Ethan Ward sat on the ticket counter of The Haunted Haven, the brass key from the manor room spinning lazily between his fingers. The morning sun slanted through the grimy windows, cutting shafts of light across the dusty hall, but it did little to chase away the chill that clung to the place. He couldn’t shake the memory of those painted eyes—sharp, alive, watching him like he owed her something. The key hummed faintly in his hand, a quiet buzz he could feel more than hear, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or hated it.
“Earth to Ethan,” Sophie Bennett said, snapping him out of his daze. She stood across from him, hands on her hips, her blonde bun lopsided from pacing. “You’ve been staring at that thing like it’s gonna sprout legs and dance. What’s the plan, boss? We opening this circus or what?”
He smirked, pocketing the key. “Circus is right. Step right up, folks, see the amazing Ward family screw-up live and in person.” He hopped off the counter, brushing dust off his jeans. “Yeah, let’s open it. Might as well see if anyone’s dumb enough to pay for this.”
Sophie’s grin lit up the room, a stark contrast to the gloom. “That’s the spirit! I’ll handle the front—tickets, waivers, the whole ‘don’t sue us if you pee your pants’ spiel. You figure out what that key does. Deal?”
“Deal,” Ethan said, though he wasn’t sure he meant it. The radio hadn’t spoken since last night, but its silence felt louder than its voice—like it was waiting, biding its time. He glanced at Sophie, already digging through her backpack for a notebook. “You’re way too chipper for this. What’s your deal, anyway? Psych major, sure, but why sign up for this?”
She didn’t look up, scribbling something with a chewed-up pen. “Told you, I’m into creepy stuff. Ghosts, urban legends, that kinda thing. Plus, my prof’s got this theory—fear’s just the brain’s way of prepping for a fight. I wanna see if he’s right.” She paused, then flashed a sly smile. “Also, rent’s due, and this beats selling plasma.”
Ethan laughed, a real one this time. “Fair enough. You’re hired, assuming I don’t fire you by noon.”
“Challenge accepted.” Sophie grabbed a broom from the corner andstarted sweeping, humming off-key as dust clouds billowed around her. Ethan shook his head, half-amused, half-impressed. She was a whirlwind, and he wasn’t sure if that’d save him or get them both killed.
By ten a.m., they’d wrestled the place into something resembling order. The fake skeletons got propped back up, the creaky doors got a squirt of WD-40, and Sophie taped a handwritten sign to the gate: Haunted Haven - $5 Entry, Enter at Your Own Risk. Ethan wasn’t convinced anyone would show, but as noon rolled around, a trickle of curious locals and bored teens started milling outside. Sophie worked the crowd like a pro, her voice bright and relentless.
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“Step inside if you dare!” she called, waving a stack of crumpled waivers. “Scariest spot in Hopeville, guaranteed to make you scream—or your money back! Probably!” A few kids snickered, and an older guy with a trucker hat forked over a crumpled five. Ethan watched from the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to look as surprised as he felt.
The first group—three teens and the trucker—shuffled in, clutching flashlights Sophie had scrounged from a storage closet. Ethan trailed behind, half-guide, half-babysitter, leading them through the main hall’s cheap scares. The mannequin in the tuxedo got a yelp, the coffin bat earned a nervous laugh, but it wasn’t until they reached the manor door that Ethan felt the air shift. He hesitated, hand on the knob, the key burning a hole in his pocket.
“Go on, man,” one of the teens prodded, a lanky kid with a smirk. “Show us the good stuff.”
Ethan forced a grin. “You asked for it.” He opened the door, and the group filed into the small room, their chatter dying as the portrait came into view. The woman stared down, her crimson dress stark against the dark wood, her eyes locked on Ethan like they’d never left. The teens went quiet, the trucker muttered something under his breath, and Ethan swore he heard that whisper again—soft, insistent, tugging at the edge of his mind.
“Creepy painting,” the lanky kid said, breaking the spell. “She’s hot, though.” His buddies laughed, and the tension snapped like a rubber band. Ethan exhaled, steering them back out. “That’s all, folks. Exit’s that way. Don’t trip over the skeletons.”
They left, still giggling, and Ethan shut the manor door behind them. The key stayed in his pocket, untouched, but he couldn’t shake the feeling it wanted out. More groups trickled in—some screamed, some scoffed—but by late afternoon, Sophie was counting a small stack of bills with a triumphant grin. “Forty bucks,” she announced, waving the cash. “Not bad for day one, huh?”
“Not bad,” Ethan admitted, leaning against the counter. “You’re a natural at this.”
“Born to hustle.” She tucked the money into her backpack, then nodded at the office. “Speaking of hustling, that radio’s been quiet. Think it’s done whispering?”
“Doubt it.” Ethan’s gaze drifted to the closed office door. “Feels more like it’s… waiting.”
“For what?”
“Me, probably.” He didn’t elaborate, and Sophie didn’t push. They locked up as dusk settled over Hopeville, the park’s shadows stretching long and thin. Ethan lingered by the gate, the key a cold weight in his pocket, when a crackle split the silence. He turned, heart sinking, as the radio’s voice rasped from inside—faint but clear, even through the walls.
“The theater demands an audience,” it said, slow and deliberate. “Step onto the stage, Ethan.”
Sophie froze mid-step, her eyes wide. “Did it just—”
“Yeah.” Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Looks like round two.” He glanced at her, half-expecting her to bolt, but she just squared her shoulders, a glint of excitement in her gaze.
“Well,” she said, “guess we’re not done yet. You ready, boss?”
Ethan sighed, pulling the key from his pocket. “Not even close. Let’s go.”