#doom-head

He gave you a stony look. In private, you could call him anything you wanted. You could do anything you wanted. But when you were in public, only he was allowed to use pet names, and only he was allowed to initiate physical contact. 

“Look,” he complained, nodding toward the back of the line where a woman with two kids had appeared. “This can’t be that scary if there are kids here. We oughta leave.” 

“Oh, come on,” you said, lightly tapping your hand against his. You really wanted to grab it, but you knew his limits. “I read the website. No one under eighteen is allowed in. She’ll get turned away any minute now. Besides, you promised.” 

“I must’ve been high if I promised to take you here.” 

“You were, and you did. I’ve only ever been to one haunted house before, and you’d never let me participate in the game, so …” 

“’Cause I don’t want someone to tear your guts open all over the place.” 

You caught a glimpse of the group behind you, all shifting away uncomfortably. Whether they took it literally or as a euphemism, they were still visibly disturbed by his comment. Doom-Head, however, didn’t notice. Or didn’t care. Likely both. 

“So, then, you owe me this. I never get to be scared, and I never get to scare. I just want to spend one Halloween doing something scary with you.” 

“Every day’s scary with me,” he said, grabbing your butt firmly and pulling you close. “How scary do you want me to be?” 

You opened your mouth to answer when your earlier prediction came true. An usher dressed as a zombified clown marched down the side of the line and stood beside the woman with two kids. 

“Eighteen and up only,” he said. “You can stay but the kids have gotta go.” 

“Where are they going to go?” the woman snapped back. “They’re kids!” 

“Not my problem. They’re not supposed to be here in the first place. Find a place for ‘em or you all can leave.” 

The woman issued a few colorful curses at the clown (which Doom-Head repeated against your ear, his breath sending pleasant shudders through your body) as she dragged her crying kids out of the line. 

Once the spectacle was over, and people’s attention was no longer on the woman and kids, Doom-Head let you go. He slicked back his dark hair and rolled his eyes up to the canopy covering the long line. 

“’s taking forever,” he griped. 

“No, it’s not. The line’s moving fast enough.” You prodded him forward, which earned you another cold stare. He turned away and ignored you for the next few minutes. 

As you got closer to the entrance, another usher (this one dressed as a scarecrow) came walking down the line, giving instructions and asking for proof of ticket purchase. He stopped at each person and checked their wristbands, then told them the rules of the house. No touching the scare actors. No breaking anything. No flash photography. No food or drinks in the house. Anything not consumed by the time they reached the entrance had to be tossed. No stopping and going back the way they came. Everyone had to move forward and keep moving. Stalling or holding up the line inside the house would result in an immediate “emergency exit,” which included a security guard dragging you through the back halls and out the side door. 

When the scarecrow got to you, he grinned from ear to ear. 

“Hey, cutie,” he said. “Mind if I check your wristband?” 

“Go ahead.” 

He grabbed your hand and pulled it up to examine the band in the limited light. He continued to smile at you. “Is this your first time here?” 

“Yeah. How’d you know?” 

“Just a guess. I’ve worked this house the last five years. I’d remember if you’d been here before.” 

“Maybe I came a day you weren’t working.” 

“That’s impossible. I’d remember if you came.” He winked at you. 

In between heartbeats, Doom-Head was between you and the scarecrow. He loomed over both of you, tall and thin and intimidating. Even without his signature makeup, he was a scary man. And you could tell from the look on the scarecrow’s face that Doom-Head was smiling. He never looked scarier than when he was smiling. 

“Now, what’d you go and do that for?” Doom-Head asked, looking down at the other man. 

“Do what?” The scarecrow’s voice trembled as he took a step backward from the line. 

“You flirted with my lady. Right in front of me. It wasn’t like you couldn’t see me. I was standing right there. Now I’m standing right here. What’d you do it for?” 

The scarecrow’s eyes looked toward you for help, but you gave none. You shrugged. It didn’t matter if you wanted to help him or not. When Doom-Head got in this mood (his “I own you” mood), there was nothing you could do about it. 

“I-I wasn’t flirting. I was just making conversation.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Doom-Head said, his voice starting to lighten. That was somehow a worse sign than if he’d screamed it. “I hate liars.” 

“I’m not lying, mister. I was just making conversation. I didn’t know you were together.” 

“So, which is it? You were just talking to her? Or you were flirting and didn’t realize she was mine?” 

“I—” Scarecrow stumbled over his words while Doom-Head stared him down. 

“You know, I can see it in the eyes. A thief always shows it in the eyes first. The way they look at the things they plan on taking. You got that same look. And you’re looking right at my gal. You planning on stealing her away from me?” 

“N-No! Of course not!” 

“Then what were you looking at her for?” 

“I was just checking her wristband!” 

“You checked it. Why were you still talking to her? She’s not yours. She’s mine. Why were you talking to her after you checked her wristband? Why’d you wanna know how many times she’s been here?” 

The tension surrounding the three of you was so thick, it had spread clear to each end of the line. No one was comfortable. But the other ushers, and even the security guards, stood by and watched. Scarecrow was all alone in this confrontation, and Doom-Head was about to devour him. 

You finally decided you had to do something. You pushed yourself between Doom-Head and Scarecrow, turning your back on Scarecrow. Placing your hands on Doom-Head’s chest, you looked up at him, but he ignored you. 

“Why don’t we go home? I think you’re right. I think maybe this isn’t the place for us.” 

“You want her?” Doom-Head continued, tilting his head to the side. A few strands of dark hair fell over his forehead. You wanted to reach up and push them out of the way, but you knew better than to stick your hands near his face at the moment. If you weren’t careful, you were liable to get your hand bitten off. 

“Please, dude,” Scarecrow said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I promise I won’t talk to her again.” 

“You’ll have to kill me to get her. Do you want her that badly?” Doom-Head’s hand slid down toward his jean pocket where you knew he kept a knife. 

You’d had enough. You grabbed Doom-Head’s wrist and he finally looked at you, fury written across his face. 

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m working.” 

“You’re not working,” you snapped back. “You’re scaring someone who made an honest mistake.” 

“I haven’t even tried to be scary yet.” 

“Well, it doesn’t take much, does it? We’re going home.” 

“You don’t tell me what to do.” 

“Any other night, you’d be right. But tonight, you’re wrong. We’re leaving before you do something stupid.” With your own wave of fury washing over you, you grabbed Doom-Head’s arm and dragged him out of the line, back toward the dark road where you’d parked. 

He shook himself free of you and spun you around, wrapping his large hand around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, even though he could have. 

“You don’t tell me what to do,” he repeated slowly, emphasizing every word. “Especially not in public.” 

You stared up at him, your mouth set in a hard line. His fingers slowly flexed against the flesh of your neck. 

“You don’t scare me,” you said. 

“No?” 

“No. You don’t scare me at all.” 

“Well, then,” he said, finally applying pressure to your throat. He leaned down to look you in the eye, his breath hot over your skin. “I guess I’m doing something wrong. I better fix that.” 

After a while, the makeshift prison started to look all the same. Something that you knew wasn't true given the few places that you had moved through. It was the panic speaking. And panic was a surefire pathway straight to death. Calming yourself down was easier said than done, of course, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive, you had to force it. 

Finding a small space to squeeze that seemed like it would serve as a decent hiding spot for the few moments that you would need it, you forced your body into the space. As quietly as you could, slow, deep breaths were taken in an attempt to slow down the way that you were sucking down air. Think. You had to think. 

Without weapons, you were at a bigger disadvantage. Already, you lacked knowledge of your location compared to whoever it was that they had coming after you. Lacking a weapon just left  you far more vulnerable than if you could at least defend yourself with something. If you could manage to get an attack in. A big if. This newest guy? The one that you hadn't seen yet? He moved real god damn quiet. Unlike the other Heads that had hunted you down, it didn't seem like he liked to play by taunting and building anticipation and terror. It was far more methodical and controlled. The three people that had made it with you through to the final three hours had been picked off one by one. Without warning and without the pomp and show that you had encountered up until then. Which made it that much more terrifying. You only knew it was a man when your friend had taken the chance to shout out loudly as he had died. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you murmured gently to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. "Think…" A sneak attack would give you the best advantage but how did you sneak attack someone that was practically a ghost? And what were you going to use? A pipe? Could you get something off of the wall without making a lot of sound? It was a thought, one that you might have to seriously entertain and take the risk of with such limited options. There wasn't any scrap metal laying around that you could use. For likely being an abandoned area, it was surprisingly well maintained. Likely for the very reason you were looking around if the people running this game were as smart as they had seemed so far.

"Pipe it is." You glanced up and cocked your head. Could you manage to get up that high? A drop down point would be an even better sneak attack. He would be less prepared to anticipate it. At least you hoped that would be the case. And a reaction to that sort of attack might be a little slower, giving you a proper chance to actually cause a little damage. Maybe enough to incapacitate him enough to get away and get out. A fresh wave of determination came over you, washing away the doubt and the worry. It was your best chance, and if it worked out, you would be able to get out of here. It was all you wanted. Plan in mind. You just had to figure out how it was that you were getting up there and quickly. There was no telling where he was. If he was watching, well, your entire element of surprise would be ruined. 

It was a struggle, but you managed to find a small perch that was relatively inaccessible from any sort of high walkway or ladder. It had taken far more time than you would have liked, but the drop down was directly below. Your arms were screaming, muscles burning with the effort that you had needed to exert to get to your spot. Enough so that you were worried about being able to swing the pipe that you had pried off of the wall. Given that it was likely your only chance to get a whack in and escape, you were going to have to make due and give it your all. Survival demanded it. 

Again, you had to work on slowing your breathing. Every sound made seemed to echo in your ears, and the exertion had caused you to all but pant again. It felt like each sound you made was a bright, neon beacon hanging over your head, telling him exactly where to find you.

Straining to see anything in the dark or hear anything above your own breathing and beating heart, now it was a game of patience. Something that was incredibly difficult with the sense of anticipation that kept adrenaline pumping through your veins. The creaking and movement of the building in general was enough to send a shiver down your spine, spiking that adrenaline thinking that it was him who had found you. It was a horrid way to exist, ready to jump out of your skin at the slight sound, but you were going to make it through this. If not for anything other than to try and prove these fuckers wrong, to be able to shove it in their face. And maybe, just maybe, figure out how to get a little revenge for the friends that had died for their amusement. 

Steps. Careful, measured steps were coming down the hallway from your right. It was all wrong. He hadn't made that much noise up until now. It was almost as if he was purposeful in how he was walking to make sure that you were alerted to your presence. Set on edge, your hands tightened around the cool metal, eyes darting in both directions to see if it was some sort of trick. While things had been straightforward up until now, it didn't mean that they would stay that way. Maybe this was some method to get you to come out of hiding to play. You were sure that they didn't want anyone winning. Heaven forbid. That would cause an issue for their game. You were going to be that exception, though. You were going to survive this.

Nothing. Just the sounds of the careful steps. No man. The hair on the back of your neck stood. What was going on? There was still no appearance after a couple of moments, and it was all wrong. The pipe nearly slipped from your hand as you adjusted your grip, trying to keep your breathing as slow and steady as you possibly could. The steps faded away, but the feeling of urgency and danger did not go away. It heightened instead, the overwhelming feeling of dread just seeping in deeper and deeper. Eyes were on you. You could swear that you felt them, but it would be impossible. Shit. Stay still. You had to stay still. Movement would alert him to where you were. It had to be what he wanted, to draw you out, make you panic, get you running around without a game plan. That would just make you easier prey. 

So, you waited. As difficult as it was. Seconds passed in long, drawn out ticks of the clock, making it feel more like minutes for every second. But finally, finally, the lanky frame came into view. Just barely silhouetted against the light, the footsteps were near silent. That let you know the initial thought you had about the audible steps before had likely been right. They had been a purposeful decision meant to draw you out. He hadn't found you. There was a chance that staying would let you win. A slim chance. Which was one that you weren't willing to take. These people couldn't let you live if you did manage to make it through the time limit that had been placed on the game. 

Timing was just off as you dropped down onto the man, catching his back and shoulder rather than knocking him completely off of his feet. You grunted as you swung the pipe with as much might as you possibly could before you stopped midswing. Blinking, you tried again but found the same result. You couldn't bring the pipe against his flesh. Frustration mounted, and the fact nearly made you cry. This couldn't be happening. The man turned and went to swing at you in retaliation during that second swing, but he seemed to have the same problem, the punch missing you by a mile.

"Fuck me…" He grunted as he tried swinging again before reaching for a blade. The blade swung by your face but didn't come close to catching any skin. Realization sunk in as you both seemed entirely incapable of harming the other. This had to be some part of the sick joke that was being played on you. There was only one reason that someone couldn't harm another. Soulmates. This fucked up nightmare had just become worse. Maybe having him kill you would have been the better sort of end game. 

The pipe dropped from your hand, and you took a step back, but it was the furthest distance that you could manage. Something stopped another movement backward. He was simply staring at you, an unreadable look overtaking his features. An emotion that you couldn't place. Did you even want to? Christ, what did you do with this situation? It wasn't like the two of you could sit down and talk about this like normal people. He had been just ready to run you through with his switchblades, and you had been ready to bash his head, or really any part of his body that you could reach. 

"Don't move," he growled out and lifted the blade in his hand, using it to simply point at you this time. "You fucking understand?" You were torn between listening and ignoring the demand that had been made. Just because he couldn't harm you didn't mean that there wasn't others and that he wouldn't be going to get them. Another step back resulted in a rather aggressive sound being released from the man.

"You think I'm going to listen to you?" Your voice came out stronger than you thought it would, giving yourself a mental pat on the back for that. If your voice had come out shaky, you would have felt even worse than you were right now.

"Yeah, you fucking are." He moved closer, that distance that you had established vanished with two quick strides by the man. There was no stopping the wince that came. Logically, now you knew he couldn't hurt you. That didn't stop the emotional and a primal part of your brain reacting to the very real threat that was still perceived. Distance would help you feel more comfortable, as comfortable as one could get in such a situation. That also led to better observations, better decisions, and better outcomes. Swallowing hard, you found yourself nodding in agreement. Just because you agreed didn't mean that you would do it. Figuring that your best course of action would be to follow behind him, hopefully unseen, you had to appear obedient before making the attempt.

"Good. Now, stay fucking put and I'll be right back." One last inspection was given to you before he turned heel and began back down the hallway. You waited just a few moments, listening closely as the steps just began to fade away before you.made your move. The entire maze was disorienting but he made enough sound by the slimmest of margins for you to be able to follow. Was it a safe assumption to think that he would be moving to some sort of exit? Maybe and maybe not. Time would be the only way to tell. 

Ahead, the sound of a door being opened echoed out. Well, that spoiled a lot, but it didn't exactly signal a complete end to the spying idea. If you got lucky and the door stayed open. Given how the night had gone, maybe you had used up all of the luck that a person was allowed in a lifetime. But, the risk was well worth the reward.

There was a sliver of light guiding the way, hinting where the almost invisible door was. If you weren't trying to stay quiet, you would have cursed, violently and loudly. That was how these fuckers were slipping around unnoticed. Of course. Nothing to be done with that information now. Rather pointless to focus on it when the important bit was the murmured voice on the other side of the door. For a moment, you thought that there might have been more than one. Straining to hear, eyes closed and leaned as far forward as you cod be without giving yourself away, you realized it was only one. His. Low enough that it was nearly impossible to fully make out each word but the timber of the voice that had just sent shivers down your spine was now unmistakable. Only every second or third word was caught. 

He most certainly was talking about you. But was he talking to anyone? Those sick fucks running the thing were clearly watching so he could have some way to communicate without their voices being heard by others. Right? Maybe. Your fingers, weak and injured from the long night, couldn't keep their grasp on the wall, causing you to loudly stumble forward, actually falling right to your knees by the door. Well, that certainly would alert him that you hadn't stayed put like demanded and promised. 

The door ripped open, and there he stood, eyes wide and alight with anger. 

“Told you to stay the fuck put!” The words came out in a growl as he swiftly reached down and grasped your arm, yanking you upward. “Dumb fucking bitch.” Off balance, the pull that he gave towards rhe room that he was in had you stumbling again, barely able to keep to your feet. You didn't know what was going through his head but he was leading you somewhere and you were far too exhausted at this point to give much more of a fight. If this was the end, so be it. 

After a few minutes, you noticed that you didn't hear any other sounds. No voices, no pipes banging, no hissing of steam. It was far more quiet than any other section of the hell maze had been. That piqued your interest just a little bit. Either he was taking you somewhere private to kill you or…

The possibility sparked that survival instinct once more, and your eyes moved to the tall man that was just ahead of you, jerking you around by the ironclad grip he had on your wrist. Could he possibly be getting you out of here?