We were cruising through the night, skipping through towns and highways, when Ted decided to make a stop at Brandon's Fort--one of the few convenience stores open this late during Halloween. I parked the car and we both went out towards the glass doors with paper black cats and pale ghosts taped on.
A seedy, bearded man sat cross-legged near the front. He looked up at us with bloodshot eyes. "Got spare change?" he asked, showing yellowed teeth. I spared him a few quarters before going in.
There was no one inside--which made some sense, most people would be out in costumes in search for candy--except for the woman manning the register, who was staring blankly ahead at nothing. Her name tag read 'Kelly'
Ted got a six-pack of beer while I got my usual of a couple Slim Jims with a Coke. When we reached the register the woman mechanically said that our total was so and so, thank you, have a nice night. These words were odd and strained, but that wasn't unusual with late shift workers. It did bother me that she didn't seem to ever blink, though.
"Hey," said Ted, gesturing towards the front doors. "There's a bum out there beggin' for cash. Might wanna do somethin' about that."
She didn't seem to hear him. Then, she blinked, and it was the only time I saw her blink, before managing to creak out an odd "Yes?"
He tried again, each time eliciting the same sort of response. Eventually he gave up and we left. Just before I opened the door and stepped outside, though, I did hear her mumble something and say "Yes?" to no one in particular.
After the incident with the strange lady, we were back on cruising through the night. We didn't have an actual destination in mind, it just seemed as if we would find what we needed to find eventually.
Graves, webs, carved pumpkins and other such decorations inhabited the front lawns of houses as we drove by. Little ghouls and monsters, usually accompanied by a parent or unwilling older sibling, went up the steps of these houses and rang the doorbell. The door would open, they would incant the same sacred words, and they would receive a helping of candy.
We drove down a few more blocks before we saw it. In between two inconspicuous houses sat a huge dark one, nearly blotting out the moon. On its front lawn was a sign which read in gothic lettering: "THE LOTUS HOUSE. 15$ FEE PER PERSON. +18 ONLY." There didn't seem to be anyone outside except for a teen sitting on a lawn chair next to the sign.
Ted seemed to get excited at the prospect of a haunted house. "Whattya think, Eddie? We check the place out? I think I still got forty bucks here. Lemme check."
I shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt to take a look. Let's see what this place is about."
We walked up to the teen, who had a jar of money on his lap, and I spotted a smaller notice underneath the sign, written in marker: "Please help raise money for my daughter Joyce." Next to that text was a picture of a girl, no older than twelve, who sat in a wheelchair with her limbs and neck at crooked, askew angles. Her tongue stuck out. Perhaps the most disturbing feature was the strange glint in her emerald eyes. There was no further elaboration in the small text about her affliction. I decided to ask.
"What's wrong with her? The little girl in the picture, I mean. Is she paralyzed?"
The teen frowned at me and shrugged. "I dunno, man. I just work here."
Ted looked around, as if to point out the lack of a crowd or line. "Not much business, huh?"
The teen shook the jar. "Oh, there were people here. Most of 'em just come back right out that same entrance. Guess things just get too freaky in there for them. People rarely make it to the end."
"You said you work here," I interrupted, noticing what he'd said earlier. "For whom?"
"Mister Lotus. He's the dad of that girl. I think he's one of the...uh, attractions, in there. You going in or not?"
Now, normally I'm not a fan of being guilt-tripped into shelling out some cash, but this 'Lotus' House did seem a lot more professional than most haunted houses that I'd seen when I was a kid. That, and it seemed just like the perfect culmination for our night jaunt, the ultimate conclusion.
So Ted and I decided to pay for our entry fees separately. Yet, when I gave the kid his green notes, a strange shudder came over me. I felt as though I'd made a terrible mistake. I could've just taken the money back and wait for Ted in the car, but a part of me didn't want him to go in there alone for some reason.
