ONE

HORROR SHOW

She jerked awake and cringed, fighting the urge to gag as a rotting, metallic stench invaded her nostrils.

What the hell is that smell?

She forced one eye open and gasped at the sharp pain that spiked through her skull.

Shit, how much did I drink last night?

As she cradled her head, she tried to recall the night before. She frowned. Her mind was blank. There were no memories at all.

Her neck ached, so she rubbed the back of it while trying to concentrate on what she could remember. She knew how to make blueberry muffins. She knew the calculation for pi and how to screw in a light bulb, but she had no memory of how she knew that or who she was.

What the hell happened to me?

She shifted uncomfortably and arched her back. Her eyes snapped open when she felt velvet under her fingertips. She glanced down at the aging cinema seat in disbelief.

Did I fall asleep during a movie?

Staring ahead at the cinema screen, she wondered if that was what her mind looked like right now, a blank white screen with a dull light glowing behind it.

She frowned, looking around and examining her surroundings. The cinema appeared to be a theater that still had the gods above her and gilded box seats on balconies at each side of the room.

She scanned the room for other people, but there was no one else in the large theater.

“Hello?” She didn’t expect an answer, but the echo of her voice in the silent room made her shiver.

This is beyond creepy.

She shrank into her chair.

Okay, get up and go home, wherever the hell that is.

She tried to shake off the irrational fear, but the air was heavy with doom. Something wasn’t right.

Yeah, you woke up with amnesia in a bloody cinema!

She shook her head at the insanity of her situation, wincing when an ache throbbed through her skull. She touched her forehead to rub it away but yelped when fiery pain burned through her skin as her fingers touched her head.

What the hell?

There was a sticky wet substance on her fingers. Her eyes widened when she saw blood on them.

Did I get knocked out during the movie?

She searched the pockets of her denim skirt, looking for clues. After some routing around, she found a credit-card sized wallet in her left pocket. She flipped it open and stared at the driver’s license inside. Under a small photograph of a scowling, blonde teenage girl was the name Lucy Carlton. She read her date of birth before glancing at the date on her cinema ticket.

I’m eighteen. Well, assuming this is my purse, and I’m not some kind of pickpocket.

She glanced back at the photograph, hoping it was a bad photo because the girl in the picture looked like a miserable cow.

With no idea of where she was or who she was, everything seemed horrifying. The silence was cloying.

I need to get out of here.

Lucy shoved the small purse back into her pocket and jumped up out of her seat, pausing when a wave of dizziness hit her. She gripped the arm of the uncomfortable cinema seat and groaned as pins and needles shot down her back and legs.

How long have I been in that seat for?

She clenched her hands into fists as an irrational wave of anger filled her, and she saw red. She inhaled slowly with her eyes closed while clenching her toes inside her boots to try to get some feeling back into them.

It’s okay. I just need to get to the bathroom and see what state I’m in.

The rage faded away, but it was rapidly replaced by fear, so she blocked out as many thoughts as she could about what had happened to her. Something bad had happened, but worrying over what it was would only make it worse. Holding onto the back of the seats, she made her way down the aisle toward the exit. Her steps were silent on the thick red carpet as she approached the sunken staircase that led out of the theater.

The echo of her boots clipping on the hard tiles of the staircase made her wince, setting off the spikes of pain again. She glanced down at the gray tiled floor and froze.

Red splatters of blood dotted the tiles, leading to a large dark puddle of it that was seeping under the door.

Shivers of fear shot down her spine.

What the hell happened here? Why can’t I remember?

She didn’t want to open the door, but she knew she had to if she wanted to get out of here. She stared at the long brass handle. A bloody handprint was smeared across the ‘Push’ sign.

She couldn’t look away from the handprint as shock trembled through her body.

Did I end up starring in a horror movie?

She shook her head, biting back the urge to scream.

Think, think. What would a sane person do?

Call the police.

With trembling hands, she felt the side pocket of her denim skirt, hoping to find a cell phone in it, but it only contained her purse. She searched the other pocket, nothing there either.

Come on, come on. What girl doesn’t have a cell phone?

She searched the back pockets of the skirt and sighed when she felt a solid block in the left one. She pulled out the phone and stared at it. It had a red cover on it, and the screen saver said, ‘Bite Me’.

Yep, that’s probably mine.

She didn’t recognize the phone, but it seemed like her kind of phone.

She swiped the screen to unlock it and dialed the emergency number. The phone crackled, but there was no ring tone. She waved the phone around in different directions.

Come on, get a reception, you stupid thing. This is an emergency.

After the watching the ‘no network available’ symbol for a while, she felt a bubble of panic grow in the back of her throat.

Why isn’t it working?

She wondered if the phone reception was bad inside the theater. The screen flashed the words ‘low battery’ before the screen went black.

I guess I’m not the kind of person who remembers to charge their phone.

She tried to turn it back on. It flickered before shutting down again. Crap.

Maybe I just need to get out of here.

She glanced back at the bloody door and grimaced, wondering what was on the other side of it.

Just do it.

Dropping the phone into her skirt pocket and gritting her teeth, she reached for an un-bloodied area of the door and gave it a push. The door opened an inch before it thumped against something heavy and swung back to closed.

Oh fuck!

She nudged the door and tried to peer through the crack but couldn’t see much, just the alcove of the theater entrance and a red leather chair in the main foyer.

Screw it.

She pushed into the door, using all of her strength to try to force it open. The door budged a few more inches. She slammed herself into the barrier, using all her weight to try to wedge the door open wider while straining to push it as hard as she could.

Come on, you son of bitch. Let me out of here!

The door eventually shifted, and then rapidly swung open, causing her to lose her balance and fall through it onto the floor with a crash.

She landed on something squashy and groaned, grateful for the soft landing until she glanced down.

The dead blue eyes of an usher stared up at her.

Her eyes traveled over the rest of him. His neck was twisted at an odd angle, his chest a ripped-open, bloody mess. She screamed, scrambling off his body and through the doors into the foyer.

Kneeling on the floor in the usher’s blood, she refused to look at him. She kept her back to him in an attempt to avoid staring into the face of death again. Her muscles trembled all over her body, and she fought to keep some semblance of control.

Calm down, get out of here and call the police.

With shaking hands, she pushed herself up until she was standing, trying not to think about the blood that was dripping down her legs and into her tan leather boots. She faced forward, looking for the exit, but the sight before her was too much to bear. She fell to her knees again and stared at the carnage ahead.

Bodies littered the foyer, staff and customers of all ages. Each one shredded in some way, and all with dead eyes that seemed to be staring at her. Blood puddled across the gray tiles, mingling with spilt popcorn and drinks.

Lucy tried to scream, but her throat was blocked. She couldn’t move. Her body froze in position.

What happened to them?

It took her some time to gather her wits. She realized she was in shock when her teeth began to chatter, and her body continued to shake. She put her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket in an attempt to stop them trembling.

She paused when she felt a plastic bar inside the left pocket of her jacket and pulled it out, staring down at the bar of milk chocolate as it shook in her hands.

Sugar. That’ll get rid of the shock.

She ate it as quickly as possible while telling herself that now was not the time to lose it.

I’ll flip out once I’m safe.

Her mouth was dry, and the big lumps of chocolate were hard to swallow. She forced them down, closing her eyes and hoping it would kick in soon.

Once the bar was gone, she stood up on trembling legs.

Time to get out of here.

She held onto the wall as she staggered toward the large double doors of the entrance. There were at least ten bodies between her and the way out. She had to navigate around them while trying not to look down onto the faces of the dead.

Flashes of horrific expressions and gory red wounds caught her eyes as she stumbled past the corpses. There was nowhere to avert her eyes to. Death surrounded her. She felt the chocolate coming back up her throat and swallowed it back down. She needed to be out of shock if she was going to get out of here.

She almost cried with relief when she passed the final corpse and neared the thick metal doors of the cinema. She hurried past the ticket booth, trying not to pay too much attention to the thick wash of blood dripping down the inside of the glass but unable to keep her eyes away from it.

What the fuck happened here?

She gripped the door handle and turned it, pushing the door. The door didn’t budge. She frowned for a moment.

Not again.

The shaking in her limbs had mostly gone, and she was feeling a bit stronger, so she slammed herself against the door with all her might. It didn’t budge.

No! Why is this happening?

She tried twice more, but with the same result. The doors were locked. There was no way out.

She heard a scratching noise behind her and spun around, only to find a room full of corpses. She stared at the bodies, hoping to find a survivor, but only saw empty stares and shredded flesh.

Feeling exposed in the open foyer and exhausted by the events, her eyes settled onto the neon blue sign for the ladies’ room. The idea of hiding in the toilets, although ridiculous, seemed like a good one. She could clean the blood off and figure out what to do next.

On less shaky legs, she hurried toward the sign as if it was her last vestige of hope. Rushing past the bodies, she tried not to notice them, but had a feeling that their faces would be burned into her memory forever.

She warily pushed open the restroom door and peered inside. It was a long room lined with mirrors and sinks. At the end of it were four stalls, all with closed doors. She studied the small gap beneath each door. There were no feet in any of the stalls, and no bodies in the room. She hurried through the doorway and closed the door behind her, breathing a sigh.

Okay, clean up and then try to get out of here again.

She walked over to the nearest sink and stared at her face in the mirror. There was a gash across her forehead. It was ragged, but not too deep. It appeared to have stopped bleeding, but it still looked raw and far worse than it felt.

I need to find out if any of this blood is mine.

She glanced down at her bloodstained cream blouse and denim skirt. She slipped her tan leather jacket off her shoulders and dropped it onto the floor. Next, she pulled off her boots and dropped them next to it.

At least the blood will wash off leather.

She peered back at the door to the restroom, feeling exposed in an unlocked room. There was a white plastic chair beside the door. She strode barefoot across the cold tile and wedged the chair under the door handle.

After walking back over to the sinks, she pulled her blouse over her head and dropped it onto the pile on the floor. There were reddish stains on her white bra, but no cuts or marks on her torso. She turned around and checked her back in the mirror. It was smooth and tan with no marks on it.

Okay, just a head wound so far then.

She unfastened her skirt and slid it over her hips, relieved to see no blood had got through the thick denim, and her underwear was unmarked. Climbing up onto the counter, she sat uncomfortably between two sinks with her bloody legs inside one of them. She turned on the hot tap and rubbed liquid soap down her legs, washing the blood off her hands and limbs. Frothy pink water rolled off her skin and into the white porcelain before disappearing down the drain.

Removing the stiff feeling of drying blood from her body seemed to calm her nerves, and the warm water soothed her. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to forget everything she had seen since waking up.

A loud clank caused her to jump and lose her balance. She tumbled off the sink, rolling sideways onto the floor and banging her elbow on the counter as she fell past it.

She jumped up from her sprawled position on the floor and rubbed her elbow, instantly alert and staring toward the stalls while adrenaline pumped through her veins. The noise had come from this room. She was certain of it.

She left the tap running as she silently stepped toward the stalls. She scanned the room for a weapon while rubbing away the goosebumps that had appeared on her upper arms, shivering due to her naked wet skin.

Dumbass! Why did you get undressed?

There was a mop resting against the wall near the first stall. She unscrewed the handle as quietly as she could, holding it like a staff as she nudged open the door of the first stall with it. The stall was empty. She did the same on the second stall. It was also empty.

Two down, two to go.

She nudged the third door with the mop handle, and it didn’t move. She peered down at the lock. The green mark was showing it to be unlocked.

Someone’s in there.

She stepped back into the second stall and glanced up. There was no one looking over the stalls. She climbed up onto the closed toilet seat as quietly as possible, bending low so she didn’t appear over the stall. Her heart hammered, and her pulse raced.

What are you going to do when you find a psycho killer in there, wave your mop at him?

Lucy gripped the mop pole in her hands.

It’ll have to do.

She quickly stood up straight and glared down at the handsome face of a dark-haired teenage boy. He yelped and fell backwards from his crouched position of standing on the toilet seat in the next stall.

She peered down at him in surprise, and her blonde bangs fell forward over her face as she watched him struggle from his awkward landing to get back on his feet.

He didn’t look like a serial killer. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt. Judging by his muscle and size, he was about her age, around eighteen.

“What are you doing in the ladies room?” She demanded, scowling down at him with more bravery than she felt.

“Did you kill all those people?” He stood up and backed out of the stall.

She spun around as the door to her stall burst open, and he filled the doorway. “No. Did you?”

“No!” His muscles tensed in his shoulders as if he was about to charge her.

“What are you doing here?” She raised the pole, planning to smack him on the head with it if he came any closer.

He eyed the pole, stepped back and studied her. His biceps relaxed as a grin appeared on his face. “What are you doing in your underwear?”

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