Page 13 of Stay Scared

A painted mouth covers the wall around the entrance, red lips stretched around the sealed gate. Moisture shines over the paint beneath the corridor lights. Hidden speakers erupt somewhere ahead. A chainsaw tears through the narrow space, followed by a scream that cuts off too abruptly. Fog pushes from vents near the floor, carrying hot rubber and damp fabric.

The other participants crowd behind me. They entered after the intercom welcomed me, though I never heard staff call their numbers. A couple grips each other near the wall while a woman in a torn wedding dress searches the ceiling as if she expects an actor to drop from it. A teenage boy laughs into his sleeve every few seconds.

Their wristbands carry ordinary participant numbers.

Mine reads FINAL GIRL: 01.

A green light flashes beside my body-camera lens, and Mark’s voice enters my left ear through the approved earpiece.

“I have the feed.”

His voice should make the corridor feel less closed, but it doesn’t.

The chainsaw cuts off. A performer in stained mechanic’s coveralls charges through the fog and drags the inactive blade along a metal rail. Sparks jump near the floor. The couple behind me recoils against the painted wall while I stay where I am, and the performer veers past without looking at me.

Mark speaks again after the delay. “Fourteen seconds now.”

Long enough for plenty to happen before he sees it.

The earpiece crackles and swallows whatever he says next. A row of red floor lights activates, directing everyone deeper into the attraction.

“Your entrance constitutes consent to the complete Crimson Night experience,” a recorded voice says above us. “Requests to stop may be interpreted as part of your assigned performance. Attempts to retreat may alter your route. Participants remain inside the experience until release.”

Someone behind me mutters that it cannot be legal.

The teenage boy laughs. “Legal enough to get you here.”

His timing is too clean.

I look at him. He gives me a nervous grin and gestures toward the route with everyone else, but when the group starts moving, I stay where I am.

An emergency-exit sign hangs beside the painted mouth over a narrow door disguised as part of the scenery. A steel chain loops through the push bar, secured with a padlock on my side.

I cross to it and pull. The chain snaps tight with a heavy metallic clatter. This is a functional emergency exit, and they have actually chained it shut. The push bar moves beneath my hand until the chain stops it.

I angle my chest toward the door so the camera catches what I’m seeing. “Mark, the emergency exit is chained.”

Static breaks across his answer. I make out chain and nothing after it.

A speaker activates above the entrance.

“Salem, leave the exit and continue forward.”

This voice is live, and calm. It carries the same control that made me stop beneath the glowing mask outside.

I look toward the camera mounted over the sealed gate. Its lens tilts toward me.

I pull the chain again. “You put a functional emergency exit behind a padlock.”

No answer comes. The red route lights pulse faster.

The group has stopped near the next doorway, and every one of them is watching me. Nobody complains that I am holding them up.

The teenage boy raises his hands around his mouth. “Come on, fearless girl.”

The corridor seems to tighten around the words.

I turn toward him. “What did you call me?”