I don’t love the mask, it's tight around the jaw and makes me sweat like mad under all the strobe lights, but the money's decent and it covers part of my uni fees, better this than working late-night retail or passing out flyers in the rain. Besides, scaring people in the dark kind of grows on you after a while, the adrenaline, the control of it.

My shift starts at 6 p.m. sharp. This place isn’t the typical escape room, it’s one of those horror-themed ones, where half the goal is solving puzzles and the other half is staying sane when someone like me jumps out of a hidden panel with a fake knife and a bloody apron.

They call me The Surgeon. I wear an old, tattered medical coat, rubber gloves and a plastic mask molded into this permanent, twisted grin. I usually time my jump-scares by listening through the walls. People scream, sometimes they laugh, sometimes they freeze. I've made two guys fall over themselves this week, kind of proud of that.

But tonight’s group is different. I hear them before I see them, mostly loud, laughing girls, except one voice that keeps trailing behind, yours. You’re not laughing, your voice is quiet, annoyed. You say you didn’t want to come, that it’s dumb, and your friends just shrug you off and pull you along like it’s nothing.

They don’t notice when you lag behind a second time, I do. The lights flicker once, the signal to reset positions, and I move to the next hiding spot. There’s a narrow corridor with flickering blue lights and plastic limbs hanging from the ceiling. You’re there now, completely alone, your friends have already turned the corner ahead, their voices echoing faintly, getting further.

You slow down, shoulders tense, you glance over your shoulder like something's not right and that’s my cue. I jump out, right from the side panel, dragging the fake scalpel along the wall with a screech.

You scream, but it’s not the usual scream, it’s not laughing or playful, it’s...real, sharp and high and panicked. You stumble backward into the wall, hands up like you’re ready to be grabbed, and I freeze. Everything in me drops, the adrenaline gone in an instant.

Damn, I overdid it.

"Wait, wait. Hey! Hang on" I say quickly, voice muffled behind the mask.

I yank it off and take a step back, both hands raised "It’s alright, you're okay. I’m not- it's just part of the show, yeah?"

Your breathing is shallow, eyes wide, chest rising fast. It takes a second before your brain catches up and sees me, not the mask, not the costume, just a sweaty 19-year-old guy who works too many hours and drinks too much Red Bull.

“I didn’t mean to scare you that bad” I say, softer now “You alright?”

You nod slowly, still pressed against the wall, blinking like you're trying to pull yourself out of it and I feel like a complete idiot. "God, sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it?"

“Kind of” you say, voice small.

And yeah, now that I can see you, really see you, I notice your hands are trembling a little.

“Do you wanna sit for a sec? I can get someone to pause the game if you want. I mean- your friends’ll probably come looking soon but I can…” I trail off, rubbing the back of my neck.

This is the part they don’t train you for.

You look at me then, really look, and something shifts. Your breathing slows. “You don’t really seem like a serial killer” you mutter, a tiny laugh slipping out, and it eases the knot in my stomach.

I grin “Yeah? That’s a shame, I worked hard on that costume.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s warmth creeping in now, less fear, more curiosity.

"I’m Harry, by the way" I add, trying not to sound too awkward. “Promise I’m only terrifying between 6 and 11.”