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Anything for a story. “I might die in the process,” I mumbled.

“Nah. You’re too smart.”

A sound startled me, like the snap of a piece of wood once someone stepped on it. I spun around, searching the shadows for any of the staff waiting to jump out. No one was here but me. Ahead, a short distance away, I saw a large shed. The door stood open, providing a bit of light with the lantern lit inside.

I moved toward it and walked inside, pacing. “This isn’t funny, you know. Sending me here without any knowledge of the story seems reckless.”

“Well, I wanted your genuine reaction. No bias. Anything you see and hear won’t be tainted by social media, the internet, or me.”

He had a point. I still didn’t like it.

The rustle of clothing startled me as I turned to face a giant man who stood so tall his head nearly touched the ceiling. He wore a cut-off flannel shirt and a Ghostface mask. Dark ink covered his bare arms. He stood with a wide stance, staring at me as he clenched the handle of his weapon.

My gaze swept over the machete as he spoke.

“You shouldn’t have come in here.” The grit in his voice accompanied his menacing stance.

It was then that I noticed he wasn’t holding a fake. It looked too real, the blade solid and heavy.

I heard Dale’s voice but couldn’t seem to answer him. My lungs nearly failed to function. Terror swept over me with the realization that I had somehow stumbled onto the serial killer.

Just my luck. I’d die before I had a chance to write my article and prove I had the guts, no pun intended, to be a fantastic writer.

When the big guy rushed toward me, machete swinging in a wide arc, I did the only thing I could.

I screamed.

Chapter 4 Beau

“Hey!” I lifted my hands, realizing the machete was what freaked the woman out. She could probably tell it was real. Shit.

She backed away, gripping for something to use as a defense, but there wasn’t shit inside this shed. I dropped my hand with the machete as I inched closer.

“Don’t.” She lifted her hand as she held up her phone. “My boss is on the line. He’ll call the cops.”

I could hear someone shouting her name. It sounded like Carly.

“Listen. Carly? Is that your name?”

She nodded and put the call on speaker. “If you hurt me, there will be proof.”

“What the fuck is going on, Carly?” The guy on the other end of the line sounded older, and his concern seemed genuine.

“There’s a man in front of me wearing a Ghostface mask. He’s holding a machete, and it’s not fake.”

“Hey, whoever the fuck you are, let Carly go. This won’t end well if you hurt her.”

For fuck’s sake. I lifted the mask and exposed my face. “I’m not a killer. I’m security.”

“Right. With a machete,” Carly deadpanned.

“It’s Halloween,” I defended. Plus, a serial killer was somewhere in the Hudson River Valley, preying on visitors to haunted attractions. “I have no intention of hurting you.”

The guy on the phone grunted.

Carly shook her head. “Is there really a serial killer hunting haunted houses?”

“There is. Three victims so far. It’s not safe here. An hour ago, I left this shed locked and closed. Someone opened it.”