Welcome to the Dark House (20 page)

A
FTER THE OTHERS HAVE ALL
dispersed, Parker and I decide to abandon Frankie’s ride—for now, anyway—to try Taylor’s
phone at the front of the park. We stand beneath the TV monitor, where Justin Blake
first spoke to us. I push the talk button and hold the receiver at varying angles,
but it still isn’t getting reception. “We can keep trying in different parts of the
park,” I say, hoping to sound optimistic. I look toward the top of the gate, wondering
how many bones I’d break if I jumped from the very top, and what barbed wire feels
like when it enters the
skin.

“What are the odds of digging our way out of here?” I ask, assuming the idea is nuts.
But Parker looks at the gate for five full seconds and says it’s worth a try.

We move over to it. I squat down and gaze upward, almost unable to see the wire at
the very top—that’s how far away it is.

Parker fetches a couple of plastic cups from a snack shack and hands me one. “Use
it to shovel,” he says, scooping up a mound of dirt.

I begin to dig, following the bars of the gate downward, into a hole. They seem to
go on forever. I reposition, lying on my stomach, digging deeper into the ground.

“This isn’t working,” Parker says after about ten minutes. He tosses his broken cup
and resumes digging, using his hands. The muscles in his forearms pulse. After about
twenty more minutes, he steps inside his hole. He’s almost up to his thighs, and still
he hasn’t reached the bottom of the gate. “It’s like they knew we’d try to get out
this way.”

I sit at the edge of my ditch. “People are going to start to worry. Parents, I mean.
Aside from Natalie and me, no one’s called home yet—at least not that I know of, and
it’s been well over twenty-four hours now.”

“Maybe we
should
venture underground,” he says, nodding to the Train of Terror ride.

“No way.” I shake my head. “Frankie and Shayla have both gone underground, and so
far they’ve yet to resurface.”

“We don’t know that for a fact. Maybe they started underground but then followed a
tunnel and came out someplace else. Let’s face it, they could be anywhere—even beyond
the gate.” He nods to the forest.

I look out at the park. The actress on a nearby movie screen is running for her life.
Naturally, she’s in the woods, wearing heels instead of track shoes. She trips over
a tree root and falls to the ground, letting out a sputtering noise that doesn’t even
sound human. She grapples forward on her elbows and knees.

I reach for my aromatherapy necklace, able to feel the girl’s angst.

“What
is
that?” Parker asks, nodding to my necklace. He takes a seat beside me and our feet
dangle inside my ditch.

“Cedarwood oil.” I pull the cork out. “It helps induce tranquility and relaxation.”

“Does it work?”

“You can be the judge.”

“For real?” He goes to touch the bottle, checking for my reaction first.

I give him a silent okay and he moves in closer. His fingers graze my chest as he
takes the bottle into his hand, sending tingles all over my skin.

Looking straight at me, he gives the bottle a tiny sniff. A subtle grin sits on his
lips, as if he knows his effect on me. “I feel better already,” he says.

“Me too.” I smile—my first one in what feels like days.

“Was it a present from someone that I should know about?”

“It was supposed to be my mom’s.”

“Supposed to be?”

I bite my lip, wishing that I could take the words back. “Maybe we should go look
for more hotspots.”

He nods and gets up, steps out from my ditch, and dusts the dirt from his palms. I
can tell that he’s frustrated with me. I’m frustrated with myself.

“There’s a gamesmanship quality here,” he says, before I can apologize. “Survive your
worst nightmare, get to be in the movie, get to meet the mastermind. Knowing Blake’s
work, I’m pretty sure we’re not getting out of here until we do that…face our nightmares,
I mean. The main character always confronts the villain before the end. The showdown
is not only expected, it’s mandatory.”

“And I signed up for this because…?”

Parker looks at me again, his eyes swollen and serious. “I don’t know; you won’t tell
me.”

I swallow hard, hating myself for being so guarded. Yesterday, it probably wouldn’t
have mattered to me if he were upset by my secrecy. But today I’m upset too.

I don’t want it to be like this.

“Let’s get going.” He extends his hand to help me up. I take it, feeling the warmth
of his skin radiate over my face.

Parker notices and takes a step closer.

I try to glance away, but he forces me to look into his eyes by touching the side
of my face. And making my heart pound. For just a moment I think that maybe he’s going
to kiss me. And, for the first time that I can remember, I actually want to be kissed.
I want to believe that I can be just like every other girl, and not this person who’s
always waiting for the end.

Parker leans in a little closer and I stare at his lips—pale pink, shallow vee, slightly
turned up at the corners. But before I can even feel his kiss, someone screams—a high-pitched
shriek that severs the moment in two.

I turn to look. The girl on the screen—in the woods—is now running along a set of
train tracks, while a dark-clothed someone follows behind her, keeping a steady pace.

“Let’s go,” Parker says. “We need to get this over with.”

As we move toward the center of the park, a phone rings. I pull Taylor’s cell phone
out of my bag, but the ringing is coming from someplace else.

We follow the sound behind a row of Skee-Ball machines, startled to find a telephone
booth.

“The emergency phone,” I say, moving quickly to answer it. I push open the bifold
door and grab the receiver. “Hello?”

“Who’s this?” a male voice asks. “Wait, I think I might have the wrong number.”

“No!” I insist. “Who is
this
? Who are you calling for?” I turn to look outward, spotting a first aid kit hanging
on a nearby post.

“Is Max there?” the caller asks. “He left a message for me yesterday. Something about
switching shifts. I’m just calling him back.”

Parker comes and shares the receiver with me, his cheek grazing mine as we stand huddled
in the booth.

“You have to listen to me,” I say. “You have to help us. We’re trapped inside an amusement
park in the middle of the woods…someplace outside Stratten, Minnesota.”

“Wait, so is Max
there
?” he asks.

Parker hangs up the phone.

“What are you doing?” I snap.

He presses the dial tone lever—again, and again, and again.

“What are you doing?” I repeat.

The dial tone never comes. Instead, the male voice is still there. He’s laughing at
us now. “Don’t think you can get out of here without facing your nightmare. I need
those scenes for the movie.”

“News flash: we don’t give a shit about the movie,” Parker says.

“Well, you should, because surviving your ride is the only way out—the only way the
gates will reopen.”

“And what if we refuse?” I ask.

“Then consider yourself stuck inside these gates.” The phone clicks. He hangs up.

Parker takes my hand and leads me away from the phone.

“Wait,” I shout, stopping short. “Justin Blake can’t do this. I mean, legally…he can’t.”

Parker’s eyes lock on mine; he needs no words for me to know just what he’s thinking:
this isn’t being run by Justin Blake. “Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand again.

We round a corner and come face-to-face with a giant water tank. “Sink or Swim,” I
say, reading the name on the sign.

“This is mine,” he says, the color suddenly drained from his face. “I guess it’s my
turn.”

I
CLIMB A LADDER THAT
leads to a platform overlooking a tank of water. The tank is a perfect square, about
twelve feet long and wide. The water is murky brown, making me think of my essay.
Not only did I lie about the eels, but I also changed the setting from the ocean to
a pond. Another thing I lied about, not being able to swim. The fact is that getting
swept up by a riptide and nearly drowning prompted me to become a great swimmer. A
national, competitive swimmer.

A sign on the wall says
ARE YOU READY TO SINK OR SWIM
? According to the directions, I’ll need to stay in the water for one full minute.
A digital timer blinks the number sixty. The clock will begin counting down as soon
as I enter the water. Then, once a minute’s up, a bell will ring, indicating that
I’ve succeeded.

The directions also state that should I want to get out at any point prior to the
required minute, I can push one of the many emergency buzzers located at the water’s
edge. At that time, the “ride” will stop and a diver will assist me in getting out.
I spot the emergency buzzers right away; they’re positioned just above the water line.
The idea of them should be reassuring, but I have no reason to trust anything about
this weekend. Plus, where are the divers?

“You’re going to be freezing,” Ivy calls up to me. She’s standing outside the ride,
at the bottom of the ladder.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to sound optimistic, even though I’m beyond uncertain.
I pull off my T-shirt and take off my pants, socks, and sneakers, leaving only a pair
of boxers. I turn to look down at Ivy and give her a little wink to be funny.

Gazing back at the water, I try to imagine that I’m on the other side of the camera—that
this is a movie with me as the lead, or that I’m a contestant on a new reality game
show. But neither scenario seems to stick, because this is real; I am here; I have
to face this. My mental movie camera is temporarily broken.

I dive in. The water’s cold, sending a shock wave through my body. Holding my breath,
I plunge to the bottom. The tank is deeper than I expected—at least ten feet. Despite
how much I don’t want to be doing this, it’s actually a relief to know that I lied—that
no one can use a nightmare against me.

Once I reach the bottom, I kick off the cement surface and start to float upward.
But then I feel it—something long and
slick against my leg. I pop up, my head above the water now, and wait for what happens
next.

Something sharp sinks into my calf. I struggle to swim to the side of the tank, unable
to paddle fast enough. I reach down to feel the injured spot, just as something bites
me again. My thigh this time.

I swim toward one of the emergency buzzers, my fingertips grazing the side of it,
but I’m not close enough to push it down.

I fall beneath the surface of the water. My mouth fills up with muck. I resurface
and spit it out. My skin’s torn. My leg’s bleeding. Spotlights shine over the water,
enabling me to see the color red mix with brown.

I go for the buzzer again—this time able to reach it. I smack it, but it makes no
noise. I punch it, slap it, beat it with my fist. Still nothing.

“Parker!” Ivy shouts. She says something else, but I can’t quite hear her.

That’s when I see them: long and black, cresting the water, coming at me.

Eels.

They’re attracted by my blood. I duck my head and plunge, leaving the blood in my
wake, hoping it’ll be enough to satisfy them for now. But I can feel them swimming
between my legs and biting at my feet. Teeth sink into the arch of my foot and I let
out a howl beneath the water. My mouth fills up once more.

I kick the eel away, swim to the surface, and smack another buzzer. Still no sound.
No divers, either. I look up at the digital timer. Twenty-two more seconds.

“Parker!” Ivy calls out.

“Stay down there,” I tell her.

Fifteen seconds left.

Eels swarm at my wounds. I can feel the slickness against my skin. My hands bracing
the sides of the tank, I try to lift myself out, but I’m bitten on the back of my
knee. The pain radiates down my calf and I fall back in, slipping beneath the surface
once more. Treading water, I try to swat the eels away. There have to be at least
twenty of them in here.

“I’m coming up there,” Ivy says.

“No!” I shout. I try to stay above the surface, but I keep sinking deeper, my head
spinning with questions. Will I ever make it out of here? How can this possibly be
happening?

An eel swims between my legs. I grab it—it’s at least four inches thick—and try to
lift it out, but it’s too heavy, too strong. It lunges for me, nipping at my side.
An instant surge of blood.

I scream beneath the surface. Water fills my mouth. Something gets caught in the back
of my throat, creating a choking sensation. I reach in to yank it out—a leaf. A piece
of it lingers, making me want to gag.

Still, I fight to swim upward, feeling a tug at my thigh—teeth ripping through the
flesh.

My hands hit something hard. I’m at the bottom of the tank, or maybe it’s the side.
I’m turned around, disoriented, having lost my sense of direction.

I somersault in the water, able to find my feet against a hard surface. I kick off
with all my might, following the direction of my air bubbles as I struggle to reach
the top.

Not quite there, I see something moving out of the corner of my eye.

Holy freaking shit.

It’s a steel cover—just like in my bogus nightmare essay.

The cover expands the width of the water’s surface, moving steadily across the top,
closing in the tank.

Finally, I crest the water. I reach up to grab the ledge of the tank, hearing myself
gasp. My lungs are aching. I can’t seem to get enough air. The steel cover is only
a few feet away, getting closer with each breath.

“Parker!” Ivy shouts.

The digital clock has timed out. Zero seconds left. I lose my grip on the ledge and
fall beneath the surface once more.

The cover is within arm’s reach. I swim upward and grab the edge of it, trying to
hold it in place. My biceps ache. My forearms throb. The cover continues to push forward,
closing me in, trapping me inside.

I swim to the side of the tank again. With one hand on the platform, I’m able to hoist
myself up, gaining leverage with my elbow, and then with my knee. The cover grazes
my foot as it seals over the surface of the water.

Up on the platform, I collapse into a mass of blood and throbbing muscles. The leaf’s
still stuck in my throat. I force it out, sticking my fingers into my mouth, hacking
up a piece of a stem.

Ivy joins me on the platform. She rubs my back and tells me that it’s all over. But
it isn’t. Far from it. Because now it’s her turn.