Checking into a Haunted House (MM/M)
Posted: Sat Oct 06, 2018 1:56 am
Enjoy this short story! Set on Halloween of this year, in Atlanta, GA.
“Come on, Shawn”, Dakota repeated, “that was just the first room. You can’t call it quits now. Don’t you trust me?”
Dakota, my college roommate of two years and friend of much longer, had dragged me to the new Haunted House in Stone Mountain, Georgia. The company was as a premier haunted house; with multiple floors, intimidating monsters, and some variant amenities like horror-themed escape rooms. And I hated it so far.
This year’s theme was a haunted hospital: “Check in if you dare. Check out if you can”. We’d made it through the long line, the safety video in the lobby (“don’t touch; for our actors’ safety as well as yours”), and had just been introduced to the creepy attendant at the Front Desk of what had been made to look like a run-down hospital wing. Only, the nurse at the front desk had a bloody gash down her face, kept her eyes wide, and had a gimmick setup where she could turn her head like an owl while her torso stayed the same as she watched Dakota and me to step into the long hallway labelled “Intensive Care Unit”.
“This is insane,” I said. “There are too many people and not enough lights. I can barely-,“ I was cut off when a zombie medical patient, or, a person dressed as a zombie medical patient, jumped out and growled at us. “Gah!” I yelled, backing into Dakota and moving my arms in front of me in a random and un-manly way. The actor backed off to avoid my swinging. From his long, silent stare I sensed he was annoyed I’d almost hit him. The zombie growled again, then shambled off to scare more unsuspecting visitors.
“It’s a haunted house,” Dakota said, inching me forward, “and it’s the weekend before Halloween, so of course it’s going to be packed. But I won free tickets on the radio and you promised you’d come if it was free.”
He tussled my hair from behind and walked ahead. Not wanting to be left alone, I followed. The next room had a low doorframe, so I had to duck to enter. The lights in the room flickered on and off, but I could make out a surgery room. Sure enough, I lifted my head right into the face of another scary actor, this time a petite woman dressed as a nurse, with a prosthetic zipper running down her nose and chin. My hands flew up again and flailed in defense, and this time I know I connected.
“Can you not?!” the nurse and I yelled at the same time. A second passed as we both stood there, me thinking through a passive-aggressive apology and her just holding her nose and staring. Staring like the zombie from earlier.
“Orderlies!” she exclaimed, “we have an unruly patient. Can you secure him, for our safety as well his?” I didn’t like the sound of that, but backing up led me to four big hands grabbing my arms. There’s a scene in Looney Tunes where Bugs Bunny backs into the huge red monster, but without turning around just raises up his hands higher and higher until Bugs can feel the face of the much larger creature. That was me, only my hands started at my head height and found their massive pecs, only to reach higher and feel blocky, fake-blood covered faces. The orderly to my right wrapped me in a bear hug. The big guy to the left rustled with something behind me. I didn’t know what to do.
“Shawn, can you hustle?” Dakota asked as he peaked his head from what I guessed was the exit to the room. “Wow! Hey, that’s one way to keep those kung-fu arms in check.” He stepped back into the surgery room.
“Your friend here is acting aggressive,” the nurse said, trying to stay in character. “We can either kick him out, or admit him for surveillance.”
“Oh, definitely admit him,” Dakota said through a laugh, “Shawn, you promised we’d get through this. Don’t you trust me?”
That question again. That question which always seems to get me into trouble.
“Fine,” I said “Sure, whatever.”
“Great,” the nurse said, and then to the brute behind me, “Move him into the side room. We’ll have other patients soon.” She moved back to perch in her scare-spot behind the door. The orderly held his bear hug and shuffled me into an adjacent room. “Here,” said the second orderly, handing something to Dakota. When we were settled in the other room, I started to make out Dakota’s new gift: a dingy, white, canvas straitjacket.
“Just like last summer,” Dakota jeered. Last summer…well, just never volunteer to help a street magician put on his straitjacket in New Orleans, or you could end up as part of the act. And YouTube videos label “Tourist Tricked! Escape Fail!”. The orderly released my arms one at a time as Dakota threaded them through the jacket. The material smelled fine and felt clean, it must have just been made to look dingy. There were no straps across the tops of my arms, so I guessed I could get out if I really wanted. But the two crotch straps were a wee bit close for comfort. The orderly gave a quick check of the straps in the back and then said, “There. You can return it when you check out. Enjoy your stay”. I never did see his face. He went back to the main room, and Dakota tugged me back into the hallway.
“It fits you well”, Dakota chimed.
“Sure does feel better than that magician’s trick jacket,” I replied. I’d started taking a closer look at now that we had non-flickering lights. The stitching was close and the material thick. Still had plenty of give in my arms, fortunately, but I could see why they wanted my arms secured enough to stop my flailing. “Just promise me you won’t dart ahead again.”
And, of course, his white sneakers had just turned the corner for the next scary room. I started to move, shaking my legs out to try to gain more crotch comfort.
“Hey!” a man behind me shouted. “You’re in the wrong ward. The Mental Ward is upstairs.” I turned and got a bright flashlight shined in my face. The beam dropped and I could see a tall, thin man dressed as a doctor. But this doctor had a bone-saw adhered to the front and back of his left shoulder.
“No, I-” I started to say, but the doctor had grabbed my shoulder and started pulling me up the stairs behind him.
“Empty rooms don’t scare people. You have to stay in your area if you expect to get paid.” He spoke tersely. His long strides were difficult to keep up with. “We’re short-staffed tonight. There’s a lot of people in line outside. The coffee machine is busted, and it’s not even midnight.” We’d made it to the next floor, and I could see another long hallway. This one was lined with wheelchairs, some occupied by dummies in hospital gowns, others had slumped actors waiting to reach out to passersby.
“You don’t understand,” I stammered, “I don’t belong here.”
“That’s it. Get into character. Just please stay in your area. And,” he turned me around, “your jacket’s too loose. You have to sell it visually as well as audibly.” He turned me around once more. I was getting dizzy. I felt my chest compress as he tightened the straps to my arms. And neck. And…crotch.
“There,” the man said. “Now you look the part. In you go, and don’t lose that enthusiasm.” He opened a door and I stumbled into a white padded room. I heard from behind me, “The last wave of people ends at 2AM. Stay. Scare. I’m off to track down this handsy guest who keeps swinging at my actors.” And with that he shut the door.
From my side, there wasn’t a handle to the door. Just more of the thick white padding. I could see out into the hallway through a small window. Were actors supposed to yell at people as they passed, or wait until people tried to look in?
I looked for Dakota to pass by, but how long would that be? How many rooms downstairs would he go through before realizing I was gone? Would he even come upstairs if he thought I’d chickened out and went outside?
My hands started to get sweaty. I tried lifting them over my head, but the doctor removed most of the slack. I waited. At least in here I was safe.
“Come on, Shawn”, Dakota repeated, “that was just the first room. You can’t call it quits now. Don’t you trust me?”
Dakota, my college roommate of two years and friend of much longer, had dragged me to the new Haunted House in Stone Mountain, Georgia. The company was as a premier haunted house; with multiple floors, intimidating monsters, and some variant amenities like horror-themed escape rooms. And I hated it so far.
This year’s theme was a haunted hospital: “Check in if you dare. Check out if you can”. We’d made it through the long line, the safety video in the lobby (“don’t touch; for our actors’ safety as well as yours”), and had just been introduced to the creepy attendant at the Front Desk of what had been made to look like a run-down hospital wing. Only, the nurse at the front desk had a bloody gash down her face, kept her eyes wide, and had a gimmick setup where she could turn her head like an owl while her torso stayed the same as she watched Dakota and me to step into the long hallway labelled “Intensive Care Unit”.
“This is insane,” I said. “There are too many people and not enough lights. I can barely-,“ I was cut off when a zombie medical patient, or, a person dressed as a zombie medical patient, jumped out and growled at us. “Gah!” I yelled, backing into Dakota and moving my arms in front of me in a random and un-manly way. The actor backed off to avoid my swinging. From his long, silent stare I sensed he was annoyed I’d almost hit him. The zombie growled again, then shambled off to scare more unsuspecting visitors.
“It’s a haunted house,” Dakota said, inching me forward, “and it’s the weekend before Halloween, so of course it’s going to be packed. But I won free tickets on the radio and you promised you’d come if it was free.”
He tussled my hair from behind and walked ahead. Not wanting to be left alone, I followed. The next room had a low doorframe, so I had to duck to enter. The lights in the room flickered on and off, but I could make out a surgery room. Sure enough, I lifted my head right into the face of another scary actor, this time a petite woman dressed as a nurse, with a prosthetic zipper running down her nose and chin. My hands flew up again and flailed in defense, and this time I know I connected.
“Can you not?!” the nurse and I yelled at the same time. A second passed as we both stood there, me thinking through a passive-aggressive apology and her just holding her nose and staring. Staring like the zombie from earlier.
“Orderlies!” she exclaimed, “we have an unruly patient. Can you secure him, for our safety as well his?” I didn’t like the sound of that, but backing up led me to four big hands grabbing my arms. There’s a scene in Looney Tunes where Bugs Bunny backs into the huge red monster, but without turning around just raises up his hands higher and higher until Bugs can feel the face of the much larger creature. That was me, only my hands started at my head height and found their massive pecs, only to reach higher and feel blocky, fake-blood covered faces. The orderly to my right wrapped me in a bear hug. The big guy to the left rustled with something behind me. I didn’t know what to do.
“Shawn, can you hustle?” Dakota asked as he peaked his head from what I guessed was the exit to the room. “Wow! Hey, that’s one way to keep those kung-fu arms in check.” He stepped back into the surgery room.
“Your friend here is acting aggressive,” the nurse said, trying to stay in character. “We can either kick him out, or admit him for surveillance.”
“Oh, definitely admit him,” Dakota said through a laugh, “Shawn, you promised we’d get through this. Don’t you trust me?”
That question again. That question which always seems to get me into trouble.
“Fine,” I said “Sure, whatever.”
“Great,” the nurse said, and then to the brute behind me, “Move him into the side room. We’ll have other patients soon.” She moved back to perch in her scare-spot behind the door. The orderly held his bear hug and shuffled me into an adjacent room. “Here,” said the second orderly, handing something to Dakota. When we were settled in the other room, I started to make out Dakota’s new gift: a dingy, white, canvas straitjacket.
“Just like last summer,” Dakota jeered. Last summer…well, just never volunteer to help a street magician put on his straitjacket in New Orleans, or you could end up as part of the act. And YouTube videos label “Tourist Tricked! Escape Fail!”. The orderly released my arms one at a time as Dakota threaded them through the jacket. The material smelled fine and felt clean, it must have just been made to look dingy. There were no straps across the tops of my arms, so I guessed I could get out if I really wanted. But the two crotch straps were a wee bit close for comfort. The orderly gave a quick check of the straps in the back and then said, “There. You can return it when you check out. Enjoy your stay”. I never did see his face. He went back to the main room, and Dakota tugged me back into the hallway.
“It fits you well”, Dakota chimed.
“Sure does feel better than that magician’s trick jacket,” I replied. I’d started taking a closer look at now that we had non-flickering lights. The stitching was close and the material thick. Still had plenty of give in my arms, fortunately, but I could see why they wanted my arms secured enough to stop my flailing. “Just promise me you won’t dart ahead again.”
And, of course, his white sneakers had just turned the corner for the next scary room. I started to move, shaking my legs out to try to gain more crotch comfort.
“Hey!” a man behind me shouted. “You’re in the wrong ward. The Mental Ward is upstairs.” I turned and got a bright flashlight shined in my face. The beam dropped and I could see a tall, thin man dressed as a doctor. But this doctor had a bone-saw adhered to the front and back of his left shoulder.
“No, I-” I started to say, but the doctor had grabbed my shoulder and started pulling me up the stairs behind him.
“Empty rooms don’t scare people. You have to stay in your area if you expect to get paid.” He spoke tersely. His long strides were difficult to keep up with. “We’re short-staffed tonight. There’s a lot of people in line outside. The coffee machine is busted, and it’s not even midnight.” We’d made it to the next floor, and I could see another long hallway. This one was lined with wheelchairs, some occupied by dummies in hospital gowns, others had slumped actors waiting to reach out to passersby.
“You don’t understand,” I stammered, “I don’t belong here.”
“That’s it. Get into character. Just please stay in your area. And,” he turned me around, “your jacket’s too loose. You have to sell it visually as well as audibly.” He turned me around once more. I was getting dizzy. I felt my chest compress as he tightened the straps to my arms. And neck. And…crotch.
“There,” the man said. “Now you look the part. In you go, and don’t lose that enthusiasm.” He opened a door and I stumbled into a white padded room. I heard from behind me, “The last wave of people ends at 2AM. Stay. Scare. I’m off to track down this handsy guest who keeps swinging at my actors.” And with that he shut the door.
From my side, there wasn’t a handle to the door. Just more of the thick white padding. I could see out into the hallway through a small window. Were actors supposed to yell at people as they passed, or wait until people tried to look in?
I looked for Dakota to pass by, but how long would that be? How many rooms downstairs would he go through before realizing I was gone? Would he even come upstairs if he thought I’d chickened out and went outside?
My hands started to get sweaty. I tried lifting them over my head, but the doctor removed most of the slack. I waited. At least in here I was safe.
