Chapter 6

Olivia Bennett

“ W elcome to the Chamber of Screams,” Derek announced, ushering me into the dimly lit foyer. The soft glint of the lights accentuated the rich undertones of his dark brown skin, giving it a striking, almost ethereal glow. Shadows clung to the walls like cobwebs, and there was something scary no matter the direction I looked.

“Creepy,” I muttered. “I love it.” My gaze darted from the grotesque portraits to the chandelier made of bones dangling ominously above us. A chill skittered down my spine as a stuffed raven cawed from its perch atop an old looking bookshelf, its mechanical movement jarringly lifelike.

“Handcrafted horrors. We love supporting local artists, so plenty of them are involved with creating this place and making it as scary as it can be,” Derek said proudly. “To your left, the Hall of Horrors.” He directed me toward a corridor lined with doors that were boarded up with rotting hands sticking out through the openings. Then he led us to the Maze of Mirrors, where our reflections were distorted into monstrous things. My heart pounded with each twisted image, a funhouse gone terribly wrong. Every few turns, there was a mirror that was like a screen, showing a monster instead of my reflection. Derek walked over and showed me how when customers were walking through, they’d set up the motion detectors on the mirrors so the monsters showed, making the customers feel like they were being chased through the maze. They would change the effects up so people could get different experiences, but it was still creepy all the same, monsters or not.

“Each room has its own nightmare,” Derek continued, leading me past a door oozing fake blood that dripped rhythmically onto the floor below. Wails of pain and chains dragging across the tile came from within, making me shudder. It all felt and sounded so real, and this was just the tour. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to actually experience it.

“Alright, enough showing you around,” he said suddenly, handing me a crumpled list. “Here’s what I need you to do while I’m out.” His voice was all business now.

“Got it,” I replied, scanning the tasks—check props, test sound effects, ensure the fog machines were full. Simple enough. Other than I had no idea how to do any of these things. He left with a nod, his form melting into the shadows.

Now that I was alone, I started working through the list. Derek had shown me where they tested all the sound effects when he’d first started the tour. I’d start there. I began heading to the back of the mansion when movement caught my eye. A man slipped through a back exit. Tall, dark hair, familiar—I was sure he was a Croix. I recognized him from cases back home. My pulse quickened. As tempting as it was to follow him, I knew I couldn’t risk it on my first day. Instead, I crept closer with my phone in hand. Getting some snapshots was the best I could do for now.

Click. I captured a clear image of the man’s face. Click. Another one as he climbed into his car and sped off. Click. A final shot of his license plate before he disappeared around the corner.

My mind was already on Johnathan. He would want to see these photos immediately. I texted them to him and told him to gather whatever information he could find. I made a mental note to call him later and focused on finishing my assigned tasks for the day. The Hall of Horrors seemed to be having some issues, its prop skeletons falling apart and its sound effects malfunctioning.

The buttons on the sound control board blinked at me, mocking my complete lack of technical prowess. I jabbed at them, hoping to hear rattling chains or a ghostly moan, but instead earned an obnoxious beep followed by silence. The machine, a fucking puzzle of sliders and dials, was clearly enjoying my torment.

“Come on, you useless piece of...” My mutterings dissolved into a frustrated huff. This was supposed to be simple: press play, cue spooky sounds, impress the boss, keep the job. Instead, here I was, tech-illiterate and on the verge of a spectacular first-day failure.

I snatched my phone from my pocket, scrolled frantically through my contacts, and hit Johnathan’s name. He answered after the first ring.

“Listen, I’m good, but I’m not that good. I just got the photos you sent.” His voice came through, tinged with bemusement.

“Photos? Oh, no, not that. How the hell does a sound machine work?” I forced out the words, my voice edged with irritation. “Help me or I’m going to get toasted on day one.”

A chuckle bubbled from Johnathan’s end of the line, light and annoyingly carefree. I rolled my eyes, but there was a smile tugging at my lips despite the panic. I explained to him that it was the sounds for the bones and the laughter I was trying to fix.

“FaceTime me, I need to see it,” he insisted, the laughter still lingering in his voice. I tapped the screen, switching modes, and suddenly his face filled the frame. The eerie glow from the haunted house props cast shadows around me, making the room look more sinister than it already did.

“Damn, those decorations are even creepier than your apartment, and THAT’S saying something.” His gaze flickered across the screen, taking in the scene behind me.

“ Ha, ha , very funny,” I shot back, half-amused and half-annoyed. “Just tell me which button doesn’t release the hounds of hell or something.” I switched the camera around so he could see.

“Okay, okay...” His voice softened, the screen split between his face full of concentration and the confusing controls in front of me.

“See the red one? Not the pulsing one, the steady red. Press it once,” he instructed, his eyes darting to the corner where a notification for a briefing must have popped up. I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed being undercover until this moment. I hated those briefings.

“Got it.” My finger obeyed. A click sounded, not from the machine but from somewhere above. I flinched as the bones clattered to the floor in a heap. “Skeletons down,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. Then I moved to put them back up before moving to the next thing.

“Good. Now, look for a green slider. Move it halfway. That should tweak the laughter track.” His tone was even, and I was thankful one of us had patience for things like this.

“Done and done,” I said, a sigh of relief escaping me as the maniacal laughter started. The corners of Johnathan’s mouth curled up.

“Thank you, I gotta get back to work. I think I can handle the rest,” I said.

“Anytime, Oli. Call me later?”

“Yes, and then we’ll talk about the photos.”

“Will do,” he promised, the call ending with a tap.

Next up was the fog machines. The thick clouds of smoke were supposed to add an eerie effect, but instead they were spitting out small puffs of fog that dissipated quickly.

I found them scattered around the mansion in different rooms and refilled them with more fog fluid I’d grabbed from a supply closet, and then I tested them out a few times until they produced a satisfyingly thick mist that filled all the rooms perfectly.

I didn’t see anything wrong with any of the other props, and there wasn’t a way to make them more terrifying than they already were, so with everything on the list checked off, I took a moment to admire my handiwork. This haunted mansion truly lived up to its name, with every room offering a unique terror for visitors. Add in some haunt actors and even I would be terrified of walking through this place. But it was definitely less scary knowing where everything was.

My thoughts started drifting back to the Croix man I had seen earlier. Who was he? And what business did he have here?

I shook off those thoughts and headed back upstairs to the office. I grabbed my bag and was about to leave until I glanced around. Liam or Derek didn’t seem to be back yet. And I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to sneak around. I glanced at the papers haphazardly tossed on the desk. One of them looked to be my application. But what really caught my eye were the little hearts drawn next to my name. Had Liam been admiring me too, drawing little doodles next to my name like some high-school crush? The thought made me blush.

Then I heard it, the creak of that one step that gave away that someone was coming up the stairs. I didn’t have enough time to run or hide, so I tossed my bag to the floor, making the contents spill next to the desk as I dropped in a panic to pick them up. Some of it had slid under the desk.

“Find anything under there?” A smooth voice met my ears. Liam. I glanced up from his nice, polished shoes, and he was in a suit that fit him like sin, leaning against the wall, green eyes alight with something feral. Did he like seeing me on my knees in front of him? Fuck, the thought did things to me it shouldn’t.

“N-no,” I met his gaze. But maybe if I looked hard enough, I could find my dignity. His eyes roved over me, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “Nice suit,” I added as he leaned down and handed me a lipstick that had rolled next to his shoe and offered me a hand to help me up.

“Thanks, figured I’d dress as a businessman for once,” he replied, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Right. Well, duty calls,” I said, stepping around him, wanting to get out of here as quickly as I could. I was acutely aware of his gaze tracing the curve of my hips as I walked away. The air felt charged, my skin tingling with the weight of his stare. This game seemed dangerous. But it excited me. What was the point of being undercover if I couldn’t have a little fun doing it?

My bedroom was dim as I grabbed my phone from the rickety, empty cardboard box that served as my temporary side table. A yawn crept up, stretching my jaw wide. I quickly dialed Johnathan.

“Hey,” he answered.

“Got a minute?” I asked, my thumb hovering over the image that had started this mess.

“Always for you. What’s up?”

“What did you get on the Croix man I took pictures of this morning?”

“Ah, hold on.” Papers shuffled on his end, his keyboard tapping. “Here we go… Marco Croix. Staying at The Marlowe downtown, looks like a business trip.”

“Are there any connections between him and the haunted house or with Liam O’Connor? I saw him leaving this morning.”

“Hard to tell.” His tone dropped a notch, becoming more serious. “Liam seems to have a squeaky-clean record. But this Croix guy is no saint.” Not surprising, none of them were.

“Give me the deets.”

“Fraud, embezzlement, sexual assault. He slips right out of handcuffs every time like a modern Houdini.”

“You know the drill, sounds just like a Croix,” I muttered, the words sour on my tongue. “Thanks, Johnathan.” I rubbed my tired eyes with the heel of my hand. “I’m going to get to bed.”

“Sure thing,” he replied. “Keep me updated.”

“Of course.” I clicked off the phone and let it clatter onto the cardboard nightstand.

My thoughts churned, Marco Croix’s smug face behind my eyelids. I moved to flick off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The bed creaked under my weight as I turned over and closed my eyes again. Mind whirring, I drifted toward oblivion with one last thought—the executioner… Maybe justice did sometimes need a little nudge from the shadows.