She ends up sitting between Ivy and Parker. “So, was anybody able to dig up the details on this confidential, Nightmare Elf–inspired film project?” she asks.
“It seems to be totally hush-hush,” Parker says. “Everything online and in the trades says that Blake’s filming in Beijing.”
“Hence the confidential-project part,” I tell them.
“Even this contest was on the down-low,” Frankie says. “I couldn’t find it on Blake’s Web site, and when I went back to the fan site a week or so after I sent in my essay, the contest post was no longer there.”
“Blake’s peeps probably took it down, tired of reading all of the entries—over twenty thousand supposedly.” I yawn. “Anyway, I’m sure Blake’s chartered a private jet to fly him back to Beijing after the filming tonight.”
“What are the odds that I’d be able to sneak myself onto that jet?” Shayla giggles.
“I’d say they suck pretty hard-core,” I tell her.
She shoots me a dejected look, which honestly warms my heart.
We drive for more than two hours before pulling onto a gravel road, lined on both sides with trees. Parker takes out his video camera, rolls down the window, and starts filming.
“Are you lost?” Frankie shouts to the driver as we get thicker into the forest.
The hearse rocks from side to side as the terrain beneath us gets more unstable. At one point I’m not even sure if the car’s width will make it through the trees. Branches scrape and poke the windows and doors.
“You know this is killing your paint job, right?” Frankie calls out to the driver.
Finally we reach a clearing, but the tree boughs overhead block out most of the light. The driver—the same guy who picked me up from the airport—puts the car in park and gets out. At first I think he must be going to check on the damage, but instead he opens the door. “It’s a little too narrow to drive,” he says. “But we can get there on foot. It’s just on the other side of these trees.”
“What is?” Parker asks.
“Harris says we shouldn’t go,” Natalie whispers.
“Your dead brother Harris, right?” I say, intentionally being obnoxious.
We follow the driver down the long narrow roadway. It’s several minutes of walking before the entire area in front of us opens up.
It’s like something straight out of a dream. WELCOME, DARK HOUSE DREAMERS is lit up in Gothic lettering, hanging above an entrance gate. There’s also a Ferris wheel, a merry-go-round, and a ride called Hotel 9; with multiple pointed roofs, it looks like the hotel in the movie.
There’s a tall iron gate that surrounds the entire area, keeping it from the public. It’s got to be at least thirty feet tall. There’s also barbed wire threaded through and around the rungs at the very top. “What the hell is this?” Parker asks.
“It was an old abandoned amusement park, from what I hear,” the driver says. “But it’s been revived just for you, the Dark House Dreamers.”
“Okay, but I didn’t sign up for an amusement park,” Parker says. “I’m here to see a movie.”
“Well, perhaps you should get your ticket.” The driver motions to the gate. “But first…” He pulls what appears to be a red handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket, only when he opens it up and shakes it out, it’s actually a red sack, just like the Nightmare Elf’s. “Please deposit any cell phones, cameras, or video equipment inside here.” He gives Parker a pointed look.
“You can’t be serious,” Parker says.
“I am serious.” The driver smiles. “If you want to see the movie, you’ll honor Mr. Blake’s request to deposit your electronic belongings here.” He gives the empty sack a shake.
“And if we don’t make a deposit?” Parker persists.
“Then no movie and no Blake,” the driver says.
Frankie checks his cell phone for a signal. “Still nothing.”
“So, then, it’s not like it even matters,” Shayla says, checking her cell phone too. “Except I did want to get a photo of myself with Blake.” She keeps a firm hold on her camera. “It was a birthday present last year,” she explains. “Just in time for my two-week sojourn to Prague.”
“Rest assured, there will be plenty of photo opportunities later,” the driver says. “Now, shall we?”
I place my camera and phone down into the sack. Shayla and the others follow suit.
“Very good,” the driver says, tying the bag closed. “Now, without further ado…” He pulls something else from his pocket—a remote control—and points it at the front gates. The doors open to the sound of music—the same whacked-out carnival tune that played back at the Dark House.
The merry-go-round begins to revolve. The Nightmare Elf’s fat little face goes round and round at the top. I move closer, standing just inside the gate now. There’s a roller coaster called Creeper Coaster and a giant tree house called Forest of Fright. A wooden cutout of Eureka from the Nightmare Elf movies—dressed in her peasant blouse and ’70s jeans—stands in front of a snack shack, holding a tray full of fried dough and popcorn.
It’s way too incredible to be real: the blinking lights, the music, and the images from his films, brought to life, like on a movie set. All of it is hidden—here—in the woods. And to think that it was just forty-eight hours ago that I was hanging out in my parents’ basement, filling out applications to work at random gas stations and liquor stores.
“This place is unbelievable,” I say. “I mean, if I didn’t already think that Justin Blake was a creative genius, this pretty much seals the deal.”
A flat-screen TV lights up a few yards in front of us. We move in closer. And that’s when we hear it.
Clamp.
Bang.
Bolt.
The park gates close. The driver threads a chain through and around the bars.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Parker asks him.
“Enjoy!” the driver hollers. He gives us a soldier’s salute before turning away, heading back down the dirt path.
There’s static on the TV screen now; it’s followed by a black background that keeps flipping.
And then I see it. On the screen. Justin Blake’s face. It has a grainy quality, but it’s unmistakably him.
“Hello, Dark House Dreamers,” he says.
“Hello,” Shayla shouts back, silently clapping her hands.
“I hope you all had a pleasant journey to picturesque Hundley County,” he winks, knowing full well how lame this area is, “and that you’re all enjoying the Dark House.”
“Definitely,” Shayla cheers.
“So, now that you’ve gotten a slight taste of the weekend, let’s see to it that you get a full dose of what you came here for. After all”—he leans in closer to the camera, and his pale blue eyes widen for effect—“you came here to be scared, didn’t you?”
“Yeah!” Frankie shouts, pumping his fist.
Natalie stands in front of us all. Her hands are clasped together and she’s mumbling to herself, most likely auditioning for a future role.
“Okay,” Blake says, but the word actually comes out “o-kee-ay.” There’s so much static interference going on: a crunching sound in the background and an annoying buzz. Add that to the fact that the screen continues to flip, and that there’s a perpetual zigzag that cuts through his face, and it’s hard to get the full him.
“So, let’s get down to why you’re really here, shall we?” he asks. “You want a behind-the-scenes look at my latest project, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I shout, clapping my hands. I give Parker and Ivy a sideways glance. They’re hanging on Blake’s every word, as if we’re all going to be tested later.
“You told me your worst nightmares,” Blake continues. “That was your ticket into the gate. And let me just say
in response to that”—he leans in closer again, his eyes bugging out like a deranged serial killer—“revealing your biggest nightmare probably wasn’t the best idea.”
Shayla squeals in anticipation.
It’s extra grainy on the screen. Blake says a bunch more stuff, but none of us can hear him. The audio’s all out of whack. “…to face your biggest fears,” he continues, but the words aren’t in sync with his lips. The speed must be off.
A moment later, the screen goes black.
“What the hell?” I shout.
It fades back a couple of seconds later, but Blake is no longer there. In his place, hidden among shadows, is someone dressed up as the Nightmare Elf; I can just make out his bright red suit and the chubby cheeks on his elf mask.
“The reason you’re here is far more paramount than just a behind-the-scenes look at my film,” the elf says, in a voice that isn’t Blake’s. “This park is the set of my new movie. And you are my stars.”
“Seriously?” Shayla asks; her inflated ego just got bigger. “We’re the actors?”
“The camera’s already rolling,” the elf says. “So, enjoy the park. Walk around, have a snack, go on all of the Justin Blake movie–themed rides as many times as you like. A word to the wise, however: the Eureka Shrieker is a real killer.” He holds the sides of his head.
Ivy looks like she’s about to hurl.
“But…but…but,” the elf continues, “before you begin, there’s something you need to know. There are rides and challenges tailored for each of you, based on your essay. If you want to make it to the final cut, you—and you alone—will have to face your nightmare by going on that ride. Anyone who enters another Dark House Dreamer’s nightmare will be unable to attend the rough-cut showing at the end with the real creative genius.”
“J.B.,” Shayla whispers.
The elf’s voice goes grave-serious: “Find your ride and face your fear. Any problems, including if you chicken out, just use the emergency phones. Now, what are you waiting for?” He unleashes a maniacal laugh that impresses even me. The TV screen fades to black.
“Holy freaking shit!” I shout. “I mean, do you seriously get what this means?”
“We’re going to be in a movie!” Shayla bursts.
“With no script, directions, or rehearsals?” Parker asks, already trying to poke holes.
“Sort of like the reality-TV version of a major motion picture,” Shayla says. “Has that even been done yet? Or are we breaking some serious new ground here?”
Tears well up in my eyes. An opportunity like this could honestly change everything for me—show everyone who ever doubted me. My dad is going to freak.
While the others point out some of the video cameras positioned around the park, wannabe–Linda-Blair Natalie runs back to the entrance gate. She looks outward, through the bars, wiping an invisible layer of sweat from her brow.
“What’s wrong?” Frankie asks her, obviously buying her bogus act.
Instead of answering, Natalie struggles to get the gate to open, pulling at the chain and shaking the lock. “Harris says we’re trapped,” she shouts.
“And Harris is as dead as last night’s dinner,” I say, still thinking about those amazing ribs.
“It’s hard to be trapped when there are emergency phones,” Shayla says. “Plus, I thought he stopped talking to you.”
“He’s started again. Remember?”
“Well, tell him to shut up,” I say. “Because we’re here to be in a movie. So let’s get to it.”
Natalie turns away from the gate, and we all move deeper inside the park.
I’M PROBABLY THE ONLY PERSON here who isn’t completely enamored with Justin Blake and/or his work, and yet watching him on the overhead TV screen just now, and listening to whoever it was dressed as the Nightmare Elf say that we need to face our fears…it felt like they were talking directly to me.
The others seem excited to be here. Garth smiles for the camera as he poses with a wooden cutout of one of Justin Blake’s characters (some girl with a big floppy hat and bell-bottom jeans). Shayla hams it up, squealing and giggling extra loud, as she plays that game where you slam a mallet as hard as you can, trying to get a puck (in this case, the Nightmare Elf) to jump up and ring the bell at the very top. She doesn’t manage it on the first couple of tries, but then Frankie takes a crack at it, sending the Nightmare Elf soaring; the elf’s head slams against the bell, causing the latter to ring and the elf’s tongue to stick out from the impact.
Natalie, on the other hand, has the hood of her jacket up now, even though it’s at least eighty degrees. She’s repositioned her scarf, too, so that it covers her mouth and chin. A pair of oversize sunglasses conceals her eyes. I gaze up at a video camera, noticing that she’s positioned away from it. Being videotaped must bother her—the idea of seeing herself later on film. I don’t want to be videotaped either—don’t want to risk that my parents’ killer might one day recognize me in a movie.
“So, what do you think?” Parker asks, standing at my side.
“I’m not really sure what to think. I didn’t ask to be in a movie.”
“What’s wrong? Don’t want to be a reality star?”
I wish I could read his mind to know if he’s thought about last night, because it’s been on my mind all day. He was so incredibly sweet, staying in my room, and then holding me when my anxiety got too big.
“Hey, come check this out!” Shayla says. She’s moved farther into the park, past a merry-go-round with evil-looking horses. There’s another ride tucked behind it, but only the back side is visible: a yellow house with a picket fence.
I wonder if it’s mine.
“It’s the greenroom,” Shayla shouts. “Come on!”
Movie screens light up around the park showing films by Justin Blake. I look back at the house, eager to get away from it. I follow the others to where Shayla is. It’s a lounge area, set up with patio sofas and chairs. There are food coolers positioned about, as well as a couple of portable refrigerators. “Seven chairs,” I say, nodding toward a dining area, reminded of Taylor’s absence.
“Over here,” Frankie says, calling us to one of the rides. “Check it out. This ride goes underground.” He points out where a tunnel burrows down into the ground and then comes out several yards later.
The rest of the Nightmare Elf’s Train of Terror looks fairly normal—like a basic roller coaster—with individual carts that resemble the Santa-like sacks that the Nightmare Elf always carries. The elf’s chubby face is positioned in front of the very first cart. His eyes are aglow, the pupils flashing red.
Shayla climbs into the cart at the very front.
“Wait, how do you know you can ride this?” Parker checks out the ride’s signage—basically a board that lists rules about staying properly restrained—obviously heeding the Nightmare Elf’s message that, in addition to our personalized nightmare rides, we’re only allowed to go on rides that are based on Justin Blake’s movies.
“This ride is E for everyone,” Shayla says, suddenly a park expert. She peeks up at the camera and sticks out her chest. “An equal opportunity thriller.” She blows the camera a kiss.
Garth jumps into the cart behind her. “You’ll probably want to sit this one out,” he says to Natalie. “I don’t think Harris would approve.”
Instead of taking his remark with its intended sarcasm, Natalie’s face falls flat. “You’re right,” she says. “Harris wants me to find a way out of here.” She looks around at the perimeter of the park in a halfhearted search for an exit. When she doesn’t immediately see one, she climbs into one of the carts, careful to keep all her layers of shrouding intact.
“Shall we?” Parker asks, motioning to the two train carts behind Frankie’s.
I climb inside the first one. Parker steps into the cart behind
it. He presses the start button, on a post by the list of rules. Everyone’s handlebars drop down, locking us into place.
At the same moment, the Nightmare Elf lets out a childlike giggle. “Hold on to your chair,” the elf sings. “Because I’m ready to scare.”
Shayla, Garth, and Frankie cheer in unison.
I clench the handlebars. A motor starts up somewhere beneath me, under my seat. The train carts begin to coast into a tunnel, before spiraling downward into a deep, dark hole.
“We’re going underground!” Shayla shouts.
The Nightmare Elf lets out another laugh. “Too late to turn back now.”
My stomach drops. I lurch forward, feeling like I’m going to fall out of my seat.
One of us howls. Someone else lets out a scream.
Finally, the carts level out and proceed in a forward direction again. But still there’s only darkness. “Parker?” I call out, but I can barely hear my own voice.
The wheels rip across the tracks, screeching over any other sound.
I grip the handlebar tighter. My teeth clench harder. I close my eyes, trying to breathe through my anxiety. I’m stronger than my fears, bigger than this moment. I inhale and then exhale, blowing out my negative thoughts, trying to return to a state of calm.
The wind blows at my face, through my hair. And, for just a second, I almost convince myself that this is actually kind of fun.
But then my cart comes to a sudden halt.
And the screeching noise stops.
There’s just the pumping of my heart—so hard and heavy inside my chest that I can hear it in my ears, can feel it in my veins.
The lights remain out. I can’t see a thing—not the person seated in front of me, nor the hand before my face.
Is it over? Are we stuck? Why isn’t anyone saying anything?
I can hear the sound of water trickling. A leaking pipe, maybe. I reach forward to touch Frankie, but there’s just empty space in front of me. Our carts must’ve disconnected, or maybe they were never connected to begin with.