Chapter Twelve
One of the things Darcy liked most about spending time with Michael was that the man knew how to have fun. Michael never let the ideas of what an adult was supposed to be or do stop him from enjoying himself.
So when Michael suggested they check out a haunted house advertising “grown-up frights,” he agreed to go. It only seemed silly until Michael had asked. Even if it turned out to actually be silly, at least with Michael it would still be fun.
That the After Dark House of Horror would be genuinely frightening never occurred to him.
Darcy hadn’t given serious thought to the things that scared him in years. He had only a cursory knowledge of horror movies—enough to know that going anywhere in the big scary house alone was a sure way to die—and not much more.
The tour started innocuously enough in a large parlour-like room, with every angle just enough off ninety degrees to make one feel unbalanced, which was brilliant, Darcy thought.
Classic horror-movie soundtrack music was playing, and he nudged Michael to whisper, “Soundtrack. So lifelike.”
Horror-movie soundtracks were designed to enhance the scare factor, though, and this sound system was high quality. When the lights went out and the music responded appropriately, Darcy felt a shiver of anticipatory fear.
Michael grabbed his hand even though the tour only started one group at a time—in this case, just the two of them. A ghostly light appeared in front of them, giving them enough illumination to barely see each other. They exchanged grins and followed the floating glow to a door.
The door slammed closed behind them, leaving them alone in an oppressive dark with ominous music and something like spiderwebs that randomly brushed their faces. Random rooms would abruptly brighten enough to show dimly lit scenes so well-crafted in horror that Darcy clung to Michael’s hand like a lifeline—ghosts with weapons approaching sleeping people; a head on a platter on a dining table that opened its eyes to look at them and scream.
Darcy tried to focus on how amazing the special effects were, but the whole thing made him jumpy. Every short staircase that seemed at an odd angle, every time a strange cold breeze gusted down the hall and vanish, it all worked together to create a truly heart-pounding experience.
All of the tableaux rooms were blocked by a plexiglass barrier, but that didn’t do much to downplay the effect. The final room looked like an attic, lots of trunks and clothing racks and a clown slumped over on a chair with a ventriloquist’s sleeve visible. A flickering yellow light made everything in the room seem to move. Then a chainsaw roared to life and the clown suddenly lunged at them, showing off maniacal face paint. The light and sound cut off abruptly, as if the entire room had ceased to exist and Darcy found his back pressed against Michael’s chest, heart racing.
“I hate clowns,” he muttered, stepping forward but still holding Michael’s hand.
“Yeah,” Michael agreed, with an audible swallow.
At least Darcy wasn’t the only one freaked out by the tour.
A wavering light on a wall ahead revealed a door, with blood-red dripping letters painted on it that promised, “This way out.”
Michael turned the knob and pulled the door, which squeaked loud enough to be heard over the background music. Beyond looked like more hallway, but the walls were painted black and lacked the faux baseboards the rest of the haunted house had. They exchanged a glance and squeezed through the doorway together. They both jumped as the door slammed behind them.
It was pitch black. “This way,” Michael said, tugging on Darcy’s hand. They walked into a wall and followed it. They seemed to be in a closet, with no exit. Even the door they’d come through had no knob on this side.
“What the hell,” Darcy said, and the floor dropped out from under them.
Michael’s yelp was just as loud as Darcy’s as they found themselves on a plastic slide, still in the dark, until they were tumbled into the chilly night outside the building. The well-lit area seemed almost daylight-bright after the oppressive dark of the haunted house.
Darcy was short of breath and trembling with adrenaline and the thrill of fear. He made no protest when Michael scooped him into a tight embrace. “Holy shit,” Michael said with a shaky voice. “That was intense!”
“Yeah,” Darcy agreed, feeling strange for finding Michael’s arms comforting and also glad that he wasn’t the only one in need of a reassuring hug after that.
Michael gusted out a breath as he released Darcy. “Sorry, I didn’t think it’d be that scary.”
Darcy’s laugh wavered. “No worries. Me, neither. That was amazing.”
Michael grinned. “We should do it again.”
“Oh my god,” Darcy said, clutching his chest dramatically. “My poor heart.”
Michael cracked up laughing and Darcy couldn’t help but join in.
He didn’t think anything of it when Michael took his hand as they walked away, talking excitedly about the amazing effects.
After Darcy found himself sitting snug against Michael to watch the latest episode of Shelter Cove without Dave taking up his usual spot, he had to admit, this wasn’t normal, at least not for him. It couldn’t all be explained by Michael’s quirkiness. Michael never insisted Darcy sit that close. Darcy chose to do so.
Somehow they’d begun kissing after the show. Darcy couldn’t remember how, only that he’d stopped when he found himself thinking of sex again. Wondering what it might be like with Michael. He wasn’t so oblivious to be ignorant of sex, but he was well used to not feeling any desire for it, apart from one teenaged impulse to fit in. Now, it seemed like after kissing for a length of time, he wanted more, and he wanted it with Michael.
Darcy had excused himself abruptly and let himself out.