“What does that have to do with the sun?”
“The enemy breached our world via the doorway in the hollow. As more and more of it pours through the gate, the surrounding area will grow darker. The more mass that enters our reality, the farther it can spread, continuing to feed in preparation for what’s to come. This gathering darkness has nothing to do with the sun. It is a false darkness, a manifestation of the entity. And with all of these people heading to the Ghost Walk, your friend, Mr. Ripple, will welcome an early dusk.”
Maria gasped. “He can open early if it’s dark enough…”
“Exactly.”
“Shit.”
“Yes.”
Maria took a deep breath and fastened her seat belt. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. The brake lights on the car in front of her flashed. The pro cession stopped again.
“Both of you buckle up,” Maria said.
“I’m comfortable,” Adam said, still sprawled and reading the newspaper.
“Put on your seat belts and hang on!”
“What are you doing?” Levi asked.
Maria swerved left and edged out into the northbound lane. Spotting no oncoming traffic, she stomped the accelerator. The car shot forward. Behind them, annoyed drivers blew their horns and made obscene gestures.
“I’m not crazy,” Adam said, reaching for his seat belt. “You are.”
The speedometer crept higher.
“After the last twenty-four hours?” Maria said. “Yeah, maybe I am.”
Adam turned pale. “We’re all going to die.”
“Not yet,” Levi said. “But perhaps before the night is through…”
The darkness began to spread beyond the confines of the hollow, creeping over the burned-out wasteland and reaching for the surrounding forest.
The crowd was getting restless.
They’d descended upon the midway, consuming cotton candy, funnel cakes, barbeque sandwiches, and candied apples. They spent money at the gaming booths, popping balloons with darts and tossing horse shoes and throwing soft balls at the elected officials in the dunk tank. They cooed over the baby animals in the petting zoo. They got free pens at the fire department’s booth, and free pamphlets from the Methodists’ table, and free bumper stickers from a congressional candidate stumping for votes. They stopped by the Baptists’ table, where a sign promised that they could find out if they were going to Heaven by answering three easy questions. They promised the representatives at the SPCA booth that they would spay and neuter their animals. They pointed at some of the people in costumes who walked amongst the crowd. But then, after all of these distractions, they purchased their tickets and got in line for the Ghost Walk. As the sky grew darker and the line grew longer, they milled about restlessly.
Ken watched them with growing unease. Some of the teenagers, and even a few adults, were starting to make trouble—roughhousing and annoying those around them. One man had already caused a scene, reacting belligerently when security pulled him out of line for being visibly intoxicated.
The volunteers were also growing impatient. The ladies running the bake sale weren’t doing much business because attendees didn’t want to carry a shoofly pie through the Ghost Walk with them. Therefore, customers were avoiding the stand, promising to come back on their way out. The folks selling tickets and policing the lines were dealing with a steadily growing mob. Tempers began to flare.
Ken hurried over to the ticket stand and pulled the person in charge, Sammi Horton, aside. She seemed frazzled and tired.
“Have you been in contact with the trail?” Ken asked.
“Yes. They want to know what the holdup is. They say it’s dark enough down there now.”
Ken checked his watch and the sky. “Really? The sun is still setting.”
Sammi shrugged. “That’s what they said.”
“Well, I wish someone had reported that to me. Where’s Terry at?”
“Haven’t seen him, Ken.”
“Shit.”
Ken stomped across the field and told the tractor and wagon teams to get ready. Then he returned to the head of the line, stepped over the stanchion, and advised his security volunteers to go ahead and open. He reminded them to let people go through in groups of twelve, with five-minute breaks between each group. Then he turned on his bullhorn and repeated the information to the people in line.
And then it was time. The sun disappeared below the horizon.
The Ghost Walk—Ken Ripple’s pride and joy, the project he’d worked on for over a year, the thing that had consumed his every waking moment, his testimony to his wife—was open for business.
His fears and misgivings vanished, along with his concerns for Terry and everything else—washed away by a tremendous swelling of pride.
The first group boarded the hay wagon. The tractor chugged forward, transporting them to the haunted attraction’s entrance. They reached it about the same time the second group boarded their wagon and set forth. The first group entered the woods.
