joel ribbed.

"Okay, buddy. Maybe you should get one of these bad boys for yourself and find out just what a necessity it becomes in everyday life."

"I guess I'd also have as loose of a definition of 'necessity' if my Dad owned a tech startup up in the city too."

"Maybe your parents could afford to buy you nice things if you didn't rob them, bro."

"Jesus Christ." Shane yelled from the back. "You guys are like a married couple ten years after their genitals dried up."

"Whoa, you're sitting next to a fifteen-year-old girl, Shane. Show some class." Joel smirked, continuing to inch up in line.

"I do know how sex works, Joel." his sister barked back. "We have a thing in school known as health class. Maybe you've heard of it."

"Doesn't matter what they 'teach' you. You wouldn't know shit about sex, right Brett?" His head pivoted towards the back as his eyes locked firmly onto his sister's young suitor, hands still firmly clenched around the wheel, his knuckles turning white from the pressure of his grip.

"R-right Joel." Brett replied, slowly being crushed under Shane's encroaching leg span.

"That kind of shit comes with life experience and maturity. Things you kids don't have yet."

Joel's black Civic finally reached the parking booth, prompting him to lower his driver-side window. He was greeted by a miserable looking employee, visibly weary from the monotonous backup of traffic.

"Ticket please." the employee muttered.

"How's your night going, Steve?" Joel replied after scanning the employee's nametag, a dumb smirk across his face.

"Ticket please." the employee repeated.

"I'm gonna take that as pretty shitty, Steve."

"Just show him the fucking ticket, Joel." Mitt yelled.

"Alright, alright." Joel relented, handing over his parking ticket. The boom barrier raised, allowing them to pass through into parking.

"Why act like such an asshole, dude?" Mitt asked as security guided the car into an open parking spot. "Like, was that necessary?"

"We're not sixteen anymore, Mitt. The only way a guy like me can still have fun in a place like this is by fucking with the miserable kids that work here. Like Shane!" Joel grinned towards his friend in the back.

"It's been like a year, Joel. You never seem to drop my association with this shithole." Shane emphasized, rolling his eyes

"Let me know when that whole early education program pans out, then we'll think about switching you from shitty theme park employee to shitty babysitter." Joel returned, killing the ignition and stepping out of the car. "Yeesh," he exclaimed, rubbing his hands for warmth as a chill rolled down his spine. "That watch wasn't lying."

"For your information," Shane began, suppressing a laugh as he shoved Brett out the car door, "It's a pre-k program designed to spot early, accelerated learners to put them on the fast track to academic success."

"Right, and this is a job being entrusted to a pothead with five semesters of community college and a two-point-five GPA."

"America's future is in good hands." Mitt mocked, pulling Shane's hood over his face as he poked his head out of the car, obscuring the dumb, toothy grin across his pudgy visage.

"What can I say?" Shane giggled, flinging the hood off with the jerk of his neck. "I'm the hard working, ambitious role model these kids need."

The fivesome began their trek across the massive parking lot, Nora's face warming into a smile as she ensconced herself into her boyfriend's arm, trailing behind her older brother and his two friends.

"No but seriously," Joel began, embracing his surrounding pals by slinging his arms around their shoulders. "Thank you guys for coming with. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it, man. We've had far too much catching up to do with all of this college craziness." Mitt replied with a grin. "Besides, I haven't been to Five Banners since I was a little kid. I've definitely been itching to hit up some coasters."

"Coasters?" Joel replied. "It's Scream Season, dude. We're doing those ghoul trail things...uh...Nora whatsit called again?"

"Ghastly Gauntlets." His sister's voice called from behind.

"Right. Ghastly Gauntlets."

"The hell is that?" Mitt asked.

"A bunch of poor fucks in costumes jump out of shadows and try to scare you while you walk down narrow hallways filled with cheesy props and bad lighting."

"Oh shut up, Joel. They're a lot of fun." his sister retorted.

"He's not far off." Shane said. "I had to dress as a zombie one Scream Season and hide in the hottest, tiniest barrel in the fucking universe, jumping up and yelling at people walking by to scare them."

"That sounds like it could be fun, maybe without the whole barrel thing." Mitt replied.

"Shit, that's what I thought it would be too when I heard the job description. The first shift I worked, I thought I was gonna get this one kid real good. He was all crouched over, looked terrified and anxious. Perfect, gonna make this kid shit his pants, right? Turns out his stomach was just aching after eating some of the trash the concession stands serve. Projectile vomit right through my mask eyeholes. The shit literally got trapped inside."

"Sounds like a great time." Mitt laughed, smiling ear-to-ear.

"I've also lost count of the amount of times some dickhead has cold clocked me as I jump out to scare them, because apparently no matter how many times they give that stupid disclaimer at the beginning of the tour, these idiots still react like somebody is going to jump out and murder them."

"I for one, am very excited." Mitt remarked, adjusting the scarf under his black peacoat. He looked back upon Joel's younger sister and her boyfriend, the two now a considerable distance behind. He observed the boy's awkward lankiness, the way his unkempt, curly hair spilled unflatteringly over his greasy forehead, the way his smatterings of acne bloated and reddened his horrific complexion even further. "So this is the one that finally met your boyfriend standards, huh Joel?"

"Oh, Brett? He's a good kid." Joel replied.

"Not exactly the best your sister could do. Although I'm sure you've scared all the others away."

"Maybe if they could make the cut, they wouldn't have run off in the first place."

"So what makes this kid so special? Besides the fact that he looks like he'd sooner have the balls to base jump off a skyscraper than to get into your sister's pants."

"Well now, that may be well and true." Joel replied, rubbing the scruff on his chin as he smiled, "But I'll have you know, little Brett Phillips over there asked my sister to the ninth grade ball by buying her a locket. The thing is a cheap, gaudy piece of shit, but I'm sure he spent every last dollar he had on it, and that's really what counts. Nora has worn it every day since."

"Precious."

"I know, right?"

"No, I meant the fact that you're trying to sell me on that being why you let a human with a penis within five feet of your sister. It's cute, Joel."

"Yeah, well—Hey!" Joel yelled back to his sister, noticing how far behind she and her boyfriend had fallen. "You guys trying to ditch us or something?"

"Sorry Joel." Brett cried submissively as the pair caught up. "My asthma tends to act up in cold weather like this."

"Yeah I bet." Joel said mockingly, turning around and grabbing Brett by the shoulders. "It acts up just enough for you to get a good distance from us so you can slip off into the night with my sister, huh you little prick." Joel growled ferociously, shaking the terrified boy back and forth before with increasing intensity as the sentence progressed. "Thought you could get away with it, you sneaky little fuck!"

"W-What? N-No! I w-would nev—." Brett began to howl, his voice trembling in terror.

"Joel, stop!" Nora cried, tugging desperately at her brother's coat. "Let him go!" Joel's scowl turned into a big grin as he began laughing hysterically, ruffling up the boy's hair with a bear-like hand before releasing him from his grasp.

"Just messing with you, kid! Take it easy."

"You're not funny, asshole." Nora exclaimed bitterly.

"I'm sorry, did I say you were allowed to curse?"

"N-Nora, it's okay! Joel was just kidding around, haha. It's all in good fun." Brett stuttered, attempting to calm his girlfriend. She appeared less than convinced.

"Whatever. Let's just keep going." Nora grumbled as the group continued on.

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They arrived at a towering ticket booth, inching up on a congested line before their turn to have their tickets scanned finally came.

"First and last name." a heavyset black woman asked upon scanning Joel's ticket. She was sat at a small terminal adjacent to the turnstile, greeting park goers with a sour pout.

"Uh, Joel Flannigan." Joel replied, prompting her to quickly record his response on a keyboard in front of her

"Please place your finger on the scanner below."

"Christ, am I getting booked or something?"

"Just scan your right index finger below, please."

Joel finally complied, rolling his eyes as he walked through the turnstile into the park.

"Have a very spooky evening here at Five Banners Amusements." the woman replied in the least enthusiastic voice she could muster. "Next please."

"Amit Patel." Mitt spoke, attempting to tap his watch up against the scanner. "Is this thing not Apple Watch compatible?"

"No." the woman groaned.

"O-oh, okay." he replied, pulling out his wallet to grab his ticket as Joel looked on with a shit-eating grin.

Joel turned and his eyes widened at the sheer density of people stuffed within the park square, the entirety of the plaza shrouded in near darkness, illuminated only by the faint neon glow of advertisements for soft drinks and video games. The theme park's cheerful façade of a small town was smattered hastily in Halloween decorations, with long sweeping cobwebs infesting trees and spanning from trunk to trunk. Coffins lined the streets, janky monster animatronics bursting out from them, a knife or cleaver slowly swinging up and down from their outstretched arms before the machinery would pull them back inside. Small crowds formed in front of each, snapping pictures and selfies with the crude monsters and further congesting the already backed up foot traffic.

"Ahh, memories." Shane spoke with a grin, patting Joel's shoulder. "You ready, man?" Joel turned to see all four of his companions behind him.

"So where and when do you want us to meet up?" Nora asked, her boyfriend beginning to wince as if he were about to be socked in the face.

"Meet up?" Joel repeated. "Who in the hell said we are splitting up?"

"You can't be serious." his sister cried, the reality of the situation setting in. "Joel, please."

"Look at this clusterfuck, sis." he replied, affectionately ruffling her red, frizzy hair as he outstretched his trunk of an arm towards the wall of people. "Mom would kill me if you got lost in this mess. You're sticking with your big bro and his big strong friends tonight."

Nora slumped her head on Brett's shoulder, clutching his arm against her chest with both of her own. In this moment, Joel reflected that his sister looked particularly pretty, but considered that perhaps it was just the contrast of Brett's offensive ugliness adding all that more to her looks. Yeah, that's probably it, he thought.

"Uh, alright," Mitt began, breaking the awkward silence as he unraveled a neatly folded map. "I'm assuming I was the only person here intelligent enough to grab one of these at the turnstile?

"You of all people, the guy who just tried to get in here by tapping his watch on a random piece of electronics is using a paper map in the current year. Incredible." Shane laughed.

"Hey now, this whole experience is pure nostalgia at this point. Definitely didn't have a smartphone to get around this place back in the day, Sniff. Sniff. Mmm, even has that same weird smell."

The group stared at Mitt in perplexity, their eyes widening in unison.

"Screw you guys, you know exactly what I'm talking about! I-It's like that chemical-y, clean kinda...forget it...uh...anyway...this will tell us exactly where all of the Ghastly Gauntlets are located in the park—if I could read this shit. Flashlight, anyon—?" Mitt erupted into a high-pitched shriek, drawing the map over his head as several screaming children dashed passed him howling in terror. A blood-soaked butcher in a pig mask trailed them from behind, a large chainsaw revved above his head. The man ignored the group, continuing to pursue the children until disappearing into another crowd.

"W-what the hell was that?" Mitt shuttered, gasoline burning his nostrils.

"Actors." Shane spoke. "They have them wander around the park to keep people on their toes."

Shane pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning on a flashlight app and aiming it over the creased map.

"That's better." Mitt continued. "Let's take a look at this. Hmm, seems like we're closest to Vampire Volcano and Cirque Du Death...oh and they're all rated on their spookiness level. These two got top spookiness marks."

"We're only doing the spookiest gauntlets, naturally." Joel smiled, patting Brett's nappy mane. "Isn't that right, bud."

"Y-yes, Joel." the boy stuttered.

"Gonna protect my little sis from all those monsters, right?"

"Y-yeah! Of course!"

"Alright!" Joel exclaimed, shoving Brett away. "Vampire Volcano it is! Let's get a move on!"

The group shoved their way through the crowd, Joel utilizing his wide, muscular frame to create a small bubble for the others to follow close behind. As they charged deeper in, the crowd began to thin, allowing them to ease up and move more at their leisure.

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Entering the Ghastly Gauntlet, the group stepped into a dense mist blanketing its entrance, the sweet sting of fog machine vapors puncturing their noses as they passed through.

"Velcome." a booming voice called from beyond the mist. "Velcome to Vampire Volcano."

Stepping out of the fog, Joel quickly stifled the smile beginning to form as he caught sight of the voice's source. A short, portly man—his face unevenly pattered in a white dust—stood on the other side of the mist. He was dressed in a black and red cloak, its long, flowing shape doing little to mask the lumpy circularity of his frame. "Ahh," he continued in his phony Transylvanian accent, "Looks like ve have more victims."

"Did you guys not get the memo on vampires or something?" Joel remarked wryly. "It's all about being a pale metrosexual with an eating disorder now."

The actor ignored Joel, staying in character with a fiendish laugh as he unhooked the rope and allowed the group to enter.

"Now, before this nightmare properly begins, ve must establish some ground rules." The actor cleared his throat before rapidly firing off a lengthy, memorized paragraph which established the very spooky virtues of "no flash photography", "don't touch the actors", and "walk single-file at a slow, deliberate speed at all times".

He opened the second roped off walkway and the group passed through, following down a narrow, quickly darkening path covered in crisp, freshly fallen leaves.

"Man, nothing says terror like a legal disclaimer." Joel suggested dryly.

"You don't ever stop, do you?" his sister retorted in disgust.

"Yeah, Joel." Mitt interjected in agreement, "The whole cynical dickhead routine is starting to get a bit old."

The scenery became increasingly macabre as they followed deeper into the Gauntlet. Impaled, decapitated heads lined the edges of the path and dismembered limbs gently swayed from the empty branches of dying trees.

"Boo!" a monster screamed, flinging his body from behind a corner and dashing towards the group, a large metal chain dangling from his bloodied hands. Mitt froze in place, closing his eyes and letting out a shrill scream as he reflexively threw his hands in front of his face. He snapped out of his shock and turned his head as he felt the actor pass, the man running to a corner behind them to scare the next group of park-goers. Mitt laughed nervously, turning to his two friends who appeared completely unfazed, both grinning at his outburst.

"Oh screw you guys." he laughed.

"Raaah!" another monster growled from behind Nora and Brett, chopping a rusty pair of hedge clippers above their heads menacingly. They both jumped in terror, scattering towards the front of the group, but the actor did not relent. "I'm going to chop you two up into little pieces." he growled into their ears, following right behind them. "I bet you kids taste delicious." Brett began to laugh nervously, occasionally darting his head back to see the monster still trailing close behind.

"Alright, buddy. I think that's enough." Joel called from ahead. The actor stopped and turned, a toothy smile forming under his leathery clown mask.

"You should watch yer tongue before I chop it off." the actor barked in his gravelly voice, chopping his hedge clippers shut in front of Joel's face several times. He let out a menacing laugh before turning back to his younger victims. Brett tightened his grip on his girlfriend, his nervous laughter growing more sporadic.

"Back off from the kids before I break your fucking nose." Joel ordered furiously. He looked to see the group staring at him, their eyes wide in disbelief. The actor turned once more, eyeing Joel up for several seconds before walking away from the group, chopping down his clippers several more times for dramatic effect.

"I'll admit," Mitt began, waiting for the actor to be a good distance away, "that was a little bit much."

"There is supposed to be a one-minute 'stalking' limit, at least when I was here." Shane began. "We could probably get that guy in a lot of trouble if you guys really wanted."

"Dickhead wasn't even a vampire." Joel mumbled, unloading a wad of spit onto the ground before continuing on the trail. "Where the hell is the volcano even at? Why name something Vampire Volcano when it includes neither vampires nor volcanoes? There's literally only two base requirements and they fucked both of them up."

"Five Banners seems to be pretty fond of alliteration." Mitt observed, toying with his watch.

"A-litta-what?" Brett asked.

"Brett you dumbass, you don't know what alliteration is?" Joel mocked, causing Brett to turn a bright shade of red.

"Hey bro, ease up on the kid." Shane interjected. "Not everyone here is an English major. Some of us even pick useful degrees."

"Sick burn, future pre-school teacher."

"—He said from the unemployment line."

Nora let out a stifled giggle, holding a balled fist up to her grinning mouth.

"Hey!" Joel yelled to his sister with a smirk. He playfully wrapped an arm around her, shaking her side to side and coaxing from her a great burst of uncontrollable laughter. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

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Several winding turns and a few jump scares later, the group came to the attraction's exit, spilling back into the sweeping crowd.

"Whoa!" Mitt yelled, looking down at his watch before displaying it to the rest of the group. "132 beats per minute! That last guy with the rake really got me. I never knew gardening equipment could be so terrifying."

"That was a lot of fun! Right, Brett?" Nora enthused, nudging her boyfriend.

"Y-yeah, it was great." he replied, shooting a sideways glance to Joel to estimate his allowed level of enthusiasm.

"See Nora, hanging out with your big bro and his friends ain't so bad after all, huh?" Joel smiled, giving Nora's shoulder a loving squeeze. His sister's excitement melted into a pang of guilt.

"No...I guess it isn't. I'm sorry for how I was acting earlier, I know Mom is always saying how we should spend more time together." Her lips pursed into a tight smile, her blue eyes glimmering as she looked up at her older brother.

"No, I get it Nora." Joel insisted, wrapping an arm across the tiny girl's shoulders, hugging her hip-to-hip as they carried along. "You wanted to spend time with your boyfriend. I don't take offense." His vision trailed off into the path head. "You just...you know how things are at home. Especially with me and Dad. I'm really trying to show them I've cleaned up my act."

"I don't know why you give Dad such a hard time. It's like you guys are always at each other's throats."

"You weren't around for the version of Dad I grew up with. As hard as I try not to, I can still see that bottle in his hand, ready to give Mom another black eye. Your mind forms these scars that never really heal. I don't think I can really explain it to you, Nora."

"Hey, uh, I don't mean to interrupt this moment right here, but can we figure out where exactly we are headed?" Mitt suggested, the map outstretched in his gloved hands. "We've kind of been wandering."

"Aren't we doing that circus one?" Shane asked, his hands buried in the pockets of his red hoodie.

"Oh right, Cirque Du Death." Mitt spoke, reading the map. "Explore a winding circus filled with twisted sideshow freaks and untold horrors."

"Well let's hope this one actually looks like a circus." Joel cracked, releasing his sister before charging to the front of the group.

Walking parallel to them was one of the park's actors, his hand clutching a long, metal shovel dragging harshly across the pavement. Nora began to distance herself from the man, pulling Brett with her to the left of Joel. Joel turned to look at his sister, a queasiness consuming her eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked affectionately.

"Oh, it's nothing, Joel. The sound of metal scraping on pavement just kind of creeps me out is all." she replied, mustering a collected smile.

"Did you want me to tell him to stop?"

"No! No! It's fine, I mean it. It's just a stupid little thing."

"Hey, buddy." Joel stopped, turning in to face the actor.

"Joel!" his sister pleaded.

He sized the man up, looking at him top to bottom. He was stockily built, with broad shoulders and a bulging gut. He wore a crude, fleshy mask along with several layers of worn, old coats, the outermost one falling apart at the seams, caked in old stains and grime. His pockets were stuffed, bulging and sagging visibly downward.

"Do you think you could lighten up the drag on that thing?" Joel asked, grabbing hold of the shovel and shaking it gently. The man pulled away violently in reaction, holding the shovel above his head as his pale gray eyes widened behind the mask. His breathing grew heavy.

"Holy shit!" Joel laughed, his hands held up in the air. "Ease up, dude. I wasn't trying to start anything."

The man lowered his shovel, continuing to stare blankly at Joel. "What the hell are you supposed to be anyway, a bum who robbed a Goodwill?" Joel continued.

"Let's just go, Joel." Nora insisted.

"No really, I am surprised that even in a place as lame as this someone with an outfit this corny could get paid to walk around here."

Joel began to walk towards the actor, who stepped backwards upon seeing the cruel smile spreading across Joel's face.

"Joel, just leave him alone."

"Nora, it's alright. He can't break character anyway, right Shane?"

"Let's just get to the next gauntlet, man." Shane responded apathetically.

"Eugh." Joel coughed as he closed the distance between him and the man, clutching his nose. "You smell like fucking garbage. Jesus Christ." Joel felt a hand grab hold of his shoulder, pulling him back. It was Mitt.

"Just let it go, dude. It's not worth it." Mitt said quietly into his friend's ear. Joel rolled his eyes, retreating back to the group. "Sorry about the trouble." Mitt muttered sympathetically before returning to the group himself.

"Disgusting." Joel mumbled under his breath as they walked away, continuing on their prior path.

"Are you trying to get us kicked out of the park or something?" Mitt barked, slapping the back of Joel's head with his folded up map. "I swear, I love you Joel, but you're a huge fucking idiot sometimes." Mitt looked on to Shane, his expression eager for his vocal support. "Shane?"

"Seems to me like Joel was just looking out for his sister, man. Besides, I don't think I would've minded getting kicked out in all honesty." Shane responded, his arms crossed casually and his grin lending him a second, scruffy chin. "I could go for a nice pumpkin beer about now."

"Yeah! He was just protecting his sister." Brett agreed, squeezing Nora's gloved hand with a doofy smile across his face. "I know you were looking out for us, Joel!"

"Brett, you don't have to be such a kiss-ass just because my brother is always intimidating you." Nora responded in irritation.

"What? Intimidating me? No!"

Joel slung his arm around Brett's narrow shoulders, pulling him in close.

"Yeah, Nora. What the hell are you on about?" he said, squeezing the boy's shoulder soothingly. "I love this little guy."

"You love that you can walk all over him." his sister barked, pulling Brett towards her.

"He's your boyfriend for God's sake. Show him some respect." Joel returned, tightening his grip on Brett.

Brett's expression turned to terror as he felt his body being torn into opposite directions, his mop-like fro bouncing with each jostle.

"G-guys, c'mon—" he squeaked.

"You're one to talk about respect, shithead!" Nora growled.

"U-uh, guys—" Mitt began to whimper.

"Not right now, Mitt!" Joel barked, beaming daggers at his sister.

"Do you not hear that?"

"Hear what?"

As silence set in, the sound of metal scraping on concrete filled the void. They turned their heads and there he stood several feet away, disappearing and reappearing as the crowd bended and weaved around him. His leathery mask reflected the moonlight brilliantly and his shovel trailed lazily behind his back.

"It looks like Joel made a new friend." Shane laughed.

"Shane, that is not funny." Nora cried. "Look what you did, Joel."

"Let me take care of this." her brother spoke quietly, his protective anger boiling over. He pushed his way through the crowd, shoving his way up to the man. He was standing resolutely in place, his eyes never drifting away from Joel.

"I don't know what you want, but I am telling you right now, if you take another step towards my sister and my friends, I will take that shovel and crack your fucking skull open with it."

The man continued to stare blankly, his eyes motionless, unblinking. "Do you not believe me, or something?" Joel continued. He grabbed hold of the shovel, yanking it out of the man's hands and hoisting it up above his head, a malicious delight spreading through him. The man reached upward with his stubby arms, hopping and stretching up towards the shovel to no avail. With his free arm, Joel shoved the man with a forceful elbow to the chest, causing him to lose balance and collapse onto his back. He began brandishing the shovel, resting his foot on the man's stomach as he swung the tool down upon him, feinting at the last moment and drawing it back up and down erratically. Joel cackled with cathartic excitement, his pleasure growing with each flinch he could coax from his prey.

A petite hand pulled at his elbow, tugging him away from the man.

"Joel, you have to stop." he could hear his sister cry as she pulled at his arm. "Please." His smile dissipated, and the shovel fell from his hands, clattering loudly to the ground. It was only then that he noticed the crowd forming around him, various cameras and phones flanking him from all sides.

His eyes began scanning the encircling crowd while guilt and embarrassment flooded over him. He exited the circle and returned to the group, his head dipped low. Shane placed a consoling hand on Joel's shoulder as he entered the group's small cluster, his brow sagging sympathetically.

"You alright, man?" he asked.

"I'm fine." Joel whimpered, attempting to block out the glares of disgust and stifled outbursts of laughter. "Let's just get out of here." As they pushed their way through the surrounding crowd, he quickly looked over his shoulder and saw the defeated actor sitting flat on his behind, two bystanders hooking their arms into his pits as they prepared to hoist him up off the ground. The man's eyes locked with Joel's, beaming their haunting blankness before his stocky figure disappeared from Joel's line of sight.

"You are so embarrassing." Nora moaned, her face buried in her wooly gloves. "I genuinely can't believe—even after I begged you not to—you still started shit with that guy."

"I'm sorry." Joel mumbled with a submissiveness that made even Brett double-take in surprise.

"If you were really sorry you'd let me and Brett off this babysitting tour so we can enjoy the park without being associated with the scene you cause every five minutes."

"Not gonna happen." he responded firmly. "Let's just get this gauntlet crap over with so we can go home knowing we didn't collectively waste like 200 bucks."

"I'm never forgiving you for this. I hope you know that." Nora growled. Brett began to squeal under the bone-shattering chokehold his girlfriend had on his hand, the pressure growing in sync with her fury.

"You'll get over it." Joel smiled, his attempt to pat his sister's head quickly shut down with a violent swipe.

"Try not to get too hung up over it, honey." Brett blurted, attempting to ease his girlfriend's rage. "I'm sure we can still have some fun."

"You're not helping!" she barked back, releasing his hand and shoving her way to the front of the group. Brett's head turned to Joel, his face dripping with confusion and panic.

"Get used to it." Joel smiled.

Tears and THC

The group approached a tall, striped tent. A worn out banner hanging over its entrance read in blocky, red letters: 'CIRQUE DU DEATH', a massive, poorly sculpted clown head beaming down from above it. Its sinister grin was punctuated by a set of razor sharp teeth and a sloppy paint job of bright red crimson trailing from its gaping maw. Inside, they were greeted by a grinning clown, his makeup muddy from the attraction's entrapped humidity.

"Hey there kids." he beamed in a gravelly voice. He was leaned up against a large barrel, a messy, tangled pile of plastic-framed glasses buried inside. "Put these on." he barked, handing out a pair to every person who passed him. "And you'd better keep 'em on for the whole attraction—or else."

"Eugh." Mitt exclaimed, looking down at his hands in his new distorted vision. "These things are making me sick."

"They're like those drunk goggles they make you wear at school." Nora suggested as she raised and lowered the plastic frames over her eyeglasses.

The group turned a corner into a room bathed in black light, hidden projectors creating psychedelic effects that danced across the glowing, dark purple walls. Circus performers sat trapped in giant bird cages dangling from chains, gripping the bars as they eerily stared down the incoming park goers. Their faces were coated in elaborate designs with florescent paint, glowing a bright, purplish white under the black light.

"This is trippy as hell." Joel laughed, his cynicism melting into a silly grin as he became totally absorbed into the hypnotic sights and surroundings. "Imagine going through this place while stoned." He walked up to a cage and beamed towards the actress inside, the glow of her fluorescent contacts entrapping his blurred gaze. "Hey, howsit going, cutie?" he blurted. She only stared back, attempting to look as creepy and alien as possible. Joel began making a bunch of silly faces and rude gestures in an attempt to crack a smile before being yanked away by his hood.

"We're holding up the line, you idiot." Mitt said, releasing Joel and jostling him forward. A portion of the wall to the left of them collapsed downward, revealing several more of the glowing circus performers, who screamed and screeched with a deafening roar. Mitt and Joel grabbed each other hastily, shouting in surprise as they pulled their bodies backward. They looked to each other, releasing their grips and laughing hysterically. The actors cackled violently before the wall sucked itself back up into position.

"Can't help but laugh at how quickly you two jumped on each other. I thought you outgrew this kind of stuff, Joel. A little suspect if you ask me." Shane said, scratching his beard with a smug satisfaction. The opposite wall panel slammed open behind him, and a lanky man emerged, caterwauling into Shane's ear and sending him into a panicked convulsion. Joel and Mitt chortled with delight as Shane's face turned red, his mouth cracking into a smile. "Alright." he relented. "That got me."

The line began to congest up ahead, with several frightened park goers reluctant to step into the large, black curtain shrouding the next room.

"What's in there?" Mitt asked, peeking under his glasses in an attempt to see what lays beyond.

"I've never worked this one." Shane replied. "I honestly have no idea."

"Well if the look on some of these kids' faces is any indication, it's gonna be pretty sweet." Joel said excitedly. As they finally approached the curtain, Mitt poked his head inside, quickly pulling it back out as his eyes ballooned with dread.

"What?" Joel asked, his grin dissolving into mild anxiety. "What's in there?"

"It's pitch black." Mitt cried. "Pitch. Fucking. Black."

"Completely black?"

"Like, you couldn't see your hand five inches from your face black."

Joel poked his head inside, his eyeballs tingling lightly as his pupils engorged in the consuming darkness.

"Well fuck me. You weren't kidding." He pulled his head out, looking back over at Mitt. "Well come on, let's get a move on."

"You first." Mitt said anxiously, pressing his back up against the wall. Joel attempted to push Mitt into the room as he noticed the angry congestion forming once more behind them, to Mitt's screaming protests.

"Are you guys for real?" Shane sighed. He entered the room, holding his hand out for someone else to grab onto. "Just form a chain." Joel grabbed onto Shane tightly, feeling a hand grab onto his free arm as he crept into the darkness. Lining the pitch-black path were more of the thick curtains, Joel pressing his shoulder up against them as a tactile guide. The path began to twist and turn, and in the chaos and anxiety of the moment, Shane's wrist slipped from his grip. Panicking, Joel frantically pulled away from the hand gripping his wrist, holding his arms in front of his face aimlessly, his heart creeping closer and closer into his throat with each thunderous thud. He could feel each rhythmic pulse reverberating through his extremities, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. Footsteps echoed all around him, the faintest stressing of fabrics and the subtlest of whimpers and movements being picked up by Joel's enhanced auditory senses.

"Guys!" Mitt whispered. "I-I can't see shit!"

"No way." Joel replied, squelching some of his terror with a bit of sarcasm. "Just keep feeling your way through."

With the brush of one final curtain, light flooded into the dark room and Joel stepped through, entering the world of light once more. A wave of relief flooded over him as he walked to the exit, tossing his glasses into a disposal bin before stepping back outside to the biting cold.

"That was awesome!" Mitt exclaimed, rubbing his eye sockets. "My eyes are kinda stinging from those glasses now, though."

"Yeah, I gotta admit," Joel laughed, "that was actually pretty good."

"Let's see what's up next." Mitt said, reaching into his coat pocket and retrieving the map. "Can I get a light, Joel—?" He trailed off upon witnessing his friend's mortified expression. "Joel?"

Joel looked over at Mitt, and his upper lip trembled slightly as he attempted to speak.

"Where's Nora and Brett?" he asked. "Did you guys see them come out?"

"Honestly, I can't even remember where I last saw them. That entire place was like one big, trippy blur." Mitt replied, scratching the back of his head.

"Maybe they just got lost in the dark room." Joel spoke, his breathing growing in ferocity as panic began to set in.

"Or more likely, they saw their opportunity to bail on us killjoys and took it." Mitt said reassuringly. "You saw your sister, Joel. She was pissed." Joel pulled out his cell phone and began ringing his sister's phone, pacing back and forth as his eyes glued to the pavement.

Ring.

Ring.

"Joel." Mitt said, stepping in front of his friend and placing his gloved hand on Joel's shoulder.

Ring.

"Just leave them be, dude. They're fine. There's a million cameras all over this place, a million witnesses everywhere. Your sister is practically a goddamn adult at this point."

Ring.

"If you keep babying her forever, what is it gonna be like when the time comes when you're not there to watch her every move?"

_Ring_.

"He's right, man." Shane called from behind, eyeing the attraction's exit. "You really should let the kid live a little. Besides, it's not like that twerp she's with is gonna pull a fast one any time soon."

_Ring_.

"Come on, Joel." Mitt said reassuringly. Joel allowed the phone to ring twice more before hanging up and sliding the phone back into his pocket. "Atta boy." Mitt cheered, lightly punching Joel's arm.

"Maybe you're right." Joel squeaked unconfidently. He immediately turned back towards the gauntlet, motioning to walk back as he said "M-Maybe I should just ask one of the workers if they saw any kids come ou—." Mitt snagged him by the arm, pulling him back.

"Stop stressing, dude. Seriously. Let the kids have their fun." He produced a tightly rolled joint from his coat pocket, grinning coolly as it caught Joel's wide-eyed gaze. "And maybe we can have some fun of our own."

Joel's eyes locked onto the joint as he bit his lower lip in indecision.

"Aw, fuck it. Let's go." he relented.

"That's my dude." Mitt cheered, slinging his arm affectionately around his friend as he stuffed the joint back into his coat. "Got this from a new connect at school. Told me it was gonna blow my mind."

"That's cute, Patel." Shane laughed. "Guess your days of bumming off me are finally over."

"I know, right? Weird. I guess I decided to spend my high school career focusing more on my grades than hanging around the lifelong burger flippers under the bleachers who had the best pot connects."

"Hey man, it helped me build some great networking skills at the very least." Shane joked. "Grades alone can only take you so far."

"You two done?" Joel groaned, uneasily shifting from foot to foot as his eyes continued to peer towards the attraction exit. "I'm getting really antsy."

"Right. Let's go find a nice secluded spot." Mitt assured him.

The trio made their way around the park, the congested crowds beginning to show signs of thinning as the night grew deeper. They came upon a narrow alley wedged behind a closed food stand, its entire length bathed deeply in shadow.

"Perfect." Mitt smiled, placing the joint between his brown lips as he began digging through his pants pockets. He pulled out a cheap plastic lighter, red text embossed on the side reading 'PATEL PECULIARITIES – MANHATTAN, NY'. "Thanks for the light, Dad." Mitt mumbled, lighting the joint and dragging deeply. His silhouette birthed a healthy gust of white smoke, lingering for a short while before dissipating above. He outstretched the joint to Joel, burying his face inside his opposite arm to muffle his violent coughing.

"What a bitch." Joel laughed, filling his lungs deep with smoke.

"Fuck, cough, you." Mitt retorted between each wheeze. The trio began to snicker quietly, Joel passing along to Shane as he exhaled into the black sky.

"Let's hope you sound like less of a little girl than Mitt when you hit this thing." Joel smiled, his grin large enough to be discerned through the darkness.

"Look who is talking." Shane replied. He wavered his voice in a mocking fashion: "O-Oh no, I j-j-just can't let my teenage sister off her leash for five f-fucking minutes or else I-It's the end of the goddamn world!"

"Good impression, fuckface. You really nailed my severe Down syndrome."

"In all fairness though Joel, he does have a point. You really need to put some slack on that leash you keep your sis on." Mitt interjected as the joint made its way back to him.

"I know." Joel said somberly. "I get a little overboard sometimes—." he trailed off, gazing above. He had hoped to see the Moon or even a few stars, but a thick, oppressive layer of clouds masked them from his scrutiny. His pressed his back against the food stand's smooth concrete wall, taking an even deeper drag than before. Joel's tongue swelled and dried in his mouth. His face grew hot and weightless. "When she was just barely older than a toddler, I was like, seven or eight or something—we were outside playing in the pool. Our parents made her wear this stupid, huge pink life vest every time she'd swim. It made her look fucking ridiculous. I couldn't stand how they'd baby her. Here she was, this perfect little princess who would get a goddamn toy if she so much as scraped her elbow. Meanwhile, I could break my fucking leg and have to spend the next five weeks hearing how I shoulda looked where I was walking. I didn't get any fucking life vests. Any fucking pity toys."

He took a second drag, wincing as the hot smoke charred the back of his throat. The physical distance between him and his friends appeared to expand and contract in rhythm with his breathing. Joel continued, "I thought back to when my dad taught me how to swim. Life vest? Nah, his drunk ass tossed me into the deep end and watched me scramble for dear fucking life. I legitimately thought I was gonna die. When I somehow made it back to the ladder, coughing up a storm, chlorine burning my sinuses, tears welling in my eyes, he told me to stop crying like some little faggot and be thankful my old pops just taught me how to swim."

Joel took an even deeper hit, the ember illuminating Shane's shadowy figure, revealing a wide-eyed look of concern.

"Fuck, Joel." Mitt grumbled. "Both of us only hit that thing once. When are you gonna pass that sh—

"Mitt." Shane whispered, grabbing Mitt's shoulder. "Just let him have this. I'll hook you up when we get home."

"Thank you, Shane." Joel responded, twirling the joint in his fingers. "So anyways, I thought, hey, it worked for me, right? Why the hell couldn't my little sis learn the same way? So, this was back during my dad's drinking days, and my mom was out at work at the time. The shitfaced prick was watching us swim, lounged back on a pool chair with a cold glass of scotch in his hand. Long story short, he passes out and I see my window of opportunity to teach Nora a lesson. I can still remember unhooking the clips on her back and seeing her confused little face staring back at me. 'Joel, what are you doing?' she asked.'"

Joel's vision blurred as tears welled in his reddened eyes, but he kept his composure, knowing his friends could not see. "I yanked off the vest, picked her up, and threw her into the deep end. I can remember the dumb fucking smile I had on my face watching her struggle and squeal. I couldn't wait till she made it to the ladder so I could let her know just what a little taste of my upbringing was like." Joel paused momentarily, running his shaky fingers through his curly, brown hair as his eyes darted to the ground, small drops of tears hitting the concrete. "She didn't make it to the ladder."

"Joel." Mitt said sympathetically as he heard his friend whimper quietly. He placed his hand on Joel's shoulder.

"I remember running over to my Dad, shaking him, slapping him, pulling at his collar, screaming my lungs out. Minutes felt like hours before he finally came to his senses. If there is one image that will forever stay seared into my fucking brain it is that of my little sister's pale, lifeless body hanging from my father's arms like a ragdoll, her eyes closed and her face blank. Just totally blank, like something I've never seen before. I thought, that's it. My life is over. I'm going to where they send bad kids for the rest of my life, and that was that. But then she woke back up, but with—developmental issues. 'Challenged learning' is I think what her guidance counselor called it in second grade. A straight-C student."

"Alright Joel, you gotta stop. You're freaking me out, man." Mitt pleaded.

"'You weren't content with being such a fuck-up yourself,' Mom would say, 'so you had to try and make your sister into one too.'"

"Joel! You're going to bug yourself out! You need to get a grip!"

Joel grabbed onto Mitt's peacoat and looked him square in the eyes.

"I'm never going to let her get hurt like that again, Mitt. I can't."

"I know, Joel, but what is one night out in an enclosed park with her boyfriend?"

"I know, I know. I just—wanted to explain myself or uh, something." Joel's brain began to cloud, his thoughts beginning to lose focus. "Sorry for like, killing the mood guys."

"Don't worry about it, Joel. You know Mitt and I are here for you. You have nothing to feel sorry about." Shane reassured, smiling through the darkness.

Joel stared at his friends blankly, thoughts of his sister being washed away by an uncontrollable urge to hum the _Batman_ theme.

"Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh" he whispered to Mitt faintly.

"Joel? Are you alright?" Mitt asked.

"Batmaaaaaaan." he sang quietly. "Batmaaaaaaaan."

"Alright, I think you've had enough." Mitt smirked, grabbing the small nub that remained and stomping it out on the ground.

They exited the alley, stumbling their way into the nearest crowd of people. The crowd closed in around Joel, suffocating him with pure sensory overload. The loudness of their screams and laughter beamed at him like a noise assault. He closed his eyes and drowned it out with more _Batman_.

Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh.

"Duuuude." Shane called from seemingly fifty miles away. "We need to go back to that circus shit."

Batmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.

"Oh my god." Mitt replied from the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. "Hell fucking yes."

Batmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.

Joel could feel his body getting dragged by two distinct entities from each side. He tossed and turned through a sweeping crowd, their voices distorting as his head violently whooshed past. Each thunderous thud from his heart reverberated through his bones. Suddenly the motion stopped; he felt himself suspended within space.

"Joel", he heard a voice call distantly, echoing through his ear canals. He couldn't quite make out the origin, however. All he could think about were ears and canals and the Panama Canal and how in ninth grade history, Mr. Plovich made him stay after class every day for a month when didn't do that six-page essay on the economic ramifications of building the Panama Canal, but fucking Greg Ryan got off scott-free. It must have been because of that time Joel asked why 'supposedly' starving African children on television always had such fat bellies. His teacher's stupid, fat face got so red that day. Asshole.

"Joel." He heard it again, even farther away. His soul felt as if it were being sucked through a vacuum, tearing apart from his physical being and being cast far away. Speaking of vacuums, he could remember the time h—.

Slap.

Joel's eyes cocked wide as the sting of pain jolted him into consciousness. Reality took the form of Shane's scowling face.

"Jesus Christ, dude." Shane moaned, rubbing his hazy eyes. "Are you going to come into the gauntlet or what? You've been sitting here humming the _Batman_ theme for like ten fucking minutes." Shane stepped out of Joel's view, revealing a giant clown head, staring down at him with a wanton blood lust. It tore itself from the building's foundation and began floating towards him, it's wide, fanged mouth opening to swallow him whole.

Joel screamed for his life, clutching his head in his hands and cowering downward. He felt a hand clasp over his mouth and an arm lock struggle to overpower both of his flailing appendages.

"Joel, you're freaking me out." he heard a familiar voice call into his ear. "We're just back at the Circus gauntlet. Everything's okay."

Joel looked up to see the clown head back in its original position, staring menacingly downward from the gauntlet's front entrance. He cocked his head to the side and looked behind him. It was Mitt grabbing hold of him.

"Uhhh, maybe this isn't such a good idea." Mitt suggested. "Joel's a mess."

"I'm fine. I'm fine." Joel whined, freeing himself from Mitt's grip. "I just kinda zoned out there for a minute is all. Trust me, that won't happen again."

Joel could see his friends glance at one another with concern, looking back between each other and their inebriated friend. After seemingly coming to a non-verbal agreement, Mitt turned his head towards Joel.

"Alright, let's go." he said.

The trio made their way inside, listening to the clown's spiel, grabbing their own pair of drunk glasses and entering the gauntlet. As Joel passed through, the fluorescent walls began to close in on him. His breathing became strained as the building's foundation squeezed tighter and tighter, the sweeping line of park goers fighting for space and air as their surroundings entrapped them. He started to sweat profusely, his eyes darting between the visual and audio stimuli blasting him from every direction. Passing by a massive cage, he locked eyes with a deformed circus performer trapped inside. Her hands resembled meaty claws, sporting only thumbs and a fusion of a pinky and ring finger, wrapped around the thick bars of her cage. She looked up at Joel, silent and observing.

"I have to get you out of here." Joel panted, jiggling the cage. "This place is going to collapse and kill us all."

The circus performer backed away, her eyes wide in confusion. Joel grew frustrated, this woman hardly responding to his valiant bid to save her. But before his anger could come to a head, he felt himself pushed further up line, away from the cage.

"The fuck are you doing?" he heard Shane ask.

Joel pondered this question for what seemed like a lifetime, reaching into the deepest recesses of his mind to remember whatever it was that just occurred.

"Uh, I don't know." he responded blankly.

"Just keep walking." he heard Shane mumble.

Joel wasn't really sure where he was. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, or why the entire world had taken on such a purplish hue. Maybe this was how it had always been and he simply never realized until now, he thought. Seeing as he was walking in some sort of line, Joel deduced that he must be at the supermarket. Weird, he didn't seem to be carrying any groceries. What other kind of line would he be standing in, though? He turned to ask a cashier if this was the 'ten items or less' line, but then realized the gentlemen was not a cashier, but in fact a man in a clown mask wielding a large, bloody knife, most likely about five seconds from violently thrusting said knife into Joel's sternum. That wouldn't be pleasant, Joel thought.

Oddly enough, Joel did not feel fear. He saw his fate as a simple logical end. Knife plus chest equals death. Funny though, he thought, out of the seven-something billion people which inhabit this earth, the millions of knives probably manufactured every single year, the hundreds of millions of square feet which make up the global surface of this world, it was this specific longitudinal location, with this specific knife, and this specific man which all decided, under such amazingly miniscule odds to converge at the same point at the very same time in the act of ending a life. Wow, Joel thought, I can't wait to die.

Oh fuck, he realized. I'm going to die. Holy shit, I'm going to die.

Joel let out a blood-curdling scream and blitzed through the line, shoving park goers into walls and props as he flung himself forward in a panicked hysteria.

"HE'S GOING TO FUCKING KILL ME!" he cried. He saw the large, black curtain and dived through it, immersing himself in darkness. Joel began crawling his way across the cold, hard floor, rhythmically bursting into a small murmur.

"Joel!" he heard yelled from far behind him.

It felt as if he were endlessly crawling through space, like this black box were his own personal hell he would remain in for the remainder of his existence. He gave up his struggle, dropping his head onto the cold tile floor and shutting his eyes in defeat. But in this moment of rest, his stomach began to churn. He felt a presence standing directly behind him.

"Mitt? Shane? Is that you?" he whispered out into the darkness.

A slow, muffled breathing punctured the silence, coming from directly above him.

"Joel!" his friends' voices called from farther back behind the curtain. "Where are you?"

"Who are you?" Joel muttered, shaking intensely.

He felt the presence draw closer, kneeling down on top of him. The pungent stench of garbage filled his nostrils.

"It's you." Joel cried. He felt a large hand press down upon his back, slowly gliding from his coat down to his pants. He could feel the denim of his jeans' pocket relax as his cell phone slipped out of it. The hands groped him all over, a thick knee dug into Joel's spine, immobilizing him. Joel sat and whimpered, concentrating intensely on the sound of his friends' cries as they drew closer.

The entity withdrew itself from Joel's back, disappearing into the darkness. Joel remained where he lay, his cheek pressed against the filthy floor. Tears welled in his eyes as his body convulsed uncontrollably.

"Joel." a voice called. It was Mitt. "Come on, Joel. You have to get up." He felt himself get hoisted upward, his arms around two very familiar feeling sets of shoulders.

"We're getting kicked out of the park, aren't we?" Joel whispered defeatedly.

"Oh yeah." Mitt responded.

"It's alright, Joel. I wasn't looking to use this place as a reference anyway." Shane joked.

They carried their friend out of the black room to the attraction's exit. As the door swung open, they were greeted by the disgusted glares of three security guards, a furious looking, graying man flanking their left. His suit coat bunched and wrinkled as he crossed his arms, stepping his way in front of the security team and glaring at Shane with a furrowed brow.

"Well now," The besuited man began, "when I heard a bunch of stoned college kids were causing a commotion in the park, I was just getting ready to call the police. But then, what do you know, I get a call from an employee identifying one of these hooligans as none other than Shane Stosch. What a tremendous disappointment."

"Mr. Stockburn, I'm really sorry about all of this." Shane replied. "My friend here wasn't feeling well and things got out of hand."

"Things got out of hand? Screaming and barreling through attractions like madmen? Picking fights and torturing park employees? —Oh yes, we know that was all your doing as well."

"Mr. Stockburn, I—."

"You may not be employed by this park any longer, but you still hold a good reputation amongst the staff here. So consider this my one and only favor to you. Get out of my park and never come back. Thank you." Mr. Stockburn spun a half circle, looking over at his security team.

"Escort these young men off the premises and under no circumstances will you allow them back in."

Each security guard grabbed hold of the three of them, pushing them away from Mr. Stockburn, who now had his back turned to the group, gazing into his reflection in his glossy, leather shoes.

"But sir, my friend's sister and her boyfriend. They're still here somewhere in the park!" Shane cried.

"I'm certain they can meet you outside." Mr. Stockburn replied, still facing the other direction. "Have a wonderful night, boys."

"No!" Joel called in a slurring stupor, clumsily trying to escape from the security guard's grasp. "I'm not leaving without my fucking sister!"

"Joel! Shut the fuck up!" Mitt whispered angrily. "You realize how much shit we just got out of, right?"

"I was assaulted! I was assaulted in your park! I'm going to call my fucking lawyer!" Joel roared.

Mr. Stockburn turned, looking puzzled.

"What is he talking about?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, it's nothing sir. He's just in a bad place right now mentally from the pot we think. He'll say anything at this point." Shane replied. "Right, Mitt?"

"Um, yeah." Mitt said nervously.

"Fuck you!" Joel cried, glaring at Shane. He turned his intoxicated gaze to Mitt, who looked like a small, lost puppy. "And fuck you too! Traitors! They have my sister and they're going to kill her!"

"Joel, you really need to calm down." Mitt replied, his voice growing hoarse with grief. "Your sister is fine, we'll give her a call when we get out of here and we'll sober up for a bit in the car, then drive home. O-okay?"

Joel's head dropped and he began to weep. The more he tried to focus, the more frustrated he became. He brain was like a thick sludge, each neuron trapped and unable to fire off into any sort of coherency.

"Everything is going to be okay, Joel." Shane called. "Everything is fine."

Everything is Fine

The trio passed through the turnstile to exit the park, security locking the gate behind them as they left.

"Have a great night, gentlemen." one called before turning and walking away, chuckling to himself quietly.

Joel could finally feel himself sobering up, the haze surrounding his brain slowly dissipating. As his thoughts intensified, so did his anger.

Slam.

In a rage, he shoved his friends up against the fence, digging his massive forearms into their chests.

"What the fuck is going on?" he growled. "Are you plotting some shit against me or something? Is this all a big joke?"

"J-Joel!" Mitt squealed. "You have to calm down! You sound crazy!"

"Fuck calm! What was in that joint? Pot has never done that kind of shit to me! What is going on?"

Shane attempted to assuage him, saying "Joel, we're all on the same side here, buddy. You nee—."

"Did I fucking address you?" Joel roared, digging his forearm deeper into Shane. He turned back to Mitt. "What was in the fucking joint?"

"I-I d-don't know, Joel! I got it from a frat brother up in the city. He told me to save it for a special occasion! L-Listen you were getting real emotional when we were smoking. You were taking some heavy hits and a lot of them! Did you forget that you practically smoked the entire thing yourself?"

"I've smoked twice that in a sitting before! I've never seen shit that crazy!"

Mitt started to giggle nervously, his eyes shifting left and right as struggled to cough up an explanation.

"I-it could be possible that just _maaaaaaybe_ it was laced with something a tiny bit stronger. He was getting into some crazy psychedelic shit the semester before..."

"MAYBE?" Joel screamed. "You don't even fucking know?"

"Listen, we understand you're upset." Shane interjected. "But think about what you are saying right now. We're your goddamn childhood friends, Joel. You need to get a grip."

"I need to get a grip?" Joel growled, ramping up the pressure on their chests. "Me?"

"Asshole." Mitt groaned through grit teeth, struggling to breathe with so much stress on his rib cage. "Call. Your. Fucking. Sister."

Joel released his grip on his friends, thoughts of Nora's safety quelling his rage. He reached into his pocket to grab his phone and his stomach seized as he failed to feel its familiar bulge.

"My phone is gone." Joel shuddered. He felt the opposite pocket, which appeared to be stripped clean as well. "My wallet and keys—." He dug his fists deeply into each pocket, feeling a cold, metallic item at one's deepest crevice. Grabbing hold, he pulled it out and gazed upon it, causing a surge of vomit to expel itself from his mouth.

"Holy shit!" Mitt cried. "What the fuck is it?"

"No..." Joel whispered. He looked up at his friends, his eyes sunken and red with horror, his face a ghostly white. "It's...my sister's locket."

"Oh fuck." Shane cried, his eyes widening as he appeared to have an epiphany. "Oh fuck, oh fuck."

"What?" Joel whimpered, wiping vomit from his lip. "What is it?"

Shane looked down at Joel as he ran his fingers through his outgrown buzz cut, his face white with dread.

"Earlier before, you were saying something about being assaulted back there in the gauntlet?"

"Did I? Yeah, I did, didn't I?"

"We thought you were bullshitting or hallucinating. What happened?"

"I honestly can't remember. I remember being like, on the floor, and like, feeling somebody was there with me. Something else must have happened but I don't know what, and now this fucking locket shows up in my pocket. I was in there for a while wasn't I?"

"You were. You barreled your way through the gauntlet screaming bloody murder and everybody started losing their shit. They escorted everyone out through the attraction entrance and they sent us in to get you."

"What are you trying to trying to say, Shane?"

Shane took a step back, looking uneasy, which only further fueled Joel's immense anxiety.

"I-I really shouldn't scare you. It was just a stupid rumor."

"Tell me!"

Joel looked up at his friends, both of them shifting uneasily. "One of you give me your phone." he stammered. Shane offered his, which Joel immediately snatched, typing his sister's phone number as fast as his frozen fingers could possibly move. He pressed the phone against his ear, plugging the other. His eyes began to well with tears.

"Straight to voicemail." Joel anguished.

"Does Brett have a phone?" Mitt asked, coming over to give Joel's shoulder a consoling squeeze.

"No. His mom thinks cell phones are an affront to Jesus or something like that."

"There's something I think I should tell you, Joel." Shane spoke. He sat down, crossed legged on the ground, nervously cracking his knuckles one by one. "There used to be a rumor that went around the Five Banners staff, and seeing that locket, it made me think that maybe it was more than just a little rumor made to scare kids and new hires."

Joel's eyes enveloped his face, his mouth trembling as each word out of Shane's mouth sunk his stomach further and further downward.

"A couple years before I started working here, apparently a young girl around your sister's age went missing a few hours after visiting the park. It was a huge deal in the local media. The park was searched head to toe by police multiple times and a massive lawsuit was placed against Five Banners. From what I hear, they settled something out of court and all of the publicity died down. No legal action came against the park, so I think most people just assumed it was all a scam or something. Five Banners beefed up security, adding a bunch more cameras and a check-in, check-out finger scanning system. After that, rumors started going around about what happened to the girl, some saying that the kidnapper was one of the actors in costume around the park who snatched her down a dark alley. Years later, every now and again you'd hear talk of another girl going missing, but it was hard to tell what was real and what was just gossip and hyped up rumors. Apparently a few more cases were actually brought against Five Banners, but they were always able to prove each of the missing girls always checked in and out of the park before closing in their system. Turned out the story became so popular, a bunch of kids who'd run away from home would first make a stop at Five Banners so their parents would think they went missing in the park."

"So you think—you think this guy is real?" Joel trembled.

"I don't know, man. Like I said, it was the kind of shit we'd tell to new kids starting here to mess with them. All we really have to go on is you high out of your mind shouting that you were assaulted. And you don't exactly meet the target demographic."

"Wait." Mitt yelped in a timely interruption. "What about that guy with the shovel?"

"Eugh." Shane scoffed. "Now that you mention it, that guy did seem kinda out of place. His costume was ridiculous and he seriously smelled like raw sewage. Like he just got done rolling through a garbage pail."

"Garbage." Joel mouthed. Garbage.

Two distant sections of his brain began to link. Suddenly, a hazy memory flooded over him, his heart beginning to palpitate as he made the connection.

"Jesus Christ." Joel whispered. "He's the one."

"What?" Shane asked. "How do you know?"

"He was in the Gauntlet with us. He took my phone. He took my keys. He took Nora and Brett." Suddenly, Joel stopped dead in his tracks and his face flushed white. "My keys—he's going to escape with my fucking car!" Joel began sprinting rapidly, running through the massive, sweeping parking lot. Shane and Mitt hopped to their feet, trailing close behind.

Joel could feel his lungs contracting painfully as a stabbing pain sunk deeply into his ribs. His mind was racing as he tried to recall in which lot they parked in. Was it six? he thought. Nine? He could feel his knees giving way, but the rage and hurt boiling inside him kept them powering onward.

"Joel!" he heard Mitt call from behind, in between exhausted exhales. "We're all good! I GPS pinned our parking spot on my watch after we got out!"

Joel came to a hasty stop and turned to his friends, hunching over and panting heavily as his diaphragm began to violently spasm.

"Look." Mitt called, also out of breath, pointing towards his watch. "Maybe ask next time before taking off like a madman."

"Thank you." Joel said, looking at his friend's wrist.

"Five hundred dollars well spent, huh?" Mitt asked, smiling. He turned to Shane for reaction, who merely shook his head disapprovingly. "What, too soon? Yeah, too soon, huh? I'll stop talking now."

"Enough." Joel snapped, taking off once more in a sprint. "Let's move!"

\---

There the car remained as they had left it, a layer of icy frost fogging the windows. Joel placed his hand up against one, clearing it and peering inside.

"Light." he growled. Shane turned on his phone's flashlight, enveloping the car's interior with a blinding glow. Joel's eyes combed through the messy interior. "Everything seems to be how we left it."

He slumped down with his back to the car, his fingers buried deep into his scalp. "What the fuck am I going to do?" he cried. "I made a promise to myself and I couldn't keep it. Nora is out there right now and I am totally helpless to save her."

"We're going to find her, Joel." Shane said, looking down at Joel and trying to muster a smile.

"How?" Joel cried, his voice cracking. "We go back there and they call the cops. I don't think you guys three years deep into college are looking to get brought up on drug and battery charges."

"Maybe that's a good thing." Mitt suggested. "Fuck school, man. This is your sister's life on the line. This is getting too crazy for us; we need the cops on this."

"If the cops haven't found any of the previous victims, what makes you think they'll find this one?" Shane asked. "No, calling the cops is a surefire way to scare the shit out of this guy and make him go into hiding. If he gets scared, then we can check off any possibility of finding Joel's sister. I've got a plan."

Joel's eyes lightened.

"You do?" he asked.

"Apple Watch boy, what time is it?" Shane asked, his arms crossed resolutely.

Mitt, perplexed, glanced down at his watch and spoke.

"11:47, why? And I seriously hope that isn't my new official title."

"I've got five hundred reasons why it should be." Joel replied.

He chuckled quietly before remembering the gravity of the situation, whereupon the smile quickly melted from his face.

"Anyway," Shane continued, "there's an old secret entrance into the park they used to have just for employees. It was a means to allow them to quickly get in and out of the park without going through the congested nightmare that always was the front entrance. After the fingerprint system was added and the state was breathing down Five Banner's neck over logging everyone coming and going, they nixed the way in, boarding it up with some wood and nails. It was closed up years before I started here, but I definitely know where it is."

"Shane, that's amazing." Joel spoke.

"Park's about to close in like ten minutes. I say we head over to that back entrance, wait for the staff to clear out, and we get your sister and her boyfriend back." Shane reached his hand out to Joel, who was still seated up against the car. Joel smiled as he grasped his friend's hand, allowing himself to be hoisted before saying:

"Sounds like a fucking plan."

"You guys can't be serious." Mitt interjected, looking at his friends in disbelief. "This isn't fucking Rambo, we're not in some Hollywood blockbuster where the heroes go up against some very clearly dangerous and most likely psychotic man and walk out unscathed."

"Alright." Shane said, a smug smile across his face. "You can stay here."

"You know what, maybe I will. Because it seems like I'm the only person here who hasn't completely lost his goddamn mind."

"I think there's a pretty obvious reason he only preys on young girls. And Joel sure went ahead and proved that earlier tonight."

"Oh yeah." Joel spoke, rubbing his hands maliciously. "I can't wait to get my hands on that shovel again. I think I just might bring it down a few inches lower this time."

"Consider this Mitt, when you're sitting at home and flip on the news, when you see us—courageous heroes being bestowed the Medal of Freedom by none other than the president himself, all for exposing and killing the disgusting monster responsible for the disappearances of all these young women—I want you to look real closely. When the President puts that shiny medal around my neck, I'm going to be looking right into the camera, Mitt. I'm going to be looking directly at you. And as I stare into that camera, I'm going to tell the world that a third friend was with us, but unfortunately he lacked the courage needed to save a young girl's life that night. But it's alright. I'm sure your Dad can send over his valet to pick you up. You can recline into that comfortable leather seat, keep your little brown ass warm with its built-in heating. Yeah, that'd be real nice right now, with this twenty-eight degree weather and all. And as you look out into the highway, you can think about how differently you could have turned out if only you weren't raised like such a coddled fucking pussy."

Mitt stood there, wide-eyed, his brain struggling to form a response.

"Let's get a move on, Joel." Shane said disgustedly. The pair turned, moving on their way before Mitt shouted behind them.

"Wait!" he yelled.

They both turned, Shane suppressing a grin.

"Yes?" Shane asked.

"I'll come...pricks."

"Thank you, Mitt." Joel said, patting his friend on the back as he reluctantly approached. "That really means a lot to me."

"Don't mention it." Mitt grumbled, his eyes narrowing with annoyance. They strolled through the emptying parking lot, admiring the chilled silence. "But I swear, if we don't get a medal from the President for doing this, you assholes aren't going to hear the end of it."

\---

The park's grand, encircling fence ended upon contact with the towering, metal station platform of an adjacent roller coaster. Its steel track swirled and looped deep into the park's woodsy bowels, climaxing with a steep drop that loomed over its vast expanse. At the platform's base was a small metal door, its red paint faded and corroded through many years of exposure to the elements. A busted keypad hinged from its lock.

"As you can tell," Shane spoke, twiddling the mangled keypad, "the lock on this thing is completely busted. Dickhead kids. So somebody decided to board the other side up instead of actually fixing it and it just kinda stayed that way."

"Well that definitely sounds like an intelligent and reasonable fix." Joel scoffed.

"We're talking about a park managed by people who have to sneak into R-rated films, Joel. I'm sure staring at the brunette with the huge tits in the tank top took total priority over properly reporting a broken lock. Board that shit up and you just saved yourself a report to fill out to your supervisor."

"And so where exactly in your master plan did you plot out how we're supposed to get through a boarded up door?" Mitt asked, rolling his eyes.

"We keep kicking it. Really fucking hard." Shane said enthusiastically, slamming his fist into his palm to punctuate his sentence.

"Be honest, Shane. You didn't really think this far, did you?" Mitt groaned.

"Nope. But it is sure as hell worth a shot." Shane's foot charged towards the door, rattling it violently as his sneaker carved a thick dent into its center. He fell onto his back, collecting his breath with a prideful smile upon seeing the mark he left.

"Impressive." Joel responded, before winding up a shattering kick of his own. Unsatisfied with the damage, he took several steps backward, giving himself a running start as he hurled his shoulder into door, causing the frame to cave in slightly. He turned his head towards Mitt.

"Wanna give it a shot?" he asked.

"I'm not scuffing my Louis Vuitton's, Joel." Mitt replied with a scoff.

"Whoa, this was the guy willing to throw away his academic career like ten minutes ago to save your sister. Now his overpriced shoe seems to suddenly hold more weight than her life." Shane barked. He pressed his back up besides the metal door, glaring at Mitt as he pretended to suppress a smug smile.

"Fuck you. These were a gift from my uncle. And this is just a really stupid idea. It's not ruining my shoes that I am against. It is ruining my shoes to break the fucking law trespassing after being inches away from getting arrested, just so we can wander aimlessly around this park to hunt a person we probably, maybe think exists."

"You're scared, aren't you?" Shane asked, his smile breaking free as he crossed his arms. "I mean shit, if those corny ass gauntlets had you terrified, I can only imagine what the real thing would be like for you."

"I'm not scared."

"Admit it, Patel. Like I said, you're one huge, coddled pussy. You spent your whole life getting handed everything to you by your father. You didn't care about getting kicked out of college because it never really mattered to you in the first place. We both know your dad is setting you up at his company the minute you get that diploma. You'd make any excuse to avoid taking initiative in your life because you know deep down you've never really had to."

Mitt became irate. The clenching of his teeth was matched by his tightness of his gloved fists, his eyes beaming violently towards Shane. Joel stared on in the sidelines, completely entrenched.

"You have no idea what you are talking about you fucking moron!" Mitt retorted bitterly. "Just because I wasn't raised a goddamn, beer-swigging redneck like you doesn't mean I'm a fucking coward!"

"Oh yeah?" Shane said, tapping the door several times lightly. "Prove it then."

Mitt exploded forward, charging his way towards the door as he roared with a thunderous fury. He lunged his designer shoe into it, causing the door to finally cave open as he recoiled onto his back in screeching pain. He grabbed hold of his foot, rocking his body side to side as he grit his teeth in agony.

"I think—I think I broke my fucking toe." Mitt grunted. "Jesus Christ."

"Well we know for sure you broke one thing. That damn door." Shane smiled, reaching out his hand. "Can you stand?"

Mitt glared back with contempt, hesitantly reaching out his hand.

"I think so." he grumbled, taking hold of Shane as he carefully limped his way up. "This better have been worth it. I swear."

"It's dark as shit in here." Joel spoke, his head poked inside the open doorway. "Looks like both of you boys are on flashlight duty."

The brightness of their phone lights flooded the dark cavern. They looked up to the steel beams cutting across above their heads, a musty, murky smell filling Joel's nostrils and a sense of dread filling his stomach.

"Do you guys think they're okay?" he asked, his voice reverberating through the hollow room.

"They could be out wandering that parking lot right now looking for our dumb asses for all we know." Shane said. Joel could discern an unease in his friend's expression from the faint glow reflecting off his pale skin.

"There's no way. That locket was planted in my pocket. He's taunting me."

"Are you totally sure you didn't pick it up yourself, Joel? You didn't even seem to remember the whole incident happening until I brought it up to you. Who knows what you did in that moment of hysteria."

Joel stopped in his tracks, turning to Shane with an uneasy stare.

"Shane, are you calling me crazy?" he asked in a serious tone.

"Joel—no. I'm just trying to explore every angle here, buddy. Don't worry, we're gonna find her. Right Mitt?"

Mitt had been limping from the back, the cone of his light jostling with each shaky step.

"Yeah Joel. We've got your back on this. Hopefully my toe which is now probably fractured in three places can be a testament to that." he said. Joel suddenly stumbled as his foot collided with something that felt half-full. It tipped over, spilling its contents with a screechy, metallic hum. Mitt's light quickly darted to the disturbance. A trail of nails spilled forth from a sideways bucket. "Couldn't even clean up after themselves, huh?" he said, before turning to scan the room further.

"Look." Shane whispered excitedly. He locked his light on a small tunnel which traveled deeper into the ground. "That must be the way in."

Claustrophobia ensnared Joel as the tunnel's walls enclosed around him, becoming seemingly narrower with each step downward he would take. Maybe the drugs were still messing with his head, he thought. He closed his eyes and allowed his body to take over, sandwiched in between his two friends, his hand extended forward on Shane's broad shoulder. Behind him, Mitt followed suit, balancing his weight on Joel as he hobbled down each concrete step.

"The path is splitting." Shane mumbled. "Which way should I go?"

"Left." Joel randomly decided, before feeling his left shoulder press up against the wall.

"Is that it?" he heard Mitt mutter from behind. He opened his eyes and saw that the tunnel had come to a dead end. A dusty wall lay at the end of its path, barren and gray.

"Someone has been here recently." Shane whispered. Joel peered over his friend's shoulder, squinting towards the small segment of wall the light was focused on. A smudged hand print could be discerned, naked of the thick dust which caked the rest of its exterior. Shane pressed his hand up against the print, pushing forward with a grunt until the wall began to creak open. A thin, fluorescent beam filled the crack, basking the tunnel in its glow as the wall fully hinged open.

"Something smells like shit." Joel exclaimed, pinching his nose.

"Let's just say you're not far off." Shane spoke, stepping out of the tunnel and away from Joel's view. A row of toilet stalls greeted Joel from across the room. Poking his head out, he observed the line of sinks to his left. He stepped out, peeking behind the segment of wall which opened up, a full body mirror on its opposite side.

"This is like some Disneyworld type shit." Joel laughed as he hinged the mirror back and forth, completely bemused. Mitt hobbled out from the other side, rushing into one of the stalls. The sound of a liquid forcefully hitting the toilet water echoed from the stall, a relieved sigh punctuating its lengthy duration.

"You don't even know how long I've been holding that in." he called from inside.

Shane shook his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he spoke:

"Let's just hurry up in there, oka—."

"AAAAH!" Mitt screamed, his back slamming up against the stall door.

"WHAT?" Joel and Shane yelled in unison. Joel's heart started pumping rapidly, his body trembling as Mitt continued to speak.

"Blood!" he roared shrilly. "T-there's a box in here guys! I opened it up and s-something in it is caked in blood!"

"MITT!" Joel screamed, banging on the door with a furious balled fist. "Get the fuck out of there!"

"O-oh fuck, guys! D-do you think—oh. Oooh, right. It's a used tampon...we're in the women's bathroom right now, aren't we?" Joel and Shane caught each other's gaze, their mortified expressions dissolving into exasperated annoyance.

"Just get out here and wash your hands, you fucking idiot." Shane barked. He turned his head towards Joel. "Guess we should've went right."

The stall door swung open, a sheepish grin across Mitt's face. The grin was quickly removed by a forceful backhand delivered by Shane, causing his glasses to fling off his face.

"The fuck was that for?" Mitt cried, grabbing his glasses from the grimy floor.

"For scaring the shit out of us, you moron." Shane growled. "Don't pull something like that again."

"Shit man, I've never been in a fucking ladies' room before! And Christ, I'm still freaked out about all this shit! We shouldn't even be here!" Mitt limped over to the sink, washing his hands before bending closer to the mirror and assessing the damage to his right cheek.

A wave of pity flooded over Joel as he observed his friend.

"Hey Shane, maybe we should let Mitt sit this out. His gait isn't looking too good." he observed.

"No!" Mitt yelled, turning his body towards Joel, his eyes wide and bloodshot as he leaned on the sink for support. "Listen, Shane was right. I was scared—am scared. But you're my best friend, Joel. If something happened in this park tonight and I never saw you guys again, I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself knowing that maybe I could've done something."

"I really appreciate that Mitt, but no offense, I don't know if you'd be much help with your foot like that."

"What, this?" Mitt pushed himself from the counter, standing up straight. He began to walk normally, visibly suppressing the pain in his expression. "See?" He grit his teeth into a smile.

"Mitt—."

"Joel, I've got this. I'm fine." As Mitt hobbled over, Joel slung his arms around his friends' shoulders, smiling warmly.

"Thank you guys. For all of this. I don't know how to repay you."

"Tell you what, we can hit up the liquor store on Halloween and you can show us your appreciation there, then we'll head back to my place and get wasted watching crappy horror movies all night. A few nice pumpkin beers for us and maybe a chardonnay or something for this loser." Shane said, beckoning with his head towards Mitt as he nudged Joel lightly.

"Sounds like a plan." Joel smiled, looking at himself and his friends in the sink mirror. He could see the exhaustion in their sunken eyes, and felt it heavily in his skull. He could almost taste the spicy sting of that pumpkin beer on his tongue, his mouth dry and lips cracking. He closed his eyes momentarily to imagine that perfect Halloween before reality dragged him back into his present nightmare. "Let's get going." he mumbled.

\---

Aside from the regular gusts of wind, the park's noisy clamor had been replaced by an unnerving silence. The neon advertisements which provided the park with its guiding glow were now extinguished, absorbed by the night's oppressive darkness. The animatronics sat dead in their place, their vacuous, bulging eyes reflecting the dim moonlight. What goes on in this place when all the lights turn off? Joel wondered. To him, the park's small town façade tipped towards unsettling in such an abandoned-looking state. Trash and discarded food remained strewn across the park's square, pepperings of crushed white popcorn contrasting from the dark gray concrete. If the rapture happened, he thought, this is probably what it would look like.

"Looks a lot different, huh?" Joel spoke, feeling the urge to break the silence. "It's weird to think that this is the same place we were just in about an hour ago."

Shane was sticking his phone in the face of an animatronic zombie, the harshness of his camera flash highlighting the rubberiness of its pale skin.

"Same cheap props they were using when I worked here. Figures." He mumbled to himself, turning away and continuing onward.

As they approached the circus attraction, a stiff lump formed in Joel's throat. He locked eyes with the giant clown head once more. It taunted him with its unflinching grin. Its terrible paint job. Its clumsy, uneven plasterwork.

Inside, the gauntlet's eerie purple hue was replaced by a quiet, brooding darkness. Mitt and Shane's lights filled the barren hallway, revealing empty cages creaking gently from their chains. Joel approached one, running his fingers across the cool metal bars as memories of his earlier visit were unearthed from the depths of his hazy skull. Something about grocery stores? Knives? _Batman_?

The sprawling black curtain up ahead caught his eye, a velvety divider between the known and unknown. An uneasiness brewed in Joel's gut as every bone in his body fought his bated struggle forward. He looked back at his friends, grabbing a thick ball of the fabric in his hand as he prepared himself mentally.

"Are you guys ready?" Joel asked. He had attempted to sound cool and collected, but the cadence of his voice devolved into fear and uncertainty. They nodded uneasily, signaling Joel to tear the curtain open, exposing the room's contents to their eyes.

Two walls of black curtain flanked each side of the twisting, maze-like hallway, laid bare of any other detail. Shane pressed deep into one of them with his hand.

"The room is bigger than this." he said. "Look for an opening in the curtain."

"Right here." Mitt whispered, pointing towards a segment where one ended and another began. He looked at the divide uneasily before turning to his friends. "Uh, you guys first."

"I'll go." Joel volunteered. Shane, who was just beginning to motion his body towards the divide, took a step back in surprise.

"You sure, man?" he asked sympathetically.

"I have nothing to be afraid of."

"You don't sound very convinced of that yourself." Mitt whimpered. His face sagged with anxiety.

"This is my responsibility." He wedged himself through the curtain's divide, motioning for his friends to shine their phones inside. Joel stepped out into an open space with his arms out stretched and walked forward until his hands met the room's true wall. His friends followed suit, emerging from the silky curtains like infants from the womb, frightened and confused. They darted their lights around the long, narrow stretch, taking in their surroundings.

"This looks like the outer layer of the gauntlet, where the actors can move to each segment without being seen and scare park goers from." Shane spoke. He strolled backwards past the curtain segment, where the curtain wall was replaced by a thick sheet of plywood separating the side-passage from the inner layer of the attraction. After placing his phone into his pocket, he walked up onto a step stool, grabbing hold of two metal handles attached to a segment of the plywood wall. "Remember this?" He yanked down, causing the segment of the wall to drop, revealing the interior of the attraction.

"Heh, I remember you screaming like a bitch." Mitt quipped nervously.

"Very funny." Shane deadpanned, pulling the wall back up into position. He dug into his pocket, retrieving his phone and looking down at it with terror-bulged eyes. "Oh shit—it's dead."

"Those flashlight apps destroy your battery." Joel sighed, anxiously running his fingers through his hair.

"Most of them also sell your private information to ad companies, but I suppose that isn't as pressing right now." Mitt quipped again.

"Mitt." Shane barked. "Are you going to shut the fuck up? Is this really the time to dethrone Joel as the king of shitty wisecracks?"

"I'm sorry." he squealed. "Humor is my method of stopping myself from crawling into a fetal position and crying until I pass out."

"Yeah well, how about you instead concentrate on lighting the way, because you're the only one left with a working phone."

"Guys, we need to focus." Joel stammered. "Are we even sure he brought them out from this way? How would he get past the other workers without being seen?"

"It doesn't look like there's any artificial lighting in here." Shane noted. "It's most likely that this spot is just as pitch black when the park is up and running as it is when they shut everything down." As he spoke, Shane's eye caught the glimmer of Mitt's phone light reflecting off the latch of a padlock door. "Over there!" he whispered excitedly. The lock itself was nowhere to be found, and the latch was hinged open. The door opened to a wooden staircase, traveling deeper into the bowels of the attraction. A musty smell greeted them at the stairs' base, emanating from behind a rotted wooden door. It was splintered and cracking, dry rot chipping away much of the frame. Joel's hand wrapped around the cold metal of the knob, the rough, graininess of its rusted exterior tickling his calloused palm. Hobbling into position, Mitt aimed his guiding light over Joel's shoulder, ready to illuminate whatever lay ahead. Joel inhaled a healthy gust of oxygen before turning the knob and swinging the door agape.

A sundry of old Halloween props was messily strewn across the cramped room. It sported an aged, grimy look, like a room abandoned by time—an artifact from the park's past. Shelves lined the walls, stuffed with rusted chains, rubber masks, and torn black robes. Half of a primitive animatronic lay across a wooden desk, its inner machinery exposed at its dismembered midsection. As the trio began to peruse the room, Joel could not help but notice the intensity with which the mustiness had grown.

"Do you guys smell that?" he asked, sniffling rapidly.

"It kind of smells like wet dog or something." Shane replied, examining the stench himself. Spotting a wall switch, he flicked it on, bathing the room in light.

"What do you think this place even is?" Joel asked.

"Looks like an old prop room or something." Shane replied. "This place has been around for decades; I would be surprised if there weren't quite a few abandoned parts of the park, especially considering the whole, y'know, 'board it and forget about it' mentality the fifteen year olds who manage this place have."

Joel's gaze connected with the shattered face of a grandfather clock pressed against the room's southern wall. From his dim, distant perspective it appeared a genuine relic, but as he approached from across the creaking wooden floor, the cheapness of its construction became increasingly apparent. Running his fingers along the peeling, pressed wood, he wondered to what amusement this hideous thing was the centerpiece to ten or possibly twenty years ago. He pictured a nineties version of Mitt, Shane and himself, going through a gauntlet way back then. He wondered if nineties Joel would've found the props even cornier back then than the modern ones now, or would it all just be a matter of perspective, like how those eighties and nineties horror films filled with latex monster suits and strawberry syrup blood used to genuinely terrify people back in the day. Maybe nineties Joel wouldn't have been so cynical. Everything seemed to be less cynical back then. He stepped to the grandfather clock's side to examine the skulls glued across its base when the hollowness of his footstep caught his attention.

He tapped his foot again, more forcefully, to a louder hollow echo.

"Joel, what's up?" Mitt asked, perplexed by his friend's stomping. Joel did not speak. He dropped to his knees, feeling around the floorboards to the clock's right. With a stiff tug, a rough square of wood was uprooted from the rest of the floor, revealing a narrow chasm which extended downward into darkness. A makeshift ladder was hammered into the rocky wall below the floorboard, appearing to be composed of old rope and sturdy, discarded park props. Joel stared down into the pit, his stomach churning uncontrollably.

"Guys." he spoke softly, turning his gaze over to his confused friends. "I think I just found the monster's lair." Mitt and Shane gathered around the crude hole, gazing into the underground chasm. Shane's collected countenance faded into a nervous frown as he took in the sight below.

"Hey, uh, one of you guys go first." he mumbled.

Joel's eyes lit up in surprise.

"Really Shane? That doesn't sound like you."

Shane eyed Joel uncomfortably, shifting his weight as he cleared his throat to speak.

"Yeah well I mean—I just have a weird thing about heights."

"Well, well, well." Mitt grinned, hobbling into Shane's face. "Mr. Cool and Collected here has suddenly dropped the act."

"N-no, it's not that, I just—."

"What was that you called me earlier? A coddled pussy? Yeah I think that was it."

"It's an irrational fear, asshole. And this bootleg ladder shit going on certainly isn't helping."

"Ha!" Mitt laughed. "So this is where the whole tough guy act stems from, huh? All these years of you shitting on me when you're too much of a pussy to climb down a damn ladder."

He positioned himself over the hole, looking up to his friends proudly. "Well I'm not going to be the last one in anymore. No more 'you guys first'. I'm spearheading this shit, and we're getting your sister back, Joel." Mitt began to descend downward as his sentence climaxed, his friends looking on nervously.

"U-uh, Mitt, are you sure—?" Joel began to speak worriedly.

"Joel, this is my moment right now. Don't ruin this for m—AHHHH!" Mitt roared a horrified screech as his entire bodyweight shifted onto his broken toe. His sweaty palms slipped from the ladder and his body was swallowed into the pit's darkness.

"MITT!" Joel screamed in horror. He hobbled down the rickety ladder, his heart pumping into his throat.

Joel and the Whale

A quiet wheezing punctured the darkness. Joel finally reached the ladder's base and carefully stepped around his friend, the scent of garbage filling his nostrils. Kneeling down, he grabbed hold of Mitt's peacoat, feeling around for his head before stroking his injured companion's thick mane of hair.

"Mitt." Joel whispered, horrified. "Mitt are you awake? Can you hear me?" A pained, wheezing gasp was the only noise Mitt could muster in return. His breathing became more erratic and panicked as his body started to convulse. "Mitt—Mitt, it's going to be okay. I'm here. You just got the wind knocked out of you is all. Deep, slow breaths." Joel could hear Shane slowly descending from up behind him, swearing to himself profusely with each shaky step down he would take.

"Alright, Mitt. I have to move you out of the way." As Joel's arms began to cradle around his body, Mitt's cries began to grow in intensity, erupting into a pained scream as Joel hoisted him into the air and placed him several feet away. "Sorry, sorry!" Joel wiped away the sweat collecting on Mitt's trembling forehead, using his coat's sleeve like a handkerchief. He could hear his friend's breathing slowly return to normal and sighed in relief.

"Joel." Mitt spoke in a raspy cry. "I-I can't feel...leg." Shane finally reached the bottom, walking over to the sound of his friends.

"I brought the sturdiest looking thing I could find. I-Is the guy down here?" Shane asked, panting heavily.

"Seeing as we haven't been murdered yet, I'm assuming no." Joel replied dryly.

"How is Mitt holding up? This place smells so fucking bad."

"Not good. That was a mean drop. He can't feel one of his legs. If only we could fucking see."

"I-I need..." Mitt began to gasp. "I need..."

"What is it, Mitt? What do you need?" Joel replied anxiously.

"D-doctor..."

"Hang in there for me, buddy. We're going to call the police and get you out of here, okay?"

"Ah!" Shane yelped from behind.

"What?" Joel stuttered into the darkness. "What happened?" He could hear his heart pumping away in his chest, sending a chill down his spine.

"Didn't mean to spook you. I tripped on something. Feels like a wire or, yeah—yeah this is a wire."

"Try and get some light in here or something. We need to get Mitt out of here."

"Yeah, I got to the male end of the plug. All I need to find is the female piece. I'm gonna keep feeling around."

As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, a hazy image of Mitt began to form below Joel. He kept Mitt's head off of the rocky floor, cradled in his arm as he attempted to soothe him.

"I'm really proud of you, Mitt." Joel whispered, gently rubbing his friend's neck. "You could have stayed out there in that parking lot and got a safe ride home, but you chose to come with us instead. You're the best friend I ever could have asked for." Mitt did not respond. He stared back into the dark void from which Joel's voice boomed from, sucking air through his teeth.

Without notice, light flooded the rocky cavern, several hand lamps hooked onto the ceiling buzzing to life. Mitt's pale face came clearly into view, his eyes glazed over and his face expressionless.

"Oh Jesus." Shane cried from behind Joel, dropping the now connected wire from his grasp. "Oh God, Joel. Oh fucking God."

"Shane?" Joel called, beginning to crane his head. "What is i—?"

A sickness boiled deep inside of Joel. His ears went momentarily deaf, a harsh discordant ringing rippling through every square inch of his brain. Despite his eyes absorbing the reflections of light and sending the signal to his ocular nerves, his brain refused to process the image, devolving into that same catatonic mush he experienced while high. After what felt like a lifetime condensed into a second, Joel regained his senses. He rose up from Mitt and staggered his way over to his sister's body.

Her naked corpse was hung upside down, a thick metal hook wedged between her Achilles tendons, keeping her suspended in the air. Thin streams of crimson oozed from her feet, coating her body in streaks of red, dripping down onto a crumpled nest of blood drenched towels below her. Nora's arms and breasts were severed, their wounds poorly stitched shut, and her missing appendages piled onto a metal cart to her right. Joel approached his sister's hanging body, his vision growing blurry as he stumbled his way over. He felt Shane grab hold of him, keeping him balanced and upward.

"Whoa, whoa." Shane spoke, locking an arm under Joel's pit. "I'm...so sorry, Joel."

"W-what...going...on?" Mitt wheezed from the cavern's entrance. He attempted to raise his head several times, to no avail, before erupting in a violent coughing fit.

Joel kneeled in front of his sister, brushing her face lightly as the initial shock subsided. Nora let out a low moan as tears welled in his eyes.

"She's...still alive." he muttered to himself. "She's still alive!" he repeated with a horrified scream, jumping to his feet.

Snap.

The makeshift ladder came tumbling down to the floor of the cavern, followed by the grinding squeak of the floorboard segment being snapped back into place over the hole.

"Oh God, no!" Shane screamed. A large, heavy object scraped across the wood above as it was set in place over the cavern's hidden entrance.

"The grandfather clock!" Joel roared in terror. "He's fucking trapping us in!" Joel's head began to pound as terror set in. He darted his eyes across the room in a blind panic before setting in on Mitt's collapsed body.

"Mitt!" he screamed. "Your phone!" He dashed over and began frantically rummaging through Mitt's coat.

"R-right...coat...pocket." Mitt wheezed, his eyes half open.

Joel stuck his hand in and felt his phone, grabbing tight and yanking it out of the peacoat.

"No..." he cried. "No, no, no, no."

The phone was destroyed in the fall, its screen shattered completely and the circuitry exposed and dangling. Joel screamed furiously, hurling the broken electronic across the room into a wall, where it shattered into several fragments. He balled up on the ground, yanking the hair from his head as he screamed his throat raw.

"Joel!" Shane cried, grabbing hold of his friend's arms and pinning them to his chest. "You have to calm down!"

"He can't fucking get away with this, Shane!" Joel cried, stomping his feet furiously. "I'm not going to fucking die in here!"

"Listen to me!" Shane yelled sharply. "Your sister is still alive over there! We need to get her off of that fucking hook!" Joel ceased screaming, continuing to breathe heavily as he stared into his friend's eyes.

"Y-you're right." he droned, allowing Shane to pull him to his feet. They approached Nora, each grabbing hold of her sides and cupping her shoulders as they carefully hoisted her legs off of the bloodied hook. As her heels slipped out of the rusted metal, her body started to convulse violently, her throat bubbling with a low, gurgly cry. They placed her down onto the bed of towels, Joel pulling one from underneath and blanketing her body with it, gently kissing her forehead.

"I love you so much." Joel whimpered, his face turning red as tears slid down his cheeks. She stared back at him blankly, a guttural moan creaking from her bloody mouth. Joel wrapped his massive arms around her fragile, limp body, swaying back and forth as he bawled hysterically. Shane gave Joel's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, scratching his back as he attempted to suppress tears of his own.

"H-how are we going to get her out of here?" Joel sobbed. He ran his fingers through her stringy, wet hair, devoid of its usual frizzy volume.

"Joel..." Shane trailed off, gazing back at Mitt's writhing body and the collapsed ladder behind him. "I don't think there is a getting out of here. Especially not for Nora."

Joel's bright red face cranked towards Shane, his eyes bloodshot and bulging.

"What?" he croaked deliriously.

"Come on, Joel. Look how much pain she is in."

Joel's watery eyes attempted to focus in on Nora's face, her eyelids twitching and her mouth spasming uncontrollably.

"Even if she could miraculously live through this..." Shane continued, pausing to reflect on his thought. "...what kind of life would she have?"

"What are you trying to say, Shane?" Joel growled, his protective anger returning to him.

"I'm saying that Nora has just been through something that she will never recover from. Even if the police come busting through that hole tomorrow morning, get her the best treatment known to medicine, and she makes a full recovery—she's formed scars down here that she'll never forget. Every day that she looks in a mirror will be a reminder of tonight. Every time she tries to put on a shirt. Every time she gets a crush on a boy again. Tonight will poison every day of her life."

"Shut the fuck up." Joel barked through his tears. He hoisted Nora over his shoulder, taking her away from Shane to a corner where he sat cradling her towel-wrapped body in his arms. "Just...leave us alone right now. Go make sure Mitt is doing okay."

"Take as long as you need." Shane spoke sympathetically, rushing over to Mitt to assess his condition.

"Nora." Joel whispered. He stroked the moist locks of hair out of her pale face, caressing her scalp. "I don't know if you can even hear a single word that I am speaking to you. But I want you to know that every single thing I have ever done was to protect you. I know I've been wrong. I know I've been mean. I know I've been controlling. But it was all so I could keep you safe. You know that's all I've ever wanted." Tears began hitting Nora's bloody, semi-conscious face as Joel spoke. "I love you so much. I am so sorry I couldn't stop this. I'm so sorry I failed you again. I know you can forgive me. I need you to. We're going to get you out of here as soon as we can, and I swear, I'll make up for it all. I'm a changed man."

Nora's lips began to quiver, the various intricacies of her mouth attempting to come together to form a coherent noise. Her mouth opened and shut over and over, a noise failing to produce.

"W-what, Nora?" Joel stuttered anxiously, his heart racing as he realized she was attempting to communicate. "I knew you could hear me! Oh thank God, we can survive this, sis. Just stay with me."

"No." she finally communicated, giving up her struggle to speak anything else and shutting her pale blue eyes.

"No?" Joel repeated. He began shaking her hysterically, raining tears onto her face. "W-what do you mean no? No to what? Nora!"

For a brief moment, Joel feared she had passed, but felt relief wash over him as he witnessed the motions of her mutilated chest as it continued to rise and fall. "You can't give up on me, Nora...I need you in this with me."

"Joel." Shane called from the end of the cave. He was sat next to Mitt's sprawled body, feeling across his broken leg. "I know this isn't easy...but you know what we have to do."

Joel looked down at his sister one more time, a lump in his throat impeding his ability to swallow. His irrationality began to fade as he gazed more deeply into the severity of her wounds and tortured movements. He wished so badly to see the light in her eyes one last time, but it quickly became apparent that she had slipped out of consciousness. He looked up at Shane, his breathing stabilizing.

"I...can't do it." Joel whimpered dejectedly.

Shane swallowed hard, gazing around the cave as he bit his lower lip, venting out an exhausted sigh.

"You don't have to." he called back, reluctantly climbing to his feet and dusting himself off. "Just look after Mitt."

Joel rose up from Nora's bloodied body and gazed over at Shane, nodding silently. The two crossed paths as Joel shut his eyes, walking over to Mitt to check on him. He glanced back one final time to catch a glimpse of Shane tightly balling up a towel, before turning back ahead and bending down over Mitt. He held onto his friend tightly, squeezing his eyes shut as he listened to his sister's muffled groans die off into silence.

\---

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Joel no longer really had any concept of time at this point. Every frame of reference had been removed. Everything had been moving so quickly that even his most recent memories began to coalesce into a nebulous blur. Getting out of that car into the biting October air, reminiscing with his best friends, teasing his little sister's boyfriend; it felt like it all could have happened days ago. Brett. What happened to Brett? Joel shot a sideways glance over to his sister's body, wrapped head to toe in towel and resting at the farthest corner of this strange, rocky cavern. He then glanced over at Shane who sat with his back pressed against the opposite wall, his eyes staring blankly, kicking pebbles at his feet. He looked broken from what he had done. Shane talked a lot about how tonight would permanently fuck Nora, Joel thought. But shit, he continued, observing Shane's thousand-yard stare, we're all gonna be fucked after this. His gaze turned towards Mitt, who was now lying at the center of the room, a pillow under his head and a cheap space heater radiating onto him.

They had patched up his leg sometime prior. He was right about it being broken, that's for sure. As they tore open his dark khakis, Joel recoiled at the sight of Mitt's snapped fibula poking out from his limp, discolored leg.

"What?" Mitt wheezed anxiously as he heard Joel yelp.

"It's...nothing serious." Joel returned, plastering on a fake smile. "Right Shane?"

"Right." Shane replied unconvincingly.

"We're going to get this leg wrapped up and you will just have to hang tight for the night. Our parents have to be freaking out at this point and at the worst, cops will be all over here by morning."

The monster appeared to have been living here for quite some time. They produced gauze from his personal medical stash, a grimy pillow from his nest, and a small, plastic space heater, likely won at one of the various arcade ticket stands across the park. Garbage was strewn across the floor: discarded prizes, random bits of scrap and junk, and half-eaten food were all most prominent among the filth. Trash was his treasure. And luckily for him, massive, sweaty crowds of middle-to-lower class Americans provided plenty of it.

Newspaper clippings adorned a small segment of the cavern's wall, each representing one of the beast's trophies in a bizarre, shrine-like formation. 'Girl, fourteen, goes missing at Five Banners' annual Scream Season event' a headline from 2009 reads. It was the earliest one Joel could spot, probably the one Shane was talking about. It was matched by several others of unnervingly similar description. Girl, fifteen. Girl, sixteen. Girl, fourteen. Joel's eyes glazed over as he stared at each clipping. All he could imagine was another article fading into existence below the others. 'Girl, fifteen, three men, twenty, found dead underneath Five Banners'. A chill traveled up Joel's spine and he shifted in place, looking up to the hand lamps dangling above. He dug into his pocket, retrieving his sister's locket and twirling it between his fingers. Joel pried it open, a small, folded note falling out and into his lap. A healthy Brett and Nora beamed at him from both sides of the locket's interior, the blue cloudy background suggesting these were year book photos. Joel looked at Brett's picture and smiled internally. His bushy, brown fro was as chaotic as ever, his face just as red and bloated with acne as he could remember. And who wears a Power Rangers t-shirt to a year book photo? I'm gonna miss that kid, Joel thought. He reached down for the note, unfolding it and reading its contents to himself:

Dear Nora,

You probably dont know who I am. I sit at the back of your 6 period geography class. Alot of people dont notice me but that's ok. Do you remember when Mr. Maltz called on a kid to answer where turkey was on a map and he pointed to where we live and said he just had turkey last night for diner? Every one in class made fun of him exept for you. He was actually me. You came to me after class and asked about my dinner and told me not to worry about the bullies. I could not understand why the most pretty girl in school was talking to me. Girls dont do that. But you did and I dont know why but it made me feel very good. I have been saving up my allowance every week since to buy you this locket you found this letter in. Will you go to the ball with me in June? You stuck up for me like no one in the whole world has and that made me so happy. Please let me know before lunch tomorrow because I really like you.

Your admirer,

Brett Phillips

Joel folded the letter back into place and clasped the locket around it, sliding it back into his pocket. His face lit into a smile, tears sliding down his cheeks. He began to sob quietly, burying his face into his elbow.

\---

Date: October 21?

If you are reading this, I am most likely already dead. My name is Joel Flannigan, and during what I believe to have been four days ago, my sister Nora and her boyfriend Brett Phillips were abducted, mutilated, and murdered by a serial killer who lives here underneath the park. And if you happen to be reading this next to my decaying corpse, then you are currently standing in the nest of where this depraved psychopath has stalked teenage girls from for the past few years. (And if you happen to be said psychopath, then kill yourself, you fucking degenerate.) My friends, Mitt Patel and Shane Stosch stumbled upon this cave with me before we were trapped inside by the beast himself. When I say that I believe it to have been four days ago, it is because without any external indicators, my sense of time and place has been completely warped, so I genuinely do not know for sure. Mitt's smartwatch lasted us for a good two days before dying. That's modern technology I guess.

So much has been running through my brain, it's been so agonizing keeping my thoughts contained. You'd think being trapped with other people would be a good thing, that having companions would help pass the time to keep you sane. But all it has done is make the silence that persists each day all the more agonizing. Finding this stash of cheap pens and old card stock to jot down my thoughts onto has really helped in keeping me together mentally. It's funny, my old therapist used to make me keep a journal to write in once every morning, detailing the best and worst parts of the day before. I remember being surprised by how taken aback he was by my entries. He told me I was a natural writer, that I just had a certain eloquence to the way I got my thoughts down onto paper. I guess I bought it. It made sense why my English grades were always so much higher than my Math or Science were, despite giving zero fucks about any of the three. I guess he's the reason I'm an English major, come to think of it, and why I've always found jotting my thoughts down to be strangely therapeutic.

Y'know, I don't think my friends and I would have very much that we'd find useful to talk about anyway, because the same things are on each of our minds. I know Shane hasn't said a single word in what seems like days. He sits by himself scratching shapes into the wall most of the time. It started after Mitt's watch died. Shane said he was going to keep an internal count of the time that has passed in his head, marking each hour with a small notch in the wall. He was pretty consistent for a few hours, but eventually each notch seemed to grow more and more distant in time. Eventually his notches turned into little twirls, which continued to morph into more elaborate shapes. Now he just stares at the wall, lying on his side, running his fingers over the thin marks he has left on the cave's rocky exterior before occasionally adding a few scratches more.

He hasn't acted like the same person since he put my sister down a few days ago. Shane has never been the most extroverted guy in the world, but in the three quarters of my life that I have known him, never have I seen him so completely shut down. Mitt is in a more immediately understandable situation. After shattering his leg falling down here, he's had serious trouble with his breathing. With Shane in his isolated bubble, I inadvertently assumed the role of Mitt's caretaker, changing out his bandages and bringing him water. Outside of his pained breathing and violent coughing, Mitt doesn't have the energy to say much. Maybe I feel partially responsible for dragging him into this, but every time I wipe the sweat from his forehead and look into his eyes, my stomach sinks with guilt. His eyes twitch and dart around with the frightened uncertainty of a small child. I want to keep telling him everything is okay, but after half a week with no sign of help, my assurances are getting harder and harder to justify.

Date: October 24?

In a matter of a week, it appears that we have already exhausted our supply of food. I don't know if I could really define what we were eating as such, and it certainly took my stomach a day or two to actually acknowledge that it was edible and keep it down. It seems like the beast regularly scavenged discarded food from the park's garbage cans, and long term supplies don't seem to be much of a priority during this time of the year when he can freely roam the surface. If I somehow survive this, I don't think I could ever stomach eating nachos again after picking tortilla chips out of grey wads of chewed gum. For a day or so, eating wasn't even on the mind, least of all the thought of putting this shit in our mouths. I think though, as the reality of the situation set in, as we began to understand that help was indeed not coming, half-eaten cheeseburgers and hotdogs began to seem a lot more appetizing than moldy half-eaten cheeseburgers and hotdogs, and so we reluctantly started to eat the scraps the beast had gathered.

Writing this now, I can still feel the back of my throat seizing as I try to suppress a surge of vomit, the revolting smells, tastes, and textures still running through my mind. Our water situation was a bit less bleak. Old, yellowed water bottles of varying shapes and sizes were refilled and stacked into a plastic grocery bag inside the beast's personal trunk. I reckoned that if we drank only the smallest mouthfuls each day, we'd have enough water to last us at least a month. So far that seems to be holding up, and we're only just now reaching the halfway point on our first bottle.

Nora has been progressively smelling worse and worse with each passing day. Even at the furthest corner of the cave, her rot has permeated through its entirety, with the clock smothering the floorboards above and leaving little ventilation. The stench has made it increasingly difficult to sleep, and the past two "nights" I lay restless, cocooned in a blanket and tossing and turning on the hard floor. What I call night is more of a lights-out period. If I begin to feel drowsy, I call over to Shane "Sleep?", and if he returns with an affirmative nod, one of us pulls the plug on the lights, killing the blinding hand lamps hooked to the ceiling. I did not sleep at all the first night, despite how exhausted I was. The thought of losing consciousness in this place chilled me to my very core. In the middle of the night, the quiet hums and whirs of the park's underbelly began to morph into the screams of the girls tortured and mutilated only several feet away from me. All I could think about was Nora, about how fucking stupid I was for ignoring all of the red flags of her disappearance. And I know, the thing that absolutely kills me deep down is that if I had never been the overprotective douchebag I was in the first place, maybe the idea of her and her boyfriend slipping off into the night wouldn't have sounded so goddamn convincing.

Things got a little bit better over the next few lights-out periods. I actually did manage to start falling asleep as more immediate issues like food and water wrestled control of my thoughts away from Nora. But now, as that disgusting stench fills my nostrils, my mind settles once again on the events that ended her short life. With nothing else on the brain in absolute darkness, it can be difficult to resist the urge to scream at the top of my lungs. But with the respect for my sleeping friends nearby, I suppress the rage to the best of my ability.

The beast somehow managed to get an old mattress down here, but nobody has yet attempted to sleep on it. It is caked in grime and stains, and it wouldn't surprise me if it were host to a number of interesting creatures. That's not to say that the blankets we've been sleeping with have been much better. I know my own personal blanket has the distinct smell of rotting garbage, much like most other things in this place, and has a questionable, crusty texture in certain spots that I try not to think too hard about. Maybe it's just the idea of sleeping in a serial killer's bed that unnerves all of us. I don't know.

Date: October 27?

A morbid curiosity overtook me today. For the first time since I said goodbye, I visited the spot where Nora died. I don't know what compelled me to, honestly. The meat hook was still there hanging from the ceiling, stained in her blood. Shane had draped a towel over the cart where her severed body parts had been placed, and something drew me towards it. I don't think I could've brought myself to look at Nora's decaying body, but maybe this cart could shed some light on whatever it was the beast was doing. Pulling up the towel, one of the worst stenches I've ever encountered wafted into my nose. Her arms were turning a deep black, the skin shriveling into a raisin-like texture. The first thing which caught my eye was that the tips of each finger had been sliced cleanly off. That's when it hit me: this is how he's been making it look like every victim had checked out of the park through the finger print scanner. In fact, we had probably stumbled upon his lair right as he set out to make sure Nora had left the park before close. Then, something else caught my attention. Small chunks of flesh appeared to have been bitten out of each breast. The cart started to rattle as my hands trembled violently. I wanted to puke and explode in violence all at once. I destroyed the shaky cart, bashing it into the wall until it snapped into several chunks.

Sometimes, I start to wonder why I keep going. Why I scarf down slimy burgers and sip stale water from crusty old plastic bottles just to drag out my already slow, miserable death. I think I've ultimately come to the realization that it isn't the cops that I want to find me. I want it to be him. I want him to scurry his fat fucking ass down here, thinking the three of us are long dead. And as he approaches my corpse, I want to jam one of the blades he used to dissect my sister into his kneecap and watch him collapse onto the ground. Then, as I slowly pry the bone from his leg, one tendon at a time, I want him to beg for me to stop. I want to see the hope fade from his eyes when he realizes I won't.

Date: October 29?

I changed Mitt's bandage today. His leg is turning an uncomfortably stark shade of purple. I tell him to lie flat on his back when I re-wrap it because I don't want him to see. When he asks me how it looks, I tell him it's alright. I have no idea if he believes my bullshit, but he seems just enough out of it for it to be possible. He's been really spacey the last couple of days, but his coughing has gotten better. He's been begging for more and more water though, and it's caused a lot of tension between me and Shane. The asshole screamed at me for giving Mitt a second sip of water, and told me if I do it again, he's keeping the bottles by his side at all times. It took everything in me not to sock him in the fucking mouth. I know deep down he thinks Mitt is a lost cause, but I'm not giving up hope just yet.

Date: October 30? 31? I think?

Today is Halloween. I think. Maybe. I don't really remember what a day is. I just go through cycles of blinding light and complete darkness, no in-betweens. I read an article or something once that talked about the effects of sun and darkness on a person's sleep and health. Something about how throwing that external stimuli out of whack can really fuck you up mentally. Sometimes I'll feel myself drifting in and out of consciousness, and my bursts of anger have been becoming increasingly violent. After the earlier fight with Shane, I grabbed a leg of that cart I smashed and kept it clutched by my side. The next light cycle, I had to ask him like twenty times to toss me the water bottle after he had finished with it, and while I poured water into Mitt's mouth, he sat there and stared at me with a stupid fucking glare. I screamed that he'd better stop staring at me or I'd bash his fucking head in with the metal rod. He grabbed hold of a long, wooden pole he had taken from the prop room and swung it in front of him, goading me into attacking. I genuinely think one of us would have killed the other right then and there, but Mitt started to cry, begging us to stop. Dealing with these anger issues almost my entire life, I am distinctly familiar with the guilt that hits after the rage subsides. Thinking of what I would have done to Shane made my stomach churn.

Whenever I find my thoughts are too much to take, I keep going back to a fantasy I had in the bathroom just hours before I lost my freedom. The three of us hanging at Shane's place, tipping back beers and watching bad horror movies. The thought of freely drinking an entire ice-cold beverage in one sitting sounded so alien and tantalizing. Most people seem to go back to a happy memory during times of immense stress and anxiety, yet I continue to dream of a fantasy that as of today, will officially never occur. I don't know what that says about me, but I'm getting pretty good at imaging the whole scene. Shane's just lounged back in that cheap, upholstered recliner he garbage picked a year or two ago, a beer in his hand and a big, dumb grin across his scruffy face. Mitt is sat properly to his right, wincing with each swig of beer, scrutinizing the tacky metal band posters plastered across Shane's milky bedroom walls, and fidgeting with his bottle more than actually drinking from it. I'm quietly entrenched in the film, snugly melting into Shane's massive bean bag, two beers deep and feeling a nice warmth tingling over me. The only light would be coming from Shane's old LCD panel, a relic of the late 2000's, beaming some shitty film about strippers that happen to be zombies or something at us in cutting edge 720p. Every fifteen minutes the doorbell would be rung by more trick-or-treaters, and Shane would get the brilliant idea of everyone having to take a five second chug each time the bell would sound, to Mitt's look of despair. We'd drink and laugh until passing out in our spots, waking up the next day without a single recollection of the film. It gets better every time I go over it in my head. I'd give anything to go to that world right now. There's always next year, I suppose. I just hope there is a next year.

Date: November??

It's getting harder to write. Or even think. I'm so hungry. I don't know how many days it has been since I've last seen food, but it feels like a lifetime has passed. I tried writing the past three days but could not find the concentration to focus on the topic for longer than a few sentences. I just get really angry and tear the paper in half. Writing is how I've escaped from this place, and I can feel only dread as I become deprived of this comfort as well.

I've begun to fear the lights-out periods. The darkness is beginning to fuck with my soupy mind. Every slight creak or whisper is magnified to the highest degree in the total darkness. I continue to feel more and more that Shane is going to kill me. I'm going to wake up in the blackness with a towel shoved in my mouth and two fingers pinching my nose shut. I know I won't have the strength to fight back. He'll at least have gravity on his side. I see how protective he has become over the water. He guards it like a treasure, that wooden pole cradled tightly in his arms. It's only a matter of time now before Mitt just "conveniently" dies in his sleep. And maybe I'll start asking too many questions.

Date: November???

I haven't slept in three lights-out cycles. Shane asked me a few cycles ago what it was I was even writing all this time. I told him it was none of his business. He demanded to see it and I told him he'd have to pry the papers from my cold, dead fingers. He went quiet after that, but I know that quietness. That's a brooding quietness. One of careful planning. I keep this journal of papers stuffed underneath my back each lights-out. I just sit there, staring up into blackness with this hunk of metal across my chest. Every noise tortures my macabre thoughts. Every small crack that breaks the silence a telltale sign of my swift demise. I'm waiting for him to kill me any day now. I just hope I can get in a few swings.

Date: ???

I felt someone approach me this lights-out cycle. I could feel their presence hovering over me, the whisper of air entering and exiting their lungs. I closed my eyes and waited for the embrace of death, but it did not come. Instead, Shane's voice quietly murmured something into my ear.

"I need to talk to you about something. Walk over to the entrance." I felt him leave me and I stifled an emotional gasp of air. My heart was pounding rapidly. I rose from my crusty blanket, slowly tiptoeing my way through the cave until I reached Shane at its entrance. "We need to talk about Mitt." he whispered to me.

"There's nothing to talk about." I told him angrily. I felt like swinging at him in the darkness. I was so confused and frustrated and tired. All of this build-up, all of these nights lying awake, awaiting his assault, just to be brought back to more Mitt squabbles.

"Mitt is going to die down here, Joel." he replied. "There's no question about that."

"When did you become a fucking doctor?"

"I don't think it takes a doctor to know what it means when somebody's leg is a deeper shade of purple than a fucking eggplant."

"What are you suggesting, Shane?" I asked, a terrified anger swirling inside me. In some sense, I don't think I wanted that question answered. I closed my eyes and winced as I braced for the reply.

"It's our responsibility as his friends to end his suffering. I know you hear him every night. He mumbles and groans to himself aimlessly. He doesn't respond when you speak to him. We've already lost him mentally, Joel. He's gone." I don't know what he's talking about. Mitt is fine.

"What is your motive here?" I bark suspiciously.

"What was my motive when I put your sister down, you stupid fuck?"

I lunged for his throat, tackling him to the floor. A rush of energy was unlocked from within my tired muscles, I don't know where from. I could feel a cold rush trembling through my nerves, channeling my hatred through my arms into the vice I had around his neck. For a moment I wished I could see his reddening face, his bulging eyes, but all I was granted were the shallow gasps for air which escaped from his compressed throat.

A fist connected with my jaw in the darkness, sending me onto my back and causing me to black out momentarily. As I awoke, a clammy hand was clasped across my mouth.

"Are you insane?" Shane whispered. "What the fuck was that about?" His hand slipped from my mouth.

"You're just so eager to volunteer putting everyone here out of their misery, huh? So fucking noble." I bark back. He did not respond. The sound of his footsteps trailed away, dying off momentarily before light flooded the chamber. He stood across from me with the wire in his hands, glaring down at me. It had been some time since I had seen Shane this up close. His face was gaunt, his thin, reddish beard now wild and outgrown. Those blue, piercing eyes of his were sunken in, surrounded by thick circles of grey which stifled their luster. The wire dropped from his hands as he crept over to Mitt's body, taking a knee over him.

"Stay away from him." I scream.

"Come here, Joel." Shane commanded. I hesitantly approached.

Mitt's eyes were open but glazed over. His mouth was agape, a gargling noise coming from deep inside his throat. Shane grabbed hold of his wounded leg, ripping a bigger tear in Mitt's shredded pant-leg to reveal his naked thigh. The infection had spread, his foot a deep black up to mid-shin, tapering off into a light purple at the height of the thigh. Shane snapped his fingers three times in front of Mitt's expressionless face, calling his name several times and asking him to respond. Mitt did not react. Shane turned his head towards me, staring at me with an exhausted gaze. My throat seizes as the rational side of my brain began to clash violently with the emotional one. We can't lose another. But I know, deep down, he's already lost. I remember when he stopped speaking entirely. I thought it was just a temporary thing, that he was tired or something. He was in the worst shape of any of us, he just can't expend the energy, I figured. Yeah. He was going to get better...

I told Shane that I wanted to be the one to do it. I just needed some time. I crawled back into my blanket and the lights went out, leaving me to my thoughts once again. I write this now in a desperate attempt to stall the inevitable, having enjoyed not a second of sleep. The lights are back, and Mitt's body remains where it originally lay, his limbs sprawled like a washed-up starfish. I've run out of the things to write, so I guess it is time to face reality.

Date: TIME IS IRRELEVANT

I've read and watched a lot about killing another human being. How the true test of a person's psychopathy is how they react to the first time they take a life. What they never really seem to talk about are the distinct subtleties which make the process so haunting in the first place. I killed Mitt. I don't know, saying that out loud to myself, it doesn't spark a feeling of remorse inside of me. Or anything really. Maybe I just haven't come to terms with it yet. I think what I did was good...hopefully. I don't know what that says about me, but it wasn't the idea of what I did that haunts me, it was the experience of it. It's funny how little separates a living being from a freshly created corpse. They share all of the same physical characteristics, the warmth, the healthy skin, a neutral, unpained expression. But it is the slight subtleties your brain picks up on that truly unnerve you and let you know something isn't quite right. The slow movements of their chest come to a halt. Their throat erupts in a final death rattle. The light leaves their eyes. Seeing that light leave Mitt's eyes is an image that will remain with me for the rest of my existence, which I can only pray will not be for much longer. I hope he's in a better place right now. I hope when he stopped speaking, he really just drifted off into a permanent dream, far away from this nightmare. Even though his eyes were open, I really hope he couldn't see me.

JOURNAL ENTRY #10

That fucking piece of shit. That awful cock sucker. Shane had dragged Mitt over to his side, saying he would take care of the body. The next lights-out period, I was kept alert by a strange, mushy sound. It kept coming and going through the night, stemming from Shane's side of the room.

"What are you doing?" I finally called out, annoyed.

"Nothing." He muttered back. "Go to sleep."

You know, I actually believed him. The hunger was getting to me so bad, I was hallucinating regularly. Combine that with the trauma of taking my best friend's life and I wouldn't be surprised if I was just completely unhinged at this point. So I laid my head back down and closed my eyes, and the sounds were gone. But only a short while later they returned. A suspicion started stirring in my gut. I grabbed hold of my weapon, silently raising myself from my blanket and tip toeing over to the unplugged wire. I lit the chamber, my skin constricting and my stomach nearly giving as the source of the noise came to light.

Shane's beard was crusted with blood, his eyes bulging and mad. He pulled his arm over his face to conceal it from the light's blinding pain, revealing one of the beast's knives grasped in his hand. Mitt's bloodied corpse was below him, strips of flesh sliced from his midsection. I began to roar, raising my metal pole above my head as I approached Shane. He backed himself into a corner, holding the knife shakily in front of his face, resembling a terrified, cornered animal.

"Joel!" he screamed in terror. "I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"This is why you had me kill Mitt, you fucking psychopath?" I screamed, suppressing the blinding urge to vomit.

"No, Joel please. I was taking him over to Nora...and...I...I was so hungry. I couldn't help myself." He held up a chunk of Mitt's flesh in a bloody fist, his arm shaking uncontrollably. "Y-you want some?" he asked.

I thought about swinging that long hunk of metal across his skull right then and there, spraying his brains across the wall. I guess I just didn't want to kill both of my best friends in the same day.

"Drop the knife." I ordered. He obeyed, tossing it out in front of my feet. He looked up at me anxiously, terrified at what I might do next. I sidestepped around him, keeping my eyes firmly locked on him before grabbing hold of the bag of water bottles and slinging it over my shoulder.

"This belongs to me now." I commanded, keeping the metal pole primed above my shoulder. He did not respond. He remained where he sat, looking feral and terrified, his hair grown into a messy bush, his skin a pale grey, and his beard and clothes stained in fresh blood. I sat back down in my seat, placing the water beside me before opening a bottle and taking a healthy swig, downing half of it in two massive gulps. An immense ecstasy filled my body, but I resisted the inner hunger to drink more, placing it back in the bag.

"The lights stay on at all times now." I declared. "Now place Mitt with Nora, and if I see you ever go near him again, I will end your life."

Shane stumbled upward, attempting to hoist Mitt's corpse before collapsing to his knees in exhaustion. My eyes caught his as I looked down at him, and a pang of guilt ushered me over to give him a hand. We wrapped Mitt's body head to toe in his blanket, placing him next to Nora before returning to our spots. Shane fell onto his side, turning his body away from me and curling into his blanket. I sat with my back against the wall, the metal rod across my lap. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to cry. But I sat there. I sat there and watched Shane rub his fingers across the shapes he carved into the wall.

JOURNAL ENTRY #11

For the first time in what has felt like forever, I actually dozed off in my spot. My back pressed up against the wall, the light beaming down on me, and the possible threat of my best friend carving me up and eating me all apparently finally did the trick. The human mind is a weird thing.

This rest was brief though, as I was awoken by the sound of Shane vomiting into his shit bucket. Hasn't been a lot of shitting going on recently, so I'm glad he could get some use out of it. I tossed a bottle of water over to him and he drank it in its entirety. I think at this point we've both come to the conclusion that the long game isn't really working out. Might as well use what we've been given before we go out. I've been musing on my possible suicide once the water runs out. So far, slitting my wrists with that knife has been a top contender with bashing my brains in with the metal rod. Then again though, the latter doesn't really guarantee anything. I could just pass out and wake up a few hours later, several IQ points lower. Maybe I could have Shane bash my brains in and he could take the wrist slit route. Yeah. That sounds good.

JOURNAL ENTRY #12

Was rummaging through the beast's stuff when I stumbled upon a self-help book. Who knew the big, fat cunt had room for self-improvement? Obviously this whole murdering people under an amusement park thing was just a brief speed bump in his road to a healthy, fulfilling life. No idea if he was actually reading this or just using it as toilet paper, given the missing pages and a lot of questionable brown stains on the cover. Let's try not to think about that. Instead, let's focus on the positive lessons I've taken from this book. Did you know if you keep repeating a sentence over and over, you will eventually convince your brain to believe it? It's called self-affirming thoughts. Pretty neat.

JOURNAL ENTRY #13

I will not take my own life.

I will not take my own life.

I will not take my own life.

I will not take my own life.

I will not take my own life.

I will not take my own life.

I will not take my own life.

I will not take my own life.

I will not take my own life.

JOURNAL ENTRY #14

You know when you have a really great dream and then you wake up and suddenly you're all disappointed it's over? Had a dream I died today. Choked on my vomit. It was great. I woke up and here I am again. I'm starting to think that self-affirmation stuff is **BULLSHIT**. I keep writing that goddamn sentence over and **OVER** , but I know it's going to happen. This place is my grave.

I am thankful for every day of my life.

I am thankful for every day of my life.

I am thankful for every day of my life.

I am thankful for every day of my life.

I am thankful for every day of my life.

JOURNAL ENTRY #69

Shane's been shitting his brains out constantly. His shit bucket is full so he's had to use mine. The smell is just so fucking bad. All he does is shit and vomit, like an unending fountain spouting from both sides. He's using up all my goddamn water, constantly begging for more and more. **WHY?** So you can just **WASTE IT**? You're just going to **PROJECTILE FIRE IT OUT OF YOUR ASS ANYWAY**. Fucking loser. Maybe I'll have him start to beg for it **. HOLD YOUR HEAD UNDER YOUR SOUPY DIAREHHA FOR THIRTY SECONDS IF YOU WANT MORE WATER, SHANE. HahaHAHA.**

JOURNAL ENTRY #666

I tried waking up shitbeard earlier. He passed out after I dunked his head for a full minute! Hahahahaha! I kept calling him and calling him until I finally started shaking his body. His eyes were open but his body was stiff. I pressed my finger to his neck. No pulse.

Guess he won't be ordering Indian again anytime soon.

Ha Ha Ha Ha...

Haha...

HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
Epilogue

First came sound. A high, rhythmic beeping, cutting through an otherwise dull silence. It was all at once familiar and alien, tickling Joel's brain as his thoughts chugged into coherence. Smell quickly followed; a dull, inoffensive scent. The kind that permeates through office breakrooms and nursing homes. Joel carefully opened his eyes into a slight squint, conditioned into him from living in a world of only absolute light and dark. But what followed wasn't the fluorescent assault he had come to expect each time he would awake. The lighting of his blurry vision appeared distinctly more natural, a cool gust massaging his corneas as his eyelids fully retracted.

A dull pain found itself burrowing into Joel's temples, prompting him to raise his arms to massage away the disturbance. However, a thin tube snagged at his elbow, turning his concentration to his arm, a needle jutting from his wrist. Joel flinched in surprise, sitting up in his bed and following the tube to the IV pump hanging from a pole to his left.

The white, sterile walls around him phased into focus. A window to his right beamed slits of sunshine through the blinds, cascading across the messy row of chairs sat opposite his bed. Two cups of coffee stood on a table between them, one bearing a distinct smudge of ruby lipstick across the opening of its lid. Joel felt an intimate familiarity with this color, but he could not reason why. The deeper he would attempt to think, the more his brain would ache in exhaustion.

A young lady in blue scrubs scurried by the open doorway, her hair tied into a neat bun. She stopped abruptly, peeking her head into the doorway as she caught notice of Joel's consciousness.

"He's awake!" she called, rushing back in the direction she appeared from. A noisy chatter began to fill the hallway, followed by the clattering of feet on hard tile. A plump man appeared through the doorway, a thick, white beard and a set of horn-rimmed glasses shrouding most of his brown face. A striped button down shirt peaked through his oversized coat, and a stethoscope was draped across the back of his thick, stubby neck.

"Hello," he spoke in a strong foreign accent, reaching out to Joel with a calloused, sausage-like hand. "I am Dr. Raj. It is a pleasure to finally be able to converse with you."

Joel took his hand apprehensively, giving a weak squeeze as they shook.

"Where are my parents? Do they know I am here?" Joel asked.

"Yes, of course. You've been with us for two days now. They went out an hour or two ago for lunch with the detective."

"The detective?"

"Oh, my apologies. You'll have to forgive me, with all of the excitement and talk happening around here, I almost forgot I was speaking to the one person who doesn't know what is going on."

"I'm guessing that means I didn't just wake up from a nightmare...did I?"

"I'm afraid not, Joel."

"So...she's really dead. They're all really dead..."

Joel sunk back into his bed, closing his eyes and inhaling a gust of fresh air through his nostrils. He had forgotten what clean air smelt like, what it was like to fill his lungs to their peak without gagging from the stench of filth and rot.

"I'll just say that your case has attracted a lot of attention." he continued. "Your parents have been cooperating with the police, and I am certain they would prefer going over all of the details of your rescue with you themselves. I know you must have so many questions, but I do not wish to misinform you in any way. My job is to monitor your health, so I would prefer if the topic could be kept on you and how you are feeling."

"I understand." Joel mustered, turning his head to face the window. He peeked through the exposed slits, getting a narrow image of the world he'd been separated from for so long. "Could you please open the blinds more?"

"Certainly." the doctor responded, crossing the room and flooding it with sunshine with the twist of a plastic stick. Joel's mouth curled into a smile. A green hill waved to him from the window's other side, dotted with trees dressed in their crispest autumn colors. For a moment, every painful thought left him, replaced by the tranquility and beauty of this sight.

"If you could sit up for me, I would like to check your vitals now." Dr. Raj spoke, deflating the moment of serenity.

Joel's vision began to blur as he became entrenched in his thoughts. His body followed the doctor's requests autonomously, leaving his mind to piece together what led him into this very room. He had been dreaming for so long that he found it difficult to discern reality from the depths of his imagination.

"Do you feel pain when I apply pressure here?" Dr. Raj asked, pressing two fingers behind Joel's kidneys.

"No." Joel responded in a droning voice.

Mitt, he thought. He killed Mitt. But Shane, what happened to Shane?

"Hold still please." The doctor continued, pressing his icy stethoscope under Joel's gown onto his bare back. "Deep breaths for me, Joel."

Joel did as he was instructed, taking in a healthy gust of air with each movement of the instrument across his naked skin.

I tortured him and watched him die.

His breathing became rapid and erratic, and the beeping of the machine to his left grew in intensity. The doctor pulled away, yanking the stethoscope from his ears.

"Joel—Joel is everything okay?"

Joel dug a hand through his hair, falling onto his back and gluing his eyes to the ceiling fan whirring above.

"I don't know." he responded.

"We'll conclude the examination later. I think it is best you get some rest anyway—."

Dr. Raj was interrupted by the creaky squealing of a dining cart barreling through the doorway. The nurse from before was behind it, shoving a covered tray of dishes over to Joel's side.

"Ahh," he emoted in surprise, "It appears it is time for dinner. Now I'd like to take your re-introduction to food slow and steady, Joel, so I apologize if your serving appears modest. I know it is Thanksgiving and all, but for your safety, we'll have to postpone the feast until next year."

"Thanksgiving?" Joel yelped, propping himself upward. He stared at the doctor in horror. "Today is Thanksgiving?"

"Indeed, sir. We didn't want to leave you feeling entirely left out, so—." he raised the dish cover, revealing a meager Thanksgiving dinner. "Turkey. Gravy. Mashed potatoes. Cranbury sauce." The doctor smiled widely. "Standard apple juice, but I suppose you could pretend it were cider."

The nurse pulled a wheel-bound table over Joel, placing his dinner tray on top. The fumes of cheap cafeteria turkey wafted into his nose and his mouth began to water.

"Slow and steady, Joel." Dr. Raj smiled, giving his shoulder a pat. "We'll leave you to your dinner. Press the green button to your left and Helen here will be in to assist you with anything you need." The nurse began pushing the emptied cart back out of the room, the doctor following suit. He stopped at the door, turning his head and further addressing Joel. "By the way, the remote is on the table to your right if you wanted to watch any television. I'd advise you stay clear of the news channels, however." He paused briefly, inhaling deeply. "Happy Thanksgiving, Joel. Enjoy your meal." He shut the door behind him.

Joel stared blankly at the wooden door. It almost felt to him as if the doctor were daring him to put on the news, but the ferocity of his hunger drew his attention to tray in front of him. Two thin, processed circles of turkey were stacked onto a plastic plate, drenched in a pool of clumpy gravy. A scoop of mashed potatoes slathered in the same gravy was floating in a bowl to the plate's left. Two small, sealed plastic cups flanked the plate's right, one reading 'Apple Juice', the other 'Cranbury Sauce'. Joel tore the sauce open, slathering it over his perfectly circular poultry product. He dumped the potatoes on as well, forming his dinner into a purplish-brown mush, like he used to do back home every Thanksgiving.

Home. He couldn't wait to go back home. The home he thought he'd never see again. He scooped a healthy portion of the sludge with his plastic spork and sucked it clean. His tastebuds tingled from the powdery gravy, the indistinct meat taste, the mealy potatoes, the cloying, high-fructose sweetness of the sauce. It was the best thing he ever tasted. His eyes began to water as he gulped down his first hot meal in over a month.

But something inside him drew him towards the remote to his right. He felt around the table before its rubbery buttons caught against his palm. The TV sprang to life, and a crudely animated children's cartoon blared loudly into existence. Wincing, he lowered the volume, flicking through the channels with one hand as he shoveled mouthfuls of potato-meat paste with the other. An aerial feed of the Five Banners park appeared on the screen and his skin began to crawl.

The caption below read in a thick, bold font 'SECOND DAY OF FULL PARK SHUTDOWN, INVESTIGATION STILL UNDER WAY'. A female voiceover began to speak:

"Yes, we are getting positive confirmation that the body of Nora Flannigan along with two other victims have been discovered on the park grounds despite management's records indicating her departure that late Saturday evening in October."

The footage cut to a dated picture of Nora, taken from the slumber party she hosted the night of her middle school graduation. Dressed in an oversized, long-sleeve pajama shirt, she was bear hugging her best friend from behind, a massive grin across her youthful face. Joel remembered that night, how his sister's friends gave him a full makeover after a few wrong turns in a game of truth-or-dare. Mitt had invited him that night to a concert in the city, but he was naturally obligated to make sure his no-boys policy was enforced in full effect.

"When an exhaustive four-day search by police that began the following evening proved fruitless, attention turned away from the park and they were allowed to re-open. In light of these new developments, online activists are now calling for legal action against park management for what they claim to be a cover-up of potential evidence in the investigation, citing the park's rocky legal history. Joining us now is Jonathan Dempsky, a prominent YouTuber who has come to the forefront of the moment against Five Banners. Thank you for joining us, Jonathan."

"It's a pleasure to be on, Cynthia." A nasally male voice spoke from the television. The screen cut to webcam footage of a man at a computer desk in his home, a black pair of thick rimmed glasses and a bushy, well-groomed beard drawing attention from his receding hairline. He wore a pink t-shirt emblazoned with bold, white text which read: 'NEVER FORGET NORA.'

"Now Jonathan, you've come to prominence as one of Five Banners' earliest critics during this incident. You spoke out against the company even when most of the media's attention focused in on her older brother Joel as the primary suspect. His Honda Civic was found abandoned outside the woods two miles away from his family home with Nora's unconscious boyfriend bound to the passenger seat. Multiple witnesses confirmed he and his friends were kicked out of the park, high on drugs. Did any of this information even give you the slightest doubts of your claims at the time? It seemed like a pretty open and shut case to most people before today."

"Of course not, Cynthia. And with Joel now discovered alive and safe, I hope we can clear up any of the misdirection from the true perpetrators of this disgusting crime: the greedy, fat-cat capitalists who continue to cover up their abuse of women in this country in the name of profit."

"What?" Joel spoke out loud.

"These are some pretty bold claims you and your supporters are making." The news anchor spoke, her peach lips puffing into a skeptical pout. "Your critics have been calling your claims baseless and slanderous. How do you respond to that?"

"Scream Season is Five Banners' most profitable time of the year." The bearded man returned. "They take in more revenue during their fall quarter than they do the entire rest of the year combined. Getting shut down for even three days during this crucial period costs the park millions, and with the park already hitting record low ticket sales, one bad Scream Season could put them out of business for good. I don't believe there is anything unreasonable about the consideration that there is foul play going on here, especially when you look into the park's turbulent history of lawsuits over cases of young girls going missing prior. Joel was their misdirection, and hopefully more people can wake up to that fact."

"Now, the man suspected of perpetrating these crimes has been identified by one of the surviving victims in a video submitted online two days after Nora's disappearance. Can we roll the footage? Five Banners is claiming to have no knowledge of this man, nor any association with him. Are you to suggest these claims are false?"

The beast appeared on the television screen, his pale, leathery mask as distinct in Joel's mind as it was all those weeks ago.

Her voice continued, "What you're seeing now is footage which shows the suspect engaged in a confrontation earlier that night, captured on a bystander's phone."

The brown jacket of the man opposite the beast appeared strikingly familiar, and it was only until the man grabbed hold of the beast's shovel and raised it above his head that Joel realized it was him.

"We are not making any claim that Five Banners pulled the trigger on this themselves." Jonathan explained, "But when a disappearance happens in their park, profit wins out over a little girl's life. Damaged and "malfunctioning" cameras at critical areas of the park. Skips and cuts in retrieved footage. Staff difficulties working with law enforcement. It all doesn't exactly add up, Cynthia. And the millions of people around the globe liking and sharing my videos on the matter certainly agree."

Joel watched himself shove the beast to the floor, and as the creature landed on his back, its gaze seemed to turn to the camera, the video freezing and zooming on a capture of its blank stare. Joel looked down at his plate, the purplish, clumpy mixture in front of him now resembling the bone marrow gushing from Mitt's cracked fibula. His appetite left him.

_Click_ —He flicked off the channel after scrambling for the remote, unable to look at the image any longer. Two panelists, a woman and a man, appeared on the screen, seated at a table across from the host, a homely older gentleman in a grey suit.

"Right, but can we really be so certain that Joel bears no responsibility for any of the deaths?" The older man asked in a refined British accent, a pen in his hand and a leg crossed over his knee.

"Of course not, Jack." The woman responded in a deep Southern drawl. "When we take a look at Joel, when we hear stories of his violent mental health history gathered from the various interviews conducted with close friends and family, we begin to see a pattern emerging. What we find is a very angry young man who lashes out at the world around him, who has deep psychological trauma imbedded into his very character, possibly stemming from his father's history of alcoholism."

"How the fuck—?" Joel mumbled under his breath, watching on.

"It shouldn't be any stretch of the imagination that this traumatic upbringing could potentially manifest itself into violence against those Joel would otherwise consider people he loves and cares for." she continued.

"Shelly, I can't help but agree." the other panelist spoke, the camera shifting to his cross-armed stance. "There's something awfully suspicious abo—."

_Click_.

"—ut Nora's body had extensive signs of sexual abuse! How can you possibly claim the crime was not motiv—."

_Click_.

"Joel and Brett: A secret love affair turned deadly? Find out more tonight on—."

_Click_.

"—Mr. Patel has declined to comment on the discovery of his son's body on the park's premises, his last comments two weeks ago stressing to investors that progress on the readyDrone project would not face delays in the face of this horrific trage—

_Click_.

"Are we still on this tired Joel theory? He was found half-dead at the bottom of that cave, the same as any of the other—."

_Click_.

Joel flicked off the television and tossed the remote back onto the table to his right. He pushed his dining table away, landing his head onto his pillow and shutting his eyes tight.

Jesus Christ, he thought. As he sat underneath the earth, the world debated whether or not he killed his own sister. He so desperately wanted to drift out of consciousness, but this thought continued to haunt his mind. What did his parents think? His co-workers? Some random asshole in Argentina? He wondered how many people wished his death, how many chumps sat around a water cooler every day pondering the method and the motive as he rationed himself moldy food several feet away from her decomposing corpse.

Joel turned onto his side, his stomach bubbling with nausea. This is the world he fought so hard to come back to.

The door opened, interrupting his train of thought. Two familiar faces poked their heads inside—his mom and dad. A plain looking woman stood behind them, dressed in a black blazer and slacks, her hair tied into a ponytail. A chain dangled from her neck, connected to a badge down near her navel.

"I'll give you guys a few moments." she spoke, stepping out of view.

Joel's parents walked inside, the door closing behind them. Their faces told of many nights without sleep. His mother's makeup was excessively caked on in an attempt to counter this, the brightness of her ruby lipstick underscoring her clown-like complexion. Her eyes began to tear, raining trails of mascara down her swollen cheeks. The three of them embraced, his parents sobbing as they crushed him from both sides of his hospital bed. Joel closed his eyes and listened to their whimpering, a numbness welling inside him.

"Our baby girl." his mom wept into the crevice of his armpit, drenching it in tears. "They took our baby girl."

Mr. Flannigan took hold of his son's shoulder, shaking it as he clumsily barked into his face, raining down droplets of saliva.

"That goddamn park is gonna pay for this." he growled sloppily.

Mrs. Flannigan raised her head, wiping tears from her pudgy face.

"Joel..." she called softly, caressing her son's bearded cheek. "What exactly happened down there?"

Joel took a moment before he responded, searching inside himself for the right words.

"I lost my friends. I lost Nora...she died in my arms." he uttered somberly.

His mom let out a small cry, cupping her mouth and nose with her hands as her eyes began to water.

"D-did she say anything to you?" Mrs. Flannigan muttered through stifled breaths.

"She wanted me to tell you she loves you and Dad so much, and she didn't want you to be sad because you guys gave her such a great life. A few minutes later she just...went."

His mother burst into an explosive wail, burying her face into Joel's stomach. Her husband scratched her back through her polka dot dress, slurring into her ear.

"We're gonna hunt down the bastard responsible for this. Him and all those fuckin' lawyers and businessmen are gonna fry!" he yelled.

"Dad." Joel said, catching a whiff of his father's breath. "Have you been drinking?" His father lifted himself from his wife, taken aback. "After all these years."

"I had a few drinks at the restaurant. I'm only human, Joel." his father slurred.

"A few?" his wife called, raising her head off of Joel. "You were drunk before we even got to the place. What an embarrassment watching you make an ass out of yourself in front of all of those reporters. Like they needed any more ammunition."

"Reporters?" Joel asked.

"I was perfectly fine." Mr. Flannigan spoke, rubbing the bridge of his bulbous, red nose. His chubby chin was shrouded by a silvery-grey stubble, the skin of his face a dull yellow.

"Mom, why did you let him drink?"

"I'm sorry, who do you think you're talking about, boy?" his father asked, his anger rising.

"The version of my Dad I spent the first seven years of my life with and was promised I'd never have to see again."

"Like I need to sit here and take shit from the punk kid who got my daughter killed!"

"Sean!" Joel's mother gasped, tugging onto her husband's coat collar. "We talked about this!"

A silence began brewing as Joel's brow narrowed into a disgusted downward arch.

"You thought I did it, didn't you?" Joel muttered in a low, numb voice.

"What are you talking about?" Mr. Flannigan fired back, his face narrowing into a scowl of his own. Their eyes locked like swords.

"Before they found me. You thought I killed her. Your awful fuck-up of a son just finally snapped and took out his resentment on his little sister. I'm sure that's what you told the reporters, right?"

"Honey, you know your father isn't himself when he drinks. He doesn't mean what he is saying right now." Mrs. Flannigan said, attempting to rub her husband's back.

"Don't you speak for me, woman!" Mr. Flannigan growled, shoving her arm away violently. "As much of a deadbeat loser as you may be, I'd never call my own son a murderer! You've got some fucking nerve, boy!"

"Oh yeah, I'm the loser." Joel growled. "Not the drunk piece of shit who can't control his temper. Who takes it out on his son and wife. You gave us your word after the pool incident, but now that Nora's gone you've just hopped right back off the wagon, huh? Is this what she would have wanted?"

"You little—." his father growled, grabbing hold of Joel's grey gown with two fat fists.

"That's right, hit me. Hit me like you used to when I couldn't fight back."

"Get off of him, Sean!" Mrs. Flannigan cried, smacking his shoulder with her mesh pocketbook. Joel scowled into his father's eyes, resentment consuming him as repressed memories began to flood into his mind.

Mr. Flannigan released his grip, turning around and storming out of the room. He slammed the door with a resounding bang, causing a paper-stuffed folder attached to spill its contents onto the tile floor.

Joel's mom looked at her son, guilt creeping into her expression.

"Oh Joel, why did you have to goad him?" she asked meekly.

"Me? Goad him? Are you kidding me?" Joel growled.

"Your father and I have been through hell these couple of weeks. He hasn't been taking it well."

"Oh you went through hell? Then what the fuck do you call what I went through? Real fantastic re-union by the way, I gotta say."

"No, no Joel, I know. I'm just trying to get you to understand. Four news vans sit outside our house every day. I can't even take the dog on a walk without being jumped by a camera crew. All of this has just taken a real toll on us. A week ago, your father found an old bottle of Sambuca while cleaning out the pantry. By the time I found him, he was already halfway in."

Joel flipped onto his side away from his mother, pulling the blanket above his shoulders. He looked back out the window towards the green hill again. A part of him wanted to slide that window open and rip through the wire mesh, to escape into the wilderness and never turn back.

"How did they find me?" he asked.

"Well you have that Brad boy to thank for your rescue."

"Brett, Mom." he said, turning his head towards his mother. "His name is Brett."

"Yes, yes, you know what I mean. He was hysterical when the cops found him tied up in your car. He wasn't responding to questions or giving more than one word replies. He was physically unharmed, just exhausted and delirious, so they sent him home for the night. His parents found him the next day with his wrists slit in the bathtub. They managed to stabilize him at the ER, but he slipped into a coma."

Her head sunk low as tears brimmed from her eyes. "Y'know, I never thought I'd see you or Nora again. They searched that park for a whole week and found nothing. Nothing made sense. They said you and your friends were thrown out the park and have a record of Nora and Brett leaving soon after. After that we started searching the neighborhood. We put up signs around town, sent letters to news stations. When the media got hold of the story everything got crazy. All of a sudden I turn on the news one day and your face is up on the screen, with almost everyone pinning you as the primary suspect. Oh Joel, I never wanted any of this to happen..." She sunk her head onto Joel's chest and erupted into an erratic sob. Joel scratched her scalp with one hand, staring up at the ceiling fan above.

"When Brett finally came to, he told the police where to find Nora. The next day I get a phone call from the cops telling me my son and daughter have been found—but only one of them is alive."

A rapping came at the door, interrupting her sobbing.

"Yes?" Mrs. Flannigan called, raising her head up towards the door. Her makeup had transformed her face into a smeared canvas.

"Mrs. Flannigan, this is Detective Holt." a muffled female voice called from the other side of the door. "I've got some documents I need to run by the precinct, so I'd appreciate if I could have a few words with Joel before I get going."

"Oh...right. Just a moment." Joel's mom stammered over to the bathroom, washing the makeup from her face before returning to her son.

"I love you." she whispered, planting a kiss on his forehead and enclosing in on him with a lengthy hug. "I need to take your father home. He's in no state to be seen in public like this, especially with all of these bastards recording our every movement...I'll be back soon, honey. And after your father sobers up, maybe he'll have some apologizing to do."

"Love you too, Mom." Joel returned, beaming warmly. She made it to the door before he stopped her with a: "Hey." She craned her head around, confused. "If he lays a hand on you—."

"Joel." she returned gently. She smiled over at her son, silence engulfing the space between them. "I know you mean well, but sometimes you just have to let go of the past."

She opened the door, shuffling past the detective as she whispered goodbye to her with a kiss on the cheek. Joel stared at the back of his mom's head until she disappeared from sight, his eyes glazing over as the slender, blurry figure closed the door behind itself.

"Howsit goin', Joel?" Detective Holt enthused, carefully stepping around the paper strewn floor before plonking herself onto the cushy leather chair across from Joel's bed. She crossed one leg over the other as she sunk back in her seat with a relieved sigh, dropping her messenger bag to the ground. "Well this sure beats the crap out of that bench outside, huh?"

"You're the detective that went out for lunch with my parents?" Joel asked.

"Right you are." she replied, twirling a pen between her fingers, its cap worn with chew marks.

"Before you say a word, I apologize in advance."

"Ha." she laughed. "They're certainly very...colorful, but I can tell you've got some decent folks. They were worried to death about you, Joel. I'm not here to talk about them, though." She pulled a manila envelope from her bag, and from inside it retrieved a large plastic bag filled with crumpled card stock of varying colors, the front page cramped with messy pen scrawling. "This look familiar to you?"

Joel's heart began to race as she dangled the bag in front of him.

"Oh God, you didn't show my parents, did you?" he panicked.

"Only my eyes have seen it, but I gotta say Joel, I think you've got a talent. This'd make a great casual beach read if it weren't for the whole...well you know."

"I'm going to jail, aren't I?" Joel swallowed heavily. Out of one prison and into another, he thought. His face grew prickly and white-hot as embarrassment and terror flooded over him.

The detective stuck her pen into the corner of her mouth, gnawing at it under her molars as she hoisted herself up from her seat.

"To be honest with you Joel, if this got into the hands of a prosecutor, there'd probably be the whole headache of a trial—judge and jury—all that stuff, but in all likelihood you'd probably see yourself ending up in intensive therapy rather than behind prison bars." She briskly strode across the room, folding the plastic bag in half and stuffing it into the trash can next to Joel, his eyes engorging in surprise. "So I guess it's too bad the messy, scribbled cardstock recovered from the crime scene got lost in transport to the evidence room. Probably wasn't anything important anyway."

"B-but, why?" he returned in disbelief.

"Let's just say I personally appreciate what you and your friends have done to crack the lid on this investigation. We've been trying to prosecute those scumbags for years, but they've slipped through the cracks every time. They'd do anything it takes to keep police out of their hair during Scream Season, even if that meant attempting to frame you, and letting innocent people lose their lives in the process."

"B-but...I—Shane—."

"Temporary insanity induced by severe psychological trauma. Trust me, if I thought you were still a threat to anybody, I wouldn't be doing this."

She pressed her back up against the wall to Joel's side, twirling her pen between her gnawed fingers as she beamed at Joel wryly. "Besides," she suggested, rolling her eyes, "I'd rather not give that botoxed bitch Cynthia Lautner any more golden material to inflate her ratings with."

Joel did not respond. His mind was drawn back to that dark chasm under the earth. He thought of the odious smells and sounds that robbed him of so much of sleep's forgiving detachment from consciousness. To his horror, those tortured experiences remained concrete within his otherwise pulpy mind. He wished instead to remember his friends' faces, desperately and to no avail. The closest he came was a bushy, crazy eyed Shane, his beard caked in blood and his own fecal matter, and the muffled death rattle that croaked from Mitt's towel stuffed mouth. Joel wondered what Brett looked like now, if he'd still see the same meek, unassuming boy, or if it would be someone else entirely. At least he'd still have the locket to look at.

"The locket." Joel mumbled under his breath. "Did the cops happen to recover a locket from the crime scene?"

"Yes actually, I do remember reviewing a small metal locket. Why do you ask?"

"Brett gave that locket to Nora. When it's no longer relevant evidence I'd like you to please make sure that gets back to him, wherever he is."

"Your sister's boyfriend? He's being taken care of over at Robert Wood. Tough kid." The detective crossed the room to the door, stopping briefly to grab her messenger bag before stringing it across her shoulder and turning. "Would you like to see him?"

Joel struggled to swallow. His eyes darted back to the whirring ceiling fan as he struggled to find his answer.

"Yes." he eventually croaked, closing his eyes.

"Alright, Joel. I'll make a few calls and try to arrange something for you sometime soon. I've got to get going, so I'll let you catch some shut-eye. We'll be in touch, kid."

"Thank you." Joel spoke, his eyes still firmly closed. Hearing the door close shut, he cracked them wide, peering around the dark room. A stark loneliness overtook him, and he rolled onto his side, shutting his eyes once more until he drifted off into an uneasy slumber.

\---

"You with me, Joel?" the police officer asked, snapping Joel from his daze. "We're about five minutes from the hospital; I need you to listen carefully." Joel's eyes had been glued to his door-side window, the highway blurring into an indistinct haze. His brain hungered for nutrients and sleep, but for the past few weeks his body denied him both, perhaps still conditioned by his time under the earth.

"Yeah, I'm good." Joel uttered uneasily, turning his attention to the cop seated next to him.

"Our job is to get you inside the hospital. Do not make eye contact with any reporters or cameras. Ideally, keep your head low and your posture neutral. Remain between me and the other officers at all times."

"It's gonna be that bad?"

"Media got a tip about this arrangement thirty minutes ago. We got guys down at the hospital already fighting off camera crews as we speak."

Joel pressed his head into the stiff seat cushion, inhaling sharply through his nostrils in an attempt to cool his heated nerves. He attempted to picture Brett's face in his mind, to little avail. He wondered how he was going to handle seeing him, if he'd even recognize him. Joel's stomach began to swish and churn as the police cruiser sped closer and closer to its destination. A haunting doubt crept into the back of his anxious mind: Am I really ready for this?

"Alright, let's go." The officer commanded, grabbing Joel's arm while an outside officer opened his door. As it cracked open, the sound of snapping cameras and shouting erupted into Joel's hearing, erratic bursts of flash photography filling the space around the cop pulling him from the car. Joel recalled the other officer's instructions, keeping his head low as the two cops by his side elbowed and shoved their way through the rowdy mob of camera crews. Joel could hear his name shouted endlessly, the questions thrown at him all coalescing into an indistinct wall of sound. Microphones were shoved into his face, smacked away by the officers flanking his sides.

It felt like a dream-like daze to Joel—the surrealness of it all, the bombardment from all directions. He wondered if this is what celebrities felt like all the time, but then again, celebrities also aren't the center of national media circuses accusing them of murder. Well, there was OJ. Yeah, Joel thought, I'm just like OJ Simpson. Except I actually didn't do it. Wait, I guess I technically did do it. Shit, he thought, I guess I really am like OJ.

The hospital door automatically slid open, several policemen blocking off the entrance to allow Joel to slip inside. A circle of cops was clustered by the reception desk, the officers sipping on steaming cups of coffee and chatting with hospital staff.

"Joel!" one of them called, his attention drawn by the circus of commotion gathering at the entrance. Joel approached the group, shaking their hands as he nodded his head and smiled timidly. "It's a pleasure to meet you. You're a brave kid."

"Thank you." Joel replied, giving a weak shake.

"Come on, we'll show you over to his room."

Joel followed the officers down the maze-like hallways, cutting around corners and losing a sense of place as each branch of the building did little to distinguish itself from the last.

"Here we are." An officer called, opening the door to a spacious room, a familiar face seated in a leather chair at its very end.

Joel's throat clenched, his esophagus tingling as anxiety churned his stomach. His face grew clammy and hot, his heart pounding with a revitalized fury. The further he stepped in, the clearer he could make out the details of the boy's ragged state. Taking a seat opposite him, tears began to well as pressure built behind Joel's eyes.

"Hi Joel." Brett droned, sapped of the goofy awkwardness that once characterized his cadence.

"Hi Brett." Joel returned, his mouth quivering. Hearing the door close behind him, a solitary tear gushed from his right eye, dissolving on his jeans. Large bandages encircled the length of Brett's wrists and forearms, his limbs bony and frail. His skin was an even milkier white than Joel could recall, and his head was completely shaved. Brett's eyes were glazed over in a drugged haze, a pool of spit forming at the crack of his mouth. "I'm so sorry..." Joel whispered, taking in Brett's miserable, intoxicated appearance.

"Sorry for w...what?"

"Y'know...just...all of this..."

They stared at each other awkwardly, each trying to avoid the other's direct line of sight. As they caught each other's gaze, Brett's face turned a bright red, a pain growing visibly in his eyes.

"He...he made me watch everything..."

Joel began to cry, his emotions finally coming to a head in a burst of tortured energy. He wrapped his arms around Brett's shoulders, pressing their foreheads together as he continued to sob. As he watched his tears fall into his lap, he witnessed a trickle of tears fall from Brett himself, dotting his hospital gown. They sat sobbing quietly, each with an unyielding grip on the other.

Joel cried for Brett. He cried for Nora. He cried for Mitt and Shane. He cried for all the girls whose grisly tomb he slept in, surrounded by their decaying bones. He held onto Brett's neck like an anchor, pressing onto him the weight of his anguish.

The End.

About the Author

L.C. DeMaio is a fiction writer native to New Jersey with a passion for history, sarcasm, and getting into pointless arguments. Growing up on authors like Stephen King and Harlan Coben, L.C. developed an affinity for the Horror, Thriller and Crime genres, which he frequently infuses into much of his work. Belting out fiction since the fourth grade, writing has always been one of L.C.'s favorite creative outlets, enthralled by the various (not always pleasant) reactions he could elicit from readers. Using a number of aliases, he's penned numerous stories floating around the darkest reaches of the internet since he was an awkward, chubby teenager—a few attracting considerable notoriety. (He's more proud of some than others). _Scream Season_ marks L.C.'s first leap into the world of published fiction. He's just getting started, and has no plans on stopping anytime soon.

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