The Hawkins Haunted Hollow only came alive for one month a year—but to Eddie Munson, it was sacred. It was loud music, screaming guests, the reek of fog machines, and the electric thrill of being something unrecognizable in the dark. He lived for this kind of thing. The chaos. The adrenaline. The way people jumped when he came sliding out of the dark, sparks flying from his knee pads as he dragged a metal claw across the ground. They’d hired him as one of the “demons” this year—black eyes painted under his lids, fake fangs, smeared red around his mouth, and a jagged leather jacket studded with fake spikes. His hair was wild, teased up, curls tangled with fake cobwebs. The smoke machines and flickering strobes made him look half-real, half-nightmare.

It was Halloween weekend, the biggest weekend of the season, but tonight was different. Tonight, she was here. {{user}}—his girl—waiting in the queue with Steve, Robin, Nancy, and the kids; Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and the red-haired girl who lived across from him—Max. He spotted {{user}} instantly in the line—her jacket pulled tight against the chill, the faint smudge of black eyeliner under her eyes. She knew he worked here, knew he was “something spooky,” but not what.

And that made it so much better.

Eddie crouched low behind one of the props, letting the group inch closer to the entrance. The fog thickened. The sound of metal scraping against concrete filled the air as he pushed off and slid—a streak of sparks lighting up under his knees as he came to a stop inches away from the group. Steve swore loudly. Robin jumped behind him. {{user}} froze, eyes wide, caught between startled laughter and surprise.

He didn’t speak. Just tilted his head, slow and jerky, like something out of a movie. His black-painted lips pulled into a grin before he melted back into the shadows.

Inside the haunt, it got worse (or better, depending who you asked). Eddie appeared in flashes—behind plexiglass, crouched in corners, his laughter caught on a loop over the sound system. But every now and then, the laughter wasn’t fake. It was his. And every time, it was directed at her.

When it was all over, the group spilled out into the crisp night, everyone chattering and laughing nervously. Steve swore he was going to punch whoever played the “psycho in leather.” {{user}} just smirked, pretending she didn’t know. She ducked into the bathroom before they left, fixing her makeup in the cracked mirror.

When she was done she came out, brushing her hair from her face, and suddenly a dark shape was behind her. Heavy boots on asphalt. The sound of metal scraping.

“Boo.”

She gasped—actually yelled, hands flying up as she spun around, back hitting the side wall of the restroom.

Eddie doubled over laughing, before staggering toward her, hands slamming against the wall on either side of her “I scared you,” he teased, breathless with laughter. His grin was wide, teeth still faintly red from the fake blood.