Page 8 of Make Her Scream

It’s been a while since we wore them, and I exchange glances with the other Preachers, each of us relishing the thought of what tonight will bring.

As well as the masks, we also have our robes. We won’t wear any of it until we’ve entered the funfair and ensured we’re alone. Our rituals, including chasing Ophelia tonight, are a private affair.

Footsteps sound on the stairs. They’re narrow and spiral, so when we head out of the room to greet our girl, it’s Vani who appears first, shortly followed by Ophelia.

I’m sure I’m not the only one whose jaw has dropped.

“Holy shit,” Malachi says, taking Ophelia’s fingers in his black painted ones and turning her in a slow spin. “You look insane.”

She pouts. “Good insane, or actually insane?”

He chuckles. “A little of both, but that’s not a bad thing. It is Halloween, after all.”

She’s in a naughty nurse’s outfit, and I’m glad as hell that I thought to rent the entire funfair privately. If I took this version of Ophelia out in public, I might just end up gouging the eyes out of anyone who looked in her direction.

I’m sure the others feel the same way.

“You can thank Vani,” Ophelia says. “She’s the one who convinced me to wear it.”

Cain tips his fingers to his head in a salute. “Well, in that case, thank you, Vani.”

Vani grins and tosses back her dark curls. “I’d say have fun, but I think that’s already a given.” She leans in and kisses Ophelia on the cheek. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow. Happy Halloween Eve!”

With that, she saunters out of the door, leaving us alone.

“You guys look amazing, too.” Ophelia inhales deeply. “God, you smell great. Did you go to the barber?”

“Only the best for you,” Cain says, pulling her in for a kiss, which lingers a little too long.

I look around at the others. “Let’s get on the road.”

Ophelia doesn’t yet know that I’ve rented the place out for just us, and I’m aware that it means she believes she’ll be seen in public dressed like that. I’m proud of her for pushing herself out of her comfort zone. When we first met her, she was covered from ankle to throat and would never have worn makeup.

I think it was the very fact that she was so different which drew us to each other. Our little gang named the Preachers were always the outcasts of the college. We were the freaks, the weirdos who lived out in the woods, doing rituals with our strange masks. Somehow, Ophelia saw herself in us, too. It was a miracle I’ll always be grateful for. We were drawn to one another, and we’ll never part.

4

MALACHI

Roman parks the truck, and we climb out to be greeted by a concourse full of spinning lights, blasts of different music, and bells and whistles, all playing over the top of one another.

I eye the carnival entrance suspiciously. This place looks like it hasn’t had a lick of paint since the seventies. The sign is strangely ominous. It’s a big, lit-up arch over the entranceway, and it says Mitchell Brothers’ Traveling Carnival, but in the center is a clown with his mouth wide open. Something about that gaping, dark maw gives me a shiver of trepidation.

It’s not like me to be easily spooked. I might not be as factual about things as Cain, but I’m not as deep a believer in things that go bump in the night as Roman is.

“Place looks old as fuck,” Cain mutters.

I hope this is not going to be a total bust, but as Ophelia climbs out of the truck, she stares up at the sign and clasps her hands together in front of her chest.

“Oh, wow,” she breathes, as if we’ve just taken her to Disney World.

The air is redolent with the smoky scent of hot dogs, diesel fumes, and sugar. Lots and lots of sugar.

“That smell.” Ophelia sighs happily. “I’ve got to try some cotton candy.”

Cain licks his lips exaggeratedly. “It is delicious.”

“It’s horrible.” Roman shudders.