Brian Keene - Ghost Walk

There was still no sign of Cecil, Russ, or Tina. No Sam or Rhonda, either. He searched the crowd, trying to distinguish their faces. Instead, he saw Terry, who smiled at him from the front row, nodding in encouragement to go on.

“Here’s how it will work,” Ken continued. “When they come in from the road, we’ll park them in the designated sections of the field. That’s where you folks parked tonight. We can hold up to five hundred vehicles at one time. Hopefully, we won’t run out of room—although that would be sort of nice, from a financial perspective.”

The crowd laughed, filling Ken with more confidence.

“Those of you on flag duty will collect your orange safety vests and flashlights tomorrow night. Then you’ll take your positions. You guys are lucky. You’re the only volunteers that get walkie-talkies, because radio and cell phone signals don’t work in the forest. So use them to stay in contact with each other. Figure out who has empty spaces and who’s full.

“Over here,” he pointed, “is where we’ll have our concession stands and merchants. I see that some of you are set up already, which is good. The rest of you will want to get here early tomorrow, and take care of your preparations. We’re happy to have Bricker’s French Fries, Porky’s Barbeque, and other local vendors. I’m sure you’ve seen them at the state fair and local carnivals, so you know how good their food is. All you have to do is look at my waistline to know.”

More polite laughter.

“The Golgotha Lutheran Church Ladies’ Auxiliary will have a bake sale booth, and the VFW, American Legion, Knights of Columbus, and Lions Club will also be on hand. All of these groups have been kind enough to donate their profits to our cause, so please be sure to thank them. We’ll also have some games for the kids, along with a petting zoo and a dunk tank.”

“Who gets in the dunk tank?” Tom shouted.

“You do, Tom.” Raucous laughter greeted this. Ken grinned, amused. Shielding his eyes against the glare of multiple spotlights, he went on. “No, in all seriousness, we’ve got a fine slate of volunteers. The principals from Kennard-Dale, Red Lion, and Spring Grove High Schools have all volunteered, along with the chief of police for Windsor Township, the mayor of Wrightsville, and a few other elected officials. Again, all proceeds will go to the charity.”

“That’s good,” a man called, “because I’ll spend a hundred bucks to drown the mayor!”

Ken chuckled along with everyone else. When the commotion had subsided, he continued, the last of his nervousness fading.

“People can mill about in the concession area for as long as they like. We’ll have a row of portable toilets at the rear of the area. But to actually enter the Ghost Walk, they’ll have to line up at the ticket booth. We’ll have stanchions and ropes to keep the line orderly and to prevent folks from cutting in. Hopefully, we won’t have too much of that sort of thing. Our big concern is people sneaking in through the woods, and to counteract that, we’ll have spotters positioned at strategic points along the trail. Their job is two fold. As I said, they’ll watch for people who try to get in without paying. But they’re also there to protect you. They’ll be very easy to recognize—each of them will be wearing a baseball cap that says ‘Ghost Walk Staff’ in glow-in-the dark letters.”

“Yeah,” a fat woman yelled, “but then the people sneaking in without paying can see them, too.”

“Maybe,” Ken conceded, “but we’re more concerned with the safety of our staff and volunteers. So if any of you get into trouble—be it an unruly attendee or a bunch of kids messing things up or a medical emergency—find the nearest security spotter and let them know. They’ll get a message back up here to operations and we’ll help you out. As I said, communications are spotty in the woods, but we’ve got runners who will do that very thing—run messages back and forth all night long. They’ll also bring you coffee, hot chocolate, water, or spot you while you go on a bathroom break.”

“What about beer?”

Ken couldn’t see the speaker. They were hidden in the glare of the spotlights.

“No alcohol,” he said. “We’re not going to let people in if they’re intoxicated, and we ask the same of our volunteers. You can drink all you want at the afterparty tomorrow night, though. Just make sure you’ve got a designated driver.”

Ken paused, running over his mental checklist to find his place again.

“Once they’ve bought their ticket and are cued up in line, the hay wagons will bring them down in groups of twelve, with five-minute breaks between groups. That will give all of you on the trail a chance to catch your breath, adjust your costumes, and things like that. It will also help cut down on congestion. As you’ll see when we do the walk-through here in a moment, the trail loops around. The exit is about fifty yards from the entrance. We’ll have wagons waiting there as well, ready to bring folks back. To walk the entire trail from beginning to end, including a stop at each attraction, will take the average person about forty-five minutes. So although we’re going to try to give you breaks in between groups, stay on your toes. I’m sure there will be stragglers.”

His cell phone rang, but Ken ignored it.

“A few thoughts on scaring people. Obviously, people who attend a haunted attraction like this enjoy being scared. But we want it to be fun for them, and we want to keep safety in mind. So absolutely under no circumstances should you touch an attendee. Scaring them is fine. Physical contact is not. And be mindful of who you’re scaring. If it’s a little kid, and they are obviously terrified—not in a good way, you know what I mean—then consider making them feel better. Maybe be funny instead, or act like you’re scared of them. Where’s Christopher Jones at?”

“Here!”

“Chris, you’re playing Leatherface, right?”

“Hell, yeah!”

“Make sure you take the chain off of your chainsaw. The last thing we need is you cutting somebody or tripping over a tree root and hurting yourself. Some of us here remember how you almost cut your finger off field-dressing that spike buck two years ago.”

“You just had to bring that up, didn’t you, Ken?”

“Well, we made fun of Tom earlier. Gotta spread the love, brother.”

The throng laughed again, but Ken could tell by watching the first few rows that they were getting restless. He decided to wrap things up and get on with the walk-through, before he lost them.

“Okay!” He raised his voice a little, commanding their attention once more. “That’s about all I have. Any questions before we begin the walk?”

A dozen hands shot up.

Ken sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Maria parked at a twenty-four-hour convenience store about a block and a half away from the White Rose Mental Health Facility. This section of town was still relatively unscathed by crime and drugs, so she felt safe walking the distance. The sidewalks were clean and in good shape, free of cracks or holes. The streets were lined with sprawling elm trees and bright streetlights, and the old houses were neat and tidy, populated mostly by retirees or converted into professional offices for doctors and lawyers. Many of them were decorated for Halloween. Paper cutouts of witches and ghosts hung in the windows. Pumpkins sat on porches and stoops, carved in a wide array of designs—everything from smiley faces to demons to something that resembled Pac-Man. Some of the homes had dried cornstalks or varieties of squash and melons arranged in tasteful displays. One home even had strings of orange Christmas lights strung all over the exterior.