Page 34 of Fed By Fear

Balloons rise and pop, flooding the forest in a vibrant rainbow display. They’re never quite able to slip through the canopy before catching on something and bursting.

Eventually the forest wins. The farther I run, the less of Madness’s room I see.

Just when I think I’m clear of the clown’s influence, a bleating laughter races through the treetops. Has he caught up to me already? If Madness is close, then Hunt can’t be far behind. Without the sound of Hunt’s chainsaw to give him away, I have no idea where he is.

Glancing over my shoulder grants me a frustrating view of the dark woods. The hint of a shadow passes from tree to tree in the distance. Was that real? Is my mind playing tricks on me?

A low-hanging branch smacks me in the chest, reminding me that I am not wearing clothes.

Running naked is a strangely liberating experience. No clothes or shoes to restrict movement. I’m a wildling, fusing with the nature and night. The moss muffles my footfalls but a soft squelching gives away my every step. The ground is growing wetter the farther in I go.

There’s an uncomfortable stickiness between my thighs that’s punctuated each time my legs swing forward to run. I don’t remember Madness finishing inside of me, but it’s hard to believe this much fluid is my own.

The reality of the last room finally catches up with me. I was willing to have sex with a monster. Even after he nearly crushed me to death. A clown made me come. A monster wasinside me.

If Hunt hadn’t found us, we wouldn’t have stopped. I didn’t want him to stop. That’s something I’ll need to unpack in the therapy that I’ll definitely be looking into when I get out of here.

Crisp pine and sweet jasmine push through my fear, eliciting memories of childhood trips to the mountains. A lightness overtakes the gloom as I give in to the wild, lifting my spirits.

The forest is one of my happiest places. Even with the ghosts dotting the landscape. Where the hell did they come from? Have I entered a different room? There were no ghosts when I first crossed into the forest.

Glowing faces keep tucked out of sight, occasionally peering out around tree trunks.

They’re hiding from something.

The closer I come to each, the quicker they disappear.

“Hide if you want. It’s not me you should be afraid of.”

The trees are more densely packed in this area. I can’t get a good read on the distance.

Believing we’re still in the haunted house is ridiculous.This type of real estate doesn’t exist inside Reaper’s Playroom. The demons are somehow able to stretch space, bending it to match their needs.

I don’t have a very good plan for escaping. Surely if I keep running, I’ll make it to the other side. None of the rooms can beendless. I’ve found a way through everything so far.

That, or they’ve let me out each time.

I’d like to think I have some control over the night but that’s probably absurd.

This room is warmer than the clown room. The heat is thick. Reminding me of the way the air feels when rain is close.

A weather phenomenon would insinuate we are most definitely not still in the haunted house.

More ghosts duck and tremble as I tear a path through the forest. One stays present, standing out in the open. The ghost from the clown room stares straight at me. My feet tangle as I slam to a halt, veering toward her.

“Hey you dead bitch.” Not my most intellectually impressive insult, but accurate nonetheless. “What did you do to me?”

She’s more youthful than I realized. It’s challenging to determine the age of a spirit. A thirty-year-old a hundred years ago looks far different than a thirty-year-old today. She’s a child, maybe early teens. The torn nightgown and haunted expression have me praying she doesn’t impart her gruesome death story into my thoughts. Most spirits contain some level of emotion. Often just one. Sadness, rage, grief. Those are what I see most. This girl seems far more aware of the present. An almost-human range of emotion flickers through her translucent gaze.

“Skin,” she mumbles.

“Yes, skin. What have you done to me? What’s happening to my skin?”

She speaks in the faintest whisper. “You did.”

Frustration gives a bite to my words. “What are you saying?”

Her gaze softens. “What you did.”