Murder of a Royal Pain (10 page)

Before reporting to her spot, Skye darted behind the sets and grabbed her costume from a nearly empty rack. The lone costume still hanging there was one of her fellow witches’. Clearly she wasn’t the only late arrival. She silently cheered, glad she wasn’t alone in incurring Annette’s wrath.

Without stopping, she nipped into the outer hallway and ran past the entrance that led to her designated position. When she reached for the knob of the ladies’ room door, the hall lights flickered twice.

Skye felt her heart stop until she realized the flickering was only the signal that the dress rehearsal would start in five minutes. Not wanting to be caught in the haunted bathroom when the lights went out for real, she burst through the door, shrugged off her backpack, and dashed into the nearest of the three stalls.

She tore the plastic covering off the witch’s dress and threw the bulky garment over her head. While Skye struggled to tug it into place, she thought she heard a strange noise, but the heavy fabric muffled the sound. She mentally shrugged; it was probably the third witch, who, having finally arrived, was also in the bathroom putting on her costume.

At last Skye managed to get into her dress. When her head emerged, she realized the sound she had heard was someone crying. Her stomach clenched, but she took a steadying breath and said to herself,
It is not the ghost. It’s a real person and she’s upset. Do something.

Squatting, she looked under the stalls, then toward the sinks and mirrors. Fear knotted inside her. There weren’t any feet. If no one else was in the bathroom, who was sobbing?

Skye held her breath and listened. The weeping had stopped. Had she imagined it? She adjusted her costume, stuffed the sweater she’d been wearing into her backpack, and cautiously pushed the stall door open. She was alone. She was loath to look into the mirror—terrified that a bloody woman would stare back. Nevertheless, by telling herself to quit being so stupid, she forced herself to turn toward the glass.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she used spirit gum to attach the prosthetic nose and chin that were a part of her makeup. She was fiddling with a fake wart that was supposed to be worn on her chin when she caught sight of her watch. The dress rehearsal was starting in less than a minute. She swiftly stuck the black pointed hat on her head, ran to the door, and pushed. It wouldn’t budge.

She put her shoulder to it and shoved with all of her not inconsiderable weight. It opened a couple of inches, but immediately slammed shut. Someone or something was holding it closed from the other side. Was this a joke? Why would someone want to trap her in the john?

Skye grabbed the flashlight from her backpack, preparing for when the lights went out for good. But she stuffed the light back into her pack when she remembered that the safety inspector had said that the bathroom lights had to remain on throughout the event.

Next she scooped out her cell phone. Whom should she call? As she considered her options, she glanced at the digital display. No signal.
Shit!
Now what? If she didn’t get out of there and to her appointed place on time, Annette would have her head on a platter.

Skye looked around. Was there any other way out? There were no windows, and the three small stalls and the larger handicapped one took up nearly all of the space, except for a small area in front of the sinks. Skye nudged open each stall door with her foot. She could see at a glance that the first three were empty, but she had to step inside the bigger one in order to check the entire interior.

She swept her gaze over the area, biting off a scream at the sight of a bloody ax propped beside the toilet. She backed out and swung around. Still no sign of anyone else in the room. Panic welled in her throat, but she forced herself to swallow it. Was she imagining sights and sounds, or were they all real?

Despite her fear, she pushed open the stall door again. The ax was still there, and this time she recognized it as a prop from the Lizzie Borden scene. The blood was red paint. Whoever was playing Lizzie must have brought it with her when she went to use the bathroom, leaned it against the wall to free her hands, then forgotten it.

Skye shook her head. She was letting this whole “haunted” haunted-house thing get to her. Had she imagined the blocked exit as well? She darted over to the door and gave it a mighty shove, nearly falling flat on her face when it swung wide open without any resistance.

The hall was now pitch-black, and it took her a minute or so to orient herself. Fumbling, she once again retrieved the flashlight from her backpack and clicked it on. The corridor was deserted.

Skye took a few steps toward the entrance of her assigned passageway and shrieked. Something had taken hold of her ankle! She gasped, panting in terror, but managed to aim the light downward. A plastic hand had been set up so that a person walking close to the wall would think that someone had grabbed his or her leg.

Damn! Damn! Damn!
She should never have volunteered, no matter how bad it made her look in the eyes of the Promfest committee. What had she been thinking?

Eerie sounds poured in from the haunted house’s interior, battering at her brittle nerves, and a wave of apprehension swept through her. The pockets of darkness that her flashlight beam couldn’t penetrate closed in on her, and she started to shake as fearful images began to build in her mind.

Skye stopped and backed up against the wall. Trembling and unable to catch her breath, she was back in that moment when she was six years old, reliving the terror of her first and, until now, last experience in a haunted house.

She had been fine as long as she had held Vince’s hand, but the moment he had gone off with one of his friends, Dracula had lunged out at her. As she ran away from him, a giant spider had dropped from the ceiling and landed on her head. Shrieking, she had torn herself free and raced into the next room.

There she had tripped and ended up sprawled in a greenly glowing cemetery among tilted tombstones. Before she could get up, a zombie had risen from his grave and was looming over her.

All Skye remembered after that was screaming and screaming. Then she was outside, and Vince was kneeling in front of her, begging her not to tell their mother that he’d left her alone. She never had, but she had threatened to reveal his secret anytime she needed to make him do something for her.

The thought of all the times she had blackmailed Vince throughout the years brought a smile to her lips, and she slowly managed to calm herself down. After she took a few deep breaths, her heart rate returned to normal and she no longer felt like throwing up.

Squaring her shoulders, Skye picked up her backpack—it had dropped to the floor during her panic attack—and forced herself to continue walking down the hallway. Still hoping to be on time for her first appearance (she was the last of the three witches to emerge), she picked up her pace. She was only a few steps from the door leading to her assigned spot when she heard the first scream.

Skye came to an abrupt stop, her heart jumping in her chest. She had gotten used to the fake moans, groans, and shrieks of the haunted house, but what she had just heard was not one of them. It was real.

W
ho was screaming and why? Despite her fears, Skye felt compelled to find out. If someone was in trouble, she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard anything and walk away, or wait for someone else to take care of the problem. She wasn’t that kind of person—she helped others even if it meant risking herself.

After the first shriek, there had been a moment’s pause, followed by a steady wail. Skye cocked her head and listened intently, turning slowly toward where she thought the sound was originating. Her auditory directional skills were poor, but it seemed as if the screams were coming from behind the wall where she was standing.

That couldn’t be right. That was the area where she was supposed to appear and disappear, and given that she was the last of the three witches, it was near the end of the circuit. The only person who should be in that section was herself.

Instantly she stiffened. Could the shrieks be coming from the spirit of the woman with the long black hair? No. These screams sounded all too human. Her pulse beat erratically as she approached the door that led to her designated passageway.

Skye put her hand on the knob, trying to get up the courage to turn it, but before she could make herself twist the cold metal sphere, she heard the tippy-tapping of high-heeled shoes—a sound that could very well be the footsteps of an opera star’s ghost. She choked back a cry. Were they coming from behind the door or behind her? A chill raced up her spine. She couldn’t tell.

She jerked her hand away from the knob, twisted, and plastered her back to the wall. Should she hide, try to get out, face her fears, or all of the above? She had to do something.

A loud moan made her jump, rousing her from her indecision. It was better to take positive action and gain the advantage of surprise than to stand there and wait for whatever or whomever to come get her.

Skye reached into her backpack and withdrew both the stun gun and the bottle of holy water, figuring it was best to be prepared for the natural as well as the supernatural. For easy access, she tucked the vial into her cleavage, and transferred the Taser to her right hand.

Once armed, she turned the knob, opened the door a crack, and peered around the corner. At first she couldn’t see anything in the darkness. She groped for the flashlight she had stuck in her belt, but it dropped to the floor.

Carefully she squatted to retrieve it, blindly patting the linoleum until her fingers touched the cold metal. Grasping the cylindrical base, she felt for the switch and thumbed it to the ON position. Nothing. She shook it and it came on briefly, only to sputter out. She tried again, hitting it against her thigh, and this time it didn’t even flicker.

Shit!
That would teach her to buy cheap stuff at the dollar store. If she got out of here alive, she was putting a police-quality Maglite on her birthday wish list, and she was buying Energizer batteries, not the low-priced generic ones she usually opted for. The bunny would never let her down.

Unhappily, that didn’t help her now. But on the upside, while she had been trying to figure out what to do next, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The narrow area between the hall entrance and the door in the false wall was empty. Maybe the screaming hadn’t come from there after all. Yes, that must be it. She could still hear faint whimpers but they came from a little farther away, beyond the next partition.

Skye told herself she had to put on her big-girl panties and do what had to be done. Still, as she slipped inside the small space, she left the outer door open for a quick getaway.

She could no longer hear the footsteps or moans. Had the ghost moved on to scare someone else? Or maybe the whole thing had been a part of the haunted-house act of which Skye wasn’t aware. With that optimistic thought, she noticed that the door located in the false wall was ajar. She placed her palm against it, but before she could push, a hand wrapped around the edge. Without thinking she yanked the door shut.

A wail of pain rang through the cheap plywood.

Great.
She had just pissed off a ghost. No, wait a minute; a ghost wouldn’t have felt anything. Gripping her stun gun, she flung open the door. As she burst into the passageway, her head slammed into something solid and unyielding. Her vision blurred and she crumpled to the floor.

For an instant everything went black and she couldn’t move. What had happened?
Damn!
Someone must have hit her. Was he or she standing over her right now, ready to plunge a knife through her heart?

Skye’s eyelids flew open. She could dimly make out a sprawled body in front of her, and she realized what had happened. They both must have tried to go through the door at the same time and hit their heads. As Skye’s vision cleared, she could see that the other person was dressed in a long, cobwebby black gown, wearing stark white makeup and fangs. Who was playing Countess Dracula? Skye searched her memory, but came up blank.

The woman sat up slowly, reached for the flashlight that had rolled a few inches from her hand, and flicked it on. She stared at Skye. Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in the woman’s eyes, and her mouth formed a large circle. Screaming, she struggled to her feet and, keeping her gaze on Skye, backed through the door, then turned and ran.

Clearly Skye wasn’t the only one spooked by the haunted house. She eased to her feet, her head still swimming. Why had the countess run away like that?

Warily, Skye stepped farther into the passageway. The door had swung shut, as it was designed to do, and it was even darker here than in the outer hallway. Skye took a moment to get her bearings, then reached out and felt along the wall. Somewhere nearby was a panic button that would turn on an emergency light in the passageway, as well as a signal in the control room indicating that there was a problem. And a freaked-out Mrs. Dracula was definitely a problem.

She knew the button was at shoulder level and the size of a doorbell. Shuffling forward, she inched down the narrow corridor while trailing her hand against the rough plywood. If she went too fast, she might overlook the switch.

Where was the blasted thing? Had she somehow gotten turned around? Was she going the wrong way? Or had she missed it? As she took another step, her right foot slid into what felt like a large pile of clothes. Still unable to see in the darkness, Skye crouched. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the mound, then ran her fingers down its length.

Yikes!
She yanked her hand back. It wasn’t someone’s abandoned laundry. It was a person.

Hesitantly, she grabbed what she hoped was the shoulder and shook it. “Hey, get up. Are you all right?”