24. Circus Trap p.2

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--here is the cool inspo in my mind for Lauren's haunted house makeup. I rlly dig the rabid, browless eyes and the blood smears. looks like it wants to bite your face off--


Neon strobes flashed across the narrow passage. Beneath a sea of black canvas and wall dividers, an upcoming group was shrieking their vocal cords off to the droning beat of the audio. Lauren was concealed behind the smoke machine, nursing a dull ache that took residence in her eyes. Over the course of the work, some classmates showed up yet most were unable to recognize her inside the haunted house. 

As the first hour wore on and the visitors streamed in, the ache started out with a prick. Now, it was akin to the sting of shedding several eyelashes. 

"I am not a fan of whatever eyeliner she used," she said over her shoulder. 

An air toy squeaked a few turns down, followed by a gravelly, dissonant voice and slicing metal. The crowd roared. Whether it be thrill or genuine shock, she was too distracted to wonder. 

"We can go back after this group and see which one you're wearing," Emma replied several feet overhead. "You want some tissues in the meantime? Try my left pocket."

She pivoted to her small figure draped in tattered and bloodied clothes, now pinned to a wood-chip wall and with a cleaver prop wedged in her skull. The sight of her spread arms and legs always tugged a smirk out of her. As she'd hoped, her left pocket carried a miniature pack of kleenex. 

She carefully extracted one and dabbed the forming tears before they touched the rest of the makeup. At least it was very dark and hazy in the tunnel, that way the eye makeup mattered less. 

The familiar brush of footsteps appeared around the corner and she signaled Emma to ready herself. Heads focused into view amid the white, billowing smoke. The group came shuffling and holding onto each other. Lauren licked her lips. Halloween screams were like a delicacy, a score, and a neverending source of entertainment. 

She pulled out a second cleaver and ghosted behind the curtain. When the chain of people emerged, they instantly saw Emma convulsing on the wall, legs missing below the knee. Blood had splattered across the wood, and the matching shins welcomed the group on an abandoned surgery table. 

She calculated their distance. 

All of them reached the ideal point. That was when she lunged out of the darkness, a predatory stealth not unlike a Wanderer's, cleaver high over her head, with a jarring scream far stronger than the ones from the speakers. She went to bite inches away from a mother holding a son about Ethan's age, growling, and moved on to the next face. 

"Such a natural," Emma complimented once they passed. 

Lauren gave a watery smile. "Likewise."

"Okay now, unstrap me. Let's go look for that nasty eyeliner because your eyes look even freakier than with just the makeup."

With a weak nod, she unfastened her at the waist and thighs which allowed the girl to pull her legs out of the hole in the wall. She jumped down, and Lauren stole another kleenex on their walk to the tent. 

Other volunteers had aggregated near snacks and water bottles. Emma took her forearm and pulled her around the mirrors, opening each makeup bag she could find. Finally, she stumbled across what seemed to be the same white pen. They turned it in her palm, but Lauren felt that looking down amplified the sting. 

There was no company name or product name. 

"Weird." Emma uncapped it and swiped it on the back of her hand. "Should I try it on one eye?"

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"That's the stupidest thing you've said tonight."

She tsked under her breath, placing it back in the leather bag. "If my hand's fine in an hour, then it's probably an allergy or something. Crap, you need another tissue already. We should just remove it." 

Lauren nodded fervently. "And that's the smartest thing you've said tonight."

Her friend set her on an empty chair and unearthed her backpack. Pulling out a box of Q-tips and a travel-size makeup remover, she wet the tip.  

"What do you not carry around?" Lauren asked, watching through bleary, reddish eyes. 

"Is everything fine over here?" inquired Denver as he had risen from his corner and made his way to them. His brows puckered. "What's going on?"

Emma stuck a hand under her chin to hold her still, and she tried not to twitch at the mere idea of another instrument near her waterline. "Eye makeup's not agreeing with her. If she keeps crying, it'll ruin the face makeup and that would really suck. Look at this, it's all red and irritated. What's the pen Carmen used?"

"Carmen? No, I can't say. I don't know what's in her supplies. I'm really sorry, Lauren."

She was too focused on the swipes of the Q-tip and the burn along her eyes to issue a reply. She wanted to roll over and stab them out. Both heads popped within view, one with horns and one with a bloody cleaver. Emma's worried expression somehow warmed her heart. 

"It's all gone. Is it any better?"

"I... Maybe it'll take a while to calm down?" She resisted the urge to rub her lids. "Pass me some Q-tips in water."

She was swift to the task, coming back with a thin stack of them. Lauren slid off the chair and leaned into the closest mirror. The coldness of the water was soothing, but the sizzling pain seized again as soon as she removed it. 

A blurry wall formed in her sight as she blinked, and there on the counter with arms straight, it dawned. Her stare found Denver's concern in the reflection and narrowed on the assembly behind. She never imagined it would happen to her, not this way, not around Emma who might have already seen too much. 

How many of them could be in the tent—circling outside? The questions would have swarmed her mind if it wasn't for the rising weight of the bigger problem ahead. Ethan and Luc were somewhere in the park. 

"It's fine," she said coldly to Emma. "I feel better already."

"Really?"

She smoothed her face and soldiered a relieved smile. If Denver was regular staff and he was too worried, it would get to Carmen. Unless someone slipped the eyeliner in her bag and she was innocent? 

No, too risky to assume. 

"Sure, I'm ready to go back in. Go wash your hands. It's all good, now."


𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊


Minutes turned into groups and groups turned into an hour and a half. Lauren's face grew hot and tingly and her nose, flowing like a flu-tired child. Visitors grew blurry, and though some voices among the visitors sounded familiar, she couldn't make out traits for the life of her. 

Emma said nothing when the second hour passed and she drained the only pack of kleenex from her pocket. 

"They're coming," she warned, adjusting herself on the wall. 

Lauren tripped back behind the curtain. Despite the intensifying burn, she'd gone through the motions so often that she automatically fell into place. She peeped through a crack to measure the distance of the advancing heads. Wiping her hand along her eyes, she gathered her strength and prowled forth. 

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