Chapter 115

We paid the bored teenager manning the ticket booth, and since there wasn’t a line, we went straight in.

The air shifted the moment we stepped inside—cooler, damp, and stale, like the place hadn’t been properly aired out since Halloween three years ago. A low fog hugged the floor, pumped out in intervals by a machine hissing in the corner like it was on its last legs.

Black lights buzzed overhead, making the paint-splattered walls glow an eerie green. On either side of the narrow path were plywood "rooms" staged to look like twisted scenes from horror movies—one had a bloody operating table with fake limbs scattered around, the other a nursery filled with cracked baby dolls and a rocking chair that creaked on its own, thanks to a hidden motor.

Jasmine reached for my arm. "Just in case," she whispered, but her fingers lingered longer than they needed to.

Kim stayed close to my other side, her shoulder brushing mine. Whether it was intentional or not, I didn’t ask.

A fake bat on a string dropped from the ceiling and swung between us. Kim shrieked and grabbed my hand.

"Jesus," I muttered, but I didn’t pull away.

The path twisted sharply, forcing us through a narrow corridor draped in hanging plastic strips. They clung to our clothes and left cold streaks on our skin. Somewhere nearby, a chainsaw revved—too loud, too close—but it was only a sound effect, no actor in sight.

Jasmine’s hip bumped mine. She let out a shaky laugh. "Okay... this is creepier than I thought."

"Still not scary," I said, right before a cardboard ghost, white sheet and all, slammed down from a hatch in the ceiling with a thud.

I jumped. Just a little.

Kim laughed breathlessly. "Was that you just now?"

"Shut up," I muttered, grinning despite myself.

We passed through a fake hallway lined with mirrors, each cracked and reflecting our warped silhouettes in dim blue light. One had red handprints smeared across the glass. Another had writing that read GET OUT in dripping paint.

A distorted voice cackled from a hidden speaker as we turned another corner. Jasmine wrapped her arm fully around mine this time, pressing into me like she was cold—or maybe just wanted to feel something else.

The space grew tighter, darker. Something brushed my neck—probably more fishing wire hanging from the ceiling—but Kim leaned in close anyway, her breath warm.

"I think we’re being watched," she whispered. I didn’t know if she meant the actors or something else entirely.

We pushed through a final black curtain and stumbled out into sunlight. It hit like a slap—hot, blinding, sudden.

"Okay," Jasmine exhaled, laughing nervously. "That was... actually kinda scary."

Kim nodded, cheeks flushed again. "Yeah. Not bad."

"I think I handled it the best," I said.

"You literally flinched at a cardboard ghost," Jasmine shot back.

"Yeah?" I said, smiling. "But I flinched with style."

A photo booth loomed ahead, a compact, retro box painted in faded red and white stripes, its curtain slightly tattered, a glowing sign above it reading ’Instant Memories.’ A price list was taped to the side: $5 for four shots, $8 for eight, with an extra $2 for digital copies. A short line of people shuffled in front, a mix of giggling teens and a couple holding hands.

"Wanna try that?" Jasmine asked Kim, her teal tank top catching the sunlight, her braids swaying as she grinned.

"Sure," Kim replied instantly.

They stepped into the line, and I followed, hands in my pockets, the chatter around us blending with the clink of coins from nearby games. The line moved slowly, giving us time to talk.

"Hey," Jasmine said, glancing at me. "Is there any news from that girl? What was her name, Melda?"

"Mendy," I corrected, my stomach twisting at the mention. "Yeah, she’s getting better, I think. But I can’t talk to her—her friend won’t let me."

The line shifted forward, and we took a step, the booth’s curtain fluttering as someone exited, laughing.

"Maybe you should visit her?" Kim suggested, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "That’d be more straightforward."

"I kinda don’t want to bother her," I said, my voice low. "She... just doesn’t want to see me. Forcing it would only make things worse."

"It’s tough," Kim said, her tone soft. "Hope she can get over it soon."

"This guy, Richard," Jasmine said, her eyes narrowing. "You talked to him after that whole... mess in the hospital?"

The line moved again, and we shuffled closer, the booth’s neon sign buzzing faintly.

"Nope. Don’t wanna see his face again," I said, my jaw tightening. "He attacked me because he couldn’t handle the truth."

"Narcissist asshole," Jasmine spat. "Cheating on his girlfriend because she wouldn’t do anal? Damned maniac."

The line moved once more, and it was our turn. Just as I stepped toward the booth, a shaky, quiet voice sliced through the air—familiar, unsettling. Fuck. Cora.

"Evan..." she chuckled, a nervous edge to it. "W-what a surprise, heh-heh."

I turned right, and there she was, wearing an oversized hoodie that hung past her thighs, swallowing her frame, paired with dark pink pants. Her eyes darted nervously, her cheeks already flushing. She wasn’t alone—a girl with short brown hair stood beside her, massive tits straining her tight black top, her half-lidded eyes screaming exhaustion.

"C-Cora," I said, forcing a neutral tone. "Hey."

"Uuh..." she muttered, her voice barely audible. "This is my sister. Esme. She is nice to meet you..."

Realizing her jumbled words, Cora’s face turned beet red, her eyes dropping to the ground. Esme gave a lazy wave, pointing to a nearby bench. "I’m gonna sit there. So tired," she said, her voice sluggish. "I need to sleep..."

"S-so," Cora stammered, her hands twisting the hem of her hoodie. "Are you three going into the photo booth? I wish I had someone to take a photo with..."

"Umm..." Jasmine said, glancing at Kim, then me. "We were... about to enter, yeah. Would you like to join us?"

Esme was already shuffling toward the bench, shoulders slumped, not even listening. Cora’s eyes lit up like a puppy begging for a treat, nodding eagerly. "Heh-heh. Yes, if you don’t mind."

I dug into my pocket, pulling out a crumpled ten-dollar bill, and fed it into the photo booth’s slot, selecting the $8 option for eight shots. The machine whirred, accepting the payment, and the red curtain parted as we squeezed into the cramped booth. The interior was tight, barely enough room for four, with a scratched-up bench and a flickering screen showing a grainy preview.

We stood awkwardly, shoulder to shoulder, the space forcing us close. Kim shuffled to the left, her pale skin brushing against Jasmine’s teal tank top. Cora hovered behind me with an awkward smile on her face. Her nervous energy was... well, noticeable, her breath quick as she stood too close, her face barely visible over my shoulder. Jasmine shot me a glance, her braids swaying, her lips twitching like she was holding back a laugh at the tension.

"Alright, let’s do this," I said, breaking the silence, pressing the start button on the screen.

The screen counted down—3, 2, 1—and we scrambled to pose. Kim threw up a peace sign, Jasmine flashed a wide grin, and I leaned forward with a half-smirk, trying to look casual. Cora, behind me, barely peeked out, her eyes wide, a shy smile flickering.

The flash popped, blinding us, and the machine whirred, snapping the first shot. We shifted for the next, Kim sticking out her tongue, Jasmine winking, me throwing a mock-serious glare. Cora tilted her head, her hoodie slipping slightly, showing more of her flushed face. Three more flashes, each pose sillier than the last—Kim pretending to choke me, Jasmine flexing, Cora giggling nervously, her hands clutching my shirt.

The machine hummed, spitting out two strips of four black-and-white photos into the tray. I grabbed them, the glossy paper warm, the images capturing our chaotic energy—Kim’s playful smirk, Jasmine’s bold grin, my exaggerated expressions, and Cora’s half-hidden, nervous smile, her eyes locked on me in every shot. The air turned heavy, Cora’s closeness lingering like a shadow.

"Looks... good," Kim said, coughing to cut the awkwardness, her eyes flicking to Cora.

"Y-yep," Jasmine added, her voice too bright, adjusting her braids to avoid Cora’s gaze.

We stepped out of the booth, the curtain swishing behind us, the amusement park’s noise—clinking arcade games, distant laughter—flooding back. I pocketed the photo strips, the edges crinkling in my jeans, and cleared my throat, trying to shake the weird vibe.

"So..." I began, glancing at Cora, her sister Esme still slumped on a nearby bench, half-asleep. "What will you do now, Cora? Amusement park fun with your sister, huh?"

"Yes," Cora said, her voice shaky, her hands twisting her hoodie’s hem. "I thought it’d be a nice change."

"Well, don’t let us get in your way," I said, waving a hand, eager to move on. "Bye."

Jasmine nudged me hard with her elbow, her eyes narrowing. "How rude, Evan," she whispered, then flashed a smile at Cora. "You guys can join us if you want! The more the merrier, right?"

"We’d be happy to," Cora said, her eyes lighting up, nodding eagerly. "W-what should we do?"

God help me.

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