literature

Chapter 12 (Madhouse Funhouse)

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    FunTime Amusement Park

    June 12, 2014

    9:52 P.M.

    Charlotte Kiss

    As soon as I step inside the Funhouse, I immediately find myself facing rows upon rows of bent mirrors. In some I look pencil thin, in others I look twice my normal width and half my normal height, and in still others I look twisted and warped.

    I push the images far from my mind and focus on the routes in the maze. There are three different directions I could go: forward, left, or right. Coloured light strips around the edges of the mirrors and doorways are the only lighting in this gloomy place, casting the reflections of my face in shadows of sickening hues. Some of the lights fizz and flicker, but that is hardly Correggio’s doing. The lights have always been faulty.

    I choose to go straight. My footsteps echoed quietly around the nearly empty Funhouse. My reflections follow me, taunting me with their strange and twisted images. They slip from one mirror to another almost seamlessly. They distort my face, my body, my mind. I feel dizzy with fear, adrenaline and the illusion of my own face staring at me from every direction.

    Is it my imagination, or do I hear the sound of something scratching the ceiling above me?

    No. It’s just my imagination. Or maybe it’s part of the music.

    I step forward. One foot in front of the other. You can do it, Charlie. You can do it.

    I force myself into the Funhouse.

    I go straight, then right, then straight again. Some of the mirrors have been cracked or broken, which is actually somewhat of a relief. The only thing that makes a bad situation worse is when you see just how terrified you look.

    I step in some kind of puddle. A jolt shoots up my spine. Slowly, reluctantly, I look down. My heart rises to my throat. It’s red. Red and sticky. I trace the flow with my eyes. I almost scream, but I hold it in by biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. A figure is hanging from the ceiling by their feet. The red drips down onto the ground. They’re wearing a park jacket.

    No, no, no, no… I tiptoe over and peer at it. Who is it? Please… please don’t be dead…

    No breathing.

    No moving.

    No sound, except for the drip, drip, drip of the red onto the floor.

    I look away and try to push past it. My shoulder bumps the thing accidentally. Immediately, a high-pitched cackling sound screeches from the doll’s voice-box and its eyes flash red. I let out a yelp and stumble backwards, into a mirror. I crash through it, and it shatters onto the floor.

    FUCK!

    Immediately after saying this, I clamp my lips shut. I don’t want him to hear me, but I think I just blew my chance of a stealthy entry. Shit. I jump to my feet and stop to look at the thing I bumped into.

    It’s just a prop from the Haunted House. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My heart pounds in my ears. God… that stupid doll almost gave me heart attack. I thought… I thought it was… Well, it was wearing the jacket, so I thought…

    I run my fingers over the jacket of the doll. Naturally, they come away red. But it’s the wrong texture for paint. I bite my lip and wipe my fingers on my shorts. I don’t have time to worry about whose it is… but… it is a lot of blood… No one could survive losing all that. Who did it come from…?

    I push the thoughts away. I can’t think about how many of my friends are left. I have to focus. I have to try. If I think it’ll be useless in the long run, I’ll give up, and whoever is left won’t stand a chance in the least.

    I continue straight. I glance back and wince. I had stepped in the blood, and now I am leaving a trail of red footprints behind me. Great. Now Correggio can tell where I was, maybe even follow the trail.

    I scrape my shoes off as best as I can and set off, again.

    A scream pierces the air, high and feminine. I freeze. The hairs on the back of my neck bristle. My throat goes taut. My breath catches in my chest.

    I check my phone. There’s no time. Not anymore. The hour is up. He is going to start killing.

    My phone buzzes in my hand… then the screen goes black.

    No battery left. Shit.

    I run. I push through doors. God, there are so many freaking doors in this place, so many twists and turns. I’m not worried about being quiet, anymore. I need to get to him, fast, and put an end to all of this before it’s too late.

    The music stops. I pause.

    Then the laughter starts.

    This is far, far worse than the horrid music. It sounds like laughter from a million different people. It’s all over the place. It’s high and piercing, low and menacing. It echoes and bounces around. I realize it comes from the speakers that are set into the ceiling, but it feels like I’m surrounded by Correggio on all sides. I can picture him waiting in the shadows with a knife in each hand, laughing at my foolishness.

    Why, oh, why did I come here?

    I steel myself against it. I wish I could plug my ears with my fingers, but I can’t risk not being able to hear him sneak up on me. The sound is nauseating and sends the first jabs of migraine pain thought my temples.

    I grip the baseball bat and dash through the halls. I feel like I can hear sobbing in some of the rooms, but whenever I stop to peer inside one of the rooms, I realize it’s just my imagination… or maybe it’s another voice coming from the speakers.

    I step on something slightly squishy and I let out a shriek. I look down. It’s a clown mask with fierce, jagged teeth and gouged-out eyes. Terrifying. I keep going.

    Clown faces litter the floor and walls of the corridor. They stare at me with their jack-o-lantern grins and their empty, staring eyes. Red paint is splattered on the floor in places. I don’t stop to see if it really is paint. It might be better not to know. The laughter that spouts from the speakers almost seems to be coming from the clown heads lying on the floor.

    I hate clowns.

    The scream sounds again. This time it’s from upstairs. It’s closer than before. It’s saturated with so much fear, it’s nearly palpable.

    Fear crawls in my own chest. Oh god, I should get out of here!

    I can’t. Not yet.

    Mirrors, mirrors, mirrors. Black things flit in and out of my vision. A headache pounds behind my eyes with my heartbeat. I have to push the images away and focus.

    I turn a corner and there are no more clowns, thank god. Instead, though, I find smashed pieces of electronics. I pause to figure out what they are.

    Phones. They’re my friend’s phones. I bite my lip when I recognize Allie’s pink Hello-Kitty case, Jill’s Pokémon case, and Michael’s blue-green one.

    I look up. The staircase looms before me. Yes!

    The laughter fades away and the awful, screeching circus music is back. I’m still not sure which one is worse. The beat thumps in my chest, almost in time with my heart.

    Thump.

    Thump.

    Thump.

    I hear footsteps upstairs. They thump over my head and disappear off one way. I can’t quite tell where they went. I can’t tell if the owner is a tiny woman or a huge man. I don’t know if Lynn got there before me, or if Correggio is moving in for the kill.

    I fly up the stairs. This is probably a bad move, considering Correggio has had several hours to prepare for me. Nothing happens as I climb… at least, not until I nearly reach the top.

    The step breaks underfoot. I veer backwards. I make a grab for the railing, but I miss it by an inch, my fingernails just scraping the wood. I find myself leaning back into open air. Time stops. I can’t move. I can’t scream. I can’t breathe.

    My back meets the wooden stairs, slapping bruises into my shoulders. I tumble down, back to the first floor. My vision bursts with bright lights when my head cracks into the wall behind me. My bones feel rattled in their sockets.

    Frustration prickles my cheeks and my back aches at every point where it contacted the stairs. Why wasn’t I more careful? He’s got to have heard me, by now. Hopefully Lynn is having better luck than I am.

    I leap up the stairs, one hand firmly on the railing, minding the busted step.

    The music pounds in my head.

    The door at the top of the steps has a mirror fixed to it. Correggio had spray painted a big red X over it and punched a big, ugly crack through it. I saw myself, with a cross through my chest, through my heart.

    I grip the bat. I can’t let him get to me, no matter what.

    I open the door slowly and push it open with the palm of my hand.

    Nothing happens. I breathe a small sigh of relief.

    The sigh catches in my chest when I see something that I had never hoped to see.

    There is a human ear on the floor. There isn’t much blood around it, so it must have been put there by Correggio on purpose. The edge of it is torn, like it was ripped off.

    I swallow the bile in my throat and kneel to examine it. Whose is it?

    Pale skin, so it’s not Ash, Allie or Jill. Michael’s ears are bigger than that. It’s the right ear. No piercing. Lizzie and Billy both have pierced right ears. So that leaves either James’, Craig’s or Tim’s.

    I just hope to god that this ear is the only part of them that was harmed…

    The music seems to be on a loop. It drums on and on, warping in my ears and distracting me from the task at hand.

    I jump when I hear an agonized scream. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard before, even in movies. There’s a huge difference between faking being terrified and being actually terrified, helpless and in pain. I want to press my hands to my ears and run from it, from whatever is making my friend scream. But I don’t. I run towards it.

    Mirrors, mirrors, mirrors everywhere! They send me backwards, sideways, upside down. They push me in circles and turn me around. I can’t tell if I’ve been here before or not. Where am I?

    The doors are worse or almost as bad, I can’t tell which. Some are false, some hide cheekily behind mirrors, some have no knobs, and some only open up to a blank wall.

    Frustration clamours up inside my chest. I clench my fists. It’s just a Funhouse! Little kids play in here all the time! Why can’t I do this?

    I hear a voice. High, feminine, panicked.

    “Please… please, no!”

    It’s close. So close.

    “GET OFF ME!”

    I recognize the voice at last. It’s Lizzie. I sprint through the mirrors. I’m tempted to close my eyes to block out my reflection, but I can’t.

    I hear her scream again. So close.

    It’s coming from a red door in the hallway, surrounded by broken mirror fragments. I gingerly step over the shards and I open the door with trembling hands.

    The room is somewhat spacious, with no furniture as far as I can see. The windows are painted over with red.

    Lizzie is lying on the floor. I almost gag when I see the deep cuts on her cheeks and bare legs and the blood sprinkled over and dripping onto the hardwood. The cuts look fresh, like they were made only seconds ago. Her eyes and mouth are bound over with bloody rags. I can hear her whimpering.

    “Lizzie!” I drop my bat with a clatter. I’m by her side in an instant, pulling off the blindfold and gag.

    “Ch-Charlie?” She opens her eyes wide.

    “Yeah. It’s me.”

    Her voice is light and breathless. “W-what are you…? Why are you…? You’re not trapped…?”

    “… It’s complicated,” I say lamely.

    “Why weren’t you with us when she got us?” she asked.

    “I don’t know.” I reach back and start to nip away at the knots that bind her hands.

    “Ch-Charlie… you have to hurry… She’s… she’s coming…”

    Something about what she said catches in my mind. I pull away. “Wait… she? Isn’t Correggio a… man?”

    “N-no…” she stammers. Lizzie looks so close to passing out. “She… she’s…” Her gaze fixes on something beyond my shoulder. Her pupils dilate and her mouth opens in a silent scream. Without warning, her eyes roll backwards and she collapses.

    I panic. I grab her shoulders and shake her. “Lizzie! Liz, are you…?”

    My muscles seize up when I hear soft chuckling behind me. Slowly, too slowly, I turn around and look up at the person who stands behind me.

    Lynn beams down at me with her usual, slightly-too-wide smile. I feel a sense of relief… but it’s tainted. As I look her over, though, the feeling starts to ebb away, leaving blackened horror in its place. Her grin is frightening. Her appearance is perfect once again, no creases in her suit, every hair in place. She smiles, yet it does not reach her eyes.

    She raises her hands and claps slowly. “Well done,” she drawls.

    “Lynn!” Facts pile on top of one another in my head. My brain grinds to a halt and I sink further into denial. “You… can you help me get Lizzie out of here?”

    She laughs, loud and cruel. “Why on Earth would I want to do that?

    “You said… He’s coming… I…” It’s so horribly, painfully obvious, but I can’t help hoping that Lynn isn’t… she can’t be…

    Correggio?

    My eyes flick over to my weapon. I lunge for the baseball bat, but she stomps on my wrist. Hard. I feel the bones in my arm grind together, but I refuse to scream. She kicks the bat away. It skitters into the corner and thumps into the wall, underneath the window painted with red.

    “Let’s talk,” she says in her soft, icy voice, “Nice and civil. Can you manage that?”

    I growl. “I can’t believe it’s you…”

    “Quite frankly, I am surprised that you did not suspect me,” she says mildly. “After all that research, I hardly believe you did not see the signs. I slipped up so often, too. I have not interacted with “normal” people for so long, I had almost forgotten how to fake it.”

    I rummage around in my head for a counterargument, but nothing appears. C’mon, Charlie, THINK!

    Lynn opens her jacket to show the book that I loaned her. “It was a good read. I can see why you like it. Too bad it didn’t really do you much good, though…”

    I struggle to think of something clever to say. “Lynn…”

    She buttons her jacket up and holds her hands behind her back. “Actually, I prefer to call myself Lynette. Lynette Silas.”

    It clicks. “You’re the second escapee from Bradley!”

    “Correct. In fact, it was I who facilitated the entire thing. The newspapers got everything wrong. Correggio is not a killer—I am.”

    What?

    “It is true,” she says. “Correggio took the credit for my crimes. He was put away. I, on the other hand, got contained for “intermittent explosive disorder”, which is just a fancy name for throwing violent tantrums.” Lynette sighs. “It was foolish of me to get caught, really. It was even more foolish of them not to realize what I was.”

    A biting comment comes to mind. “Well, it is hard to believe that someone as tiny as you could commit those crimes.”

    She cocks an eyebrow.

    The corner of my mouth twitches. Obviously her petite size bothers her. “Hmph.”

    Lynette chuckles dryly. “I would hardly count that a victory. I am standing up here with my foot on your wrist, and there you are on the floor covered in bruises and without a weapon.”

    She’s right. I bare my teeth at her. “Get off!

    “I will let you up if you promise not to be an idiot and do something stupid,” she says patronizingly. She tilts her head like an inquisitive crow, eyeing me up like I’m a meal. “Promise?”

    I snarl at her. Rage roils up inside of me and spreads its deathly tentacles from my heart all the way to the tips of my fingers. To think that she watched me the whole day, judged me, found my weaknesses and plotted her attack. And not just me, but she stared at my coworkers with the same predatory gaze, scheming her day away. I feel sick.

    Her typical, slightly-too-big smile is back. “Do you promise?”

    “Fine.” The word tears its way from my throat like a ragged cough.

    The pressure is released from my arm. I scramble to my feet.

    I must look like a mess. My hair is tangled, my eyes are wild, and I’m covered in bruises and scrapes from my tumbles, adding to the ones I already have from derby. I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse.

    I take in Lynette’s appearance properly. She is the picture of cool collectivity. Her suit is immaculate. Her hair is smooth and perfect, pulled back into a tight bun. Her expression is perfectly blank and entirely emotionless. She looks almost like a doll, still in its package.

    Earlier today, she went out of her way to express emotion. She grinned hugely, no matter the situation. Emotions were a show, rather than a reaction. Every word that comes out of her mouth sounds as if it has been carefully calculated. Her eyes are always searching, discovering what I would either love or hate to hear. She can read me like an open book. I realize that these traits were a hint to what was under those features, behind those black eyes.

    Madness.

    Utter madness.

    I have to get out of here.

    Lynette walks over to a breaker panel on the wall and presses a button. The music stops. I feel relieved, yet the silence is almost worse, in a way. Now I can hear how fast my own heart is racing. It pounds in my ears at a sharp gallop.

    “Let us talk.” She sits in a chair in the corner of the room that I failed to notice before… I’ve been missing a lot of details, lately. She gestures to one opposite her. A table is positioned between them, where a ceramic skull sits with hollow eyes and a gaping grin. I recognize it from the Haunted Mansion.

    I walk over to her on numb feet and take a seat. The plastic is chilly under my thighs.

    I feel almost catatonic. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to speak.

    Lynette gazes at me coldly.

    The skull grins maniacally.

    I can’t feel my hands.

Previous:  Chapter 11 (Madhouse Funhouse)    FunTime Amusement Park
    June 12, 2014
    9:50 P.M.
    Lynette Silas
    I cannot help my somewhat gleeful cackle as I step back into the Funhouse, pulling off my t-shirt. This has worked out splendidly! I knew I could count on Charlie wanting to help her coworkers and friends. The number one person on her mind at the moment is likely to be Michael. I saw them look at each other with slightly unfocussed, dreamy eyes… I will make him especially difficult to find. Perhaps I will change his current location.
    I push the knot of my tie up to my throat and don my apron. Much better.
    A pair of bolt cutters catches my eye, lying in the corner. They are rather large, at least a foot and a half long. Well… there is an idea. I said that I would not lay a finger on Michael… irony would be at play, i

Next:  Chapter 13 (Madhouse Funhouse)    9:57 P.M.
    Lynette Silas
    Charlie’s expression was absolutely priceless as she finally puts the pieces together. This is what I live for. The shock in their eyes as they realize that I was not their friend, I never had been. The horror in their expressions as I smile at them and draw my knife.
    The emotions in Charlie’s eyes faded quickly. Now, they are dead. Blank.
    Her gaze flicks over to Lizzie. It is the only evidence that the gears are still turning in her head. I honestly do not see why she is so concerned about that other girl. She is annoying and wears tacky, chipped nail polish.
    “Why have you singled me out?” she asks. I open my mouth and she cuts me off with, “I know you say I’m “interesting”, but big deal. A turtle can be interesting. Why are you doing this?


This was a good chapter, I think. Maybe one of my faves... just because of the suspense and the big reveal (for Charlie).

Tell me what you think. What could be worded better? What else should be included/not be included? Gimme your thoughts. :P
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CrumbsOfInk's avatar
damn. aggressively oblivious to the last