The Midnight Tour

Owen woke up sweaty and hungry.

He checked his wristwatch. It showed 6:10.

Sitting up, he looked around the room. He saw John’s glasses on the dresser and felt his stomach squirm.

Still not back

It’s all gonna start in a couples hours, man. Where are you?

Owen climbed out of bed. He took still another shower, then sprayed his armpits with Right Guard, shaved, combed his hair and brushed his teeth.

By 6:45, he was dressed and almost ready to leave.

He grabbed his camera and hung its strap over one shoulder.

Then he slipped the two Midnight Tour tickets into the left breast pocket of his sport shirt.

He had already decided to walk.

He made sure he had the room key, then opened the door.

He’d expected golden sunlight, warmth, and a mild breeze.

But sometime during the afternoon, while he’d been shut away in his room with the curtains closed, a fog had crept in.

It drifted like a gray mist around the cars in the parking lot. Owen could barely see to the other side of the motel courtyard. The cabins over there were fuzzy blurs.

A chill had arrived with the fog.

Owen hurried inside the room for his windbreaker. On the back, CRAWFORD JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL was emblazoned in big gold letters. He tossed his camera onto the bed, slipped his arms into the sleeves of the windbreaker, fastened a couple of the front snaps, then rushed outside.

The jacket helped, but its sleeves felt cool against his bare arms.

He paused for a moment, wondering if he should go back inside and put on a long-sleeved shirt.

Gonna be indoors most of the time, anyway.

Then he wondered if he should give up the idea of walking, and take his rental car instead.

Probably crash and kill myself.

Besides, he thought, it’ll be neat to walk through the fog.

He set off for Beast House.

Halfway there, he realized he had left his camera in the room.

The hell with it. Wrong film, anyway.

He kept on, but he felt its loss—and wondered what else would go wrong.

Stopping at the corner of the high, iron fence, Owen looked through its bars. He was half an hour early. Though he saw no tourists on the grounds, most of the regular guides were busy getting ready for the picnic. He spotted Dana right away, helping a guy carry a picnic table across the front lawn.

Two other picnic tables had already been brought out, along with a couple of smaller tables and three barbeque grills. Near the picnic tables, a bar was being set up by the only person not wearing a Beast House uniform. This man sported a red jacket, a white shirt, and a red bow tie.

Owen found Dana again.

She put down her end of the table. Then the guy from the other end walked toward her, smiling and talking.

Who the hell is he?

He looked a little familiar...

The lunch counter guy?

He joined up with Dana. As they headed away, Dana slipped an open hand inside a seat pocket of his shorts.

Owen suddenly felt as if he’d been slugged in the guts.

What did you expect? Of course she’s got a boyfriend.

Sure, he thought. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Dana and her friend disappeared around a corner of the house.

Since she’s busy, Owen thought, who’s minding the ticket booth?

Probably no one. The self-guided tours were over for the day and the Midnight Tour had been sold out since yesterday, so the ticket booth would probably be closed.

Closed or not, a number of people were milling about the area in front of it. Waiting for the festivities to start, he supposed.

Maybe one of them could use a ticket.

Owen started walking toward the gathered tourists.

John wasn’t among them.

A couple of the gals were real babes, even though one of them looked like a weirdo.

Pity you’re gonna miss this, buddy.

Owen wandered through the group. He nodded greetings to those who seemed to notice him, and kept on moving. Leaving them all behind, he stepped over to the gate of the parking lot. It was still open. The lot was empty except for seven or eight cars.

John’s blue Ford Granada wasn’t among them.

Still up in the hills? Or maybe it got towed off and impounded by the cops.

Owen turned his back to the parking lot.

Nobody seemed to be watching him.

Scanning the group, he found the best-looking gal. Maybe thirty, she had light brown hair, a deep tan, and lively eyes. She was slender, but not skinny. She had a firm, athletic look. For whatever reason, she was dressed in a white tennis outfit: a knit pullover shirt, a sweater tied around her neck, a very short pleated skirt, ankle socks with a puffy little balls at the back, and sneakers.

She was with a man who wore a red knit pullover and plaid Bermuda shorts. He looked husky and powerful and cheerful.

No wonder he’s cheerful, Owen thought. Has a gal looks like that.

Owen turned his attention to the weirdo. Probably no older than twenty, she had done herself up in vampire cbic. She was at least six feet tall and as sleek as a cover girl. Her skin looked smooth and oddly white. Her raven hair was cut short, slicked down. Her pierced left eyebrow sported a ring. Her eyelids were blue. She wore a gold stud in her nose, a ring in her upper lip. Her lipstick was black. She had about six rings along the rim of each ear. A tattoo of barbed wire surrounded her neck. She wore a black bra that looked like satin, no shirt at all, a belly button ring, and an open jacket of black leather. Low and tight around her hips was a pair of tight, black leather short-shorts. Below them, her long legs were bare and very white. She wore black boots that reached almost to her knees.

She wasn’t alone.

Her handsome young friend had a delicate, rather feminine face. Compared to her, he looked almost clean- cut. He showed no signs of makeup, piercings or tattoos. His shaggy blond hair blew softly in the breeze. He wore a loose, long-sleeved shirt that appeared to be black silk. Unbuttoned, it exposed pale, hairless skin almost down to his waist, where the shirt was tucked into black leather trousers. His belt buckle was a white, snouted beast, possibly carved from ivory.

There’s a real fan, Owen thought.

These two are really into it. If the tour gets boring, I can just watch them.

Owen noticed that he wasn’t the only one checking out the weirdos: so were two guys standing near the road. One was a beanpole with stringy brown hair. The other was short and pudgy and had a crew cut. They both wore gray sweatshirts, plaid Bermuda shorts, white socks and sneakers.

They hardly looked old enough for an “adults only” tour. The cut-off age was supposed to be eighteen. These two might’ve been sixteen. Had they used fake i.d.’s to buy their tickets?

Maybe they don’t have tickets.

Maybe they aren’t even here for the tour.