Murder of a Royal Pain

“I see. Nothing serious, I hope.” Annette didn’t give Skye a chance to answer. Instead she hitched up the tattered and stained bridal gown she was wearing as her Bride of Frankenstein costume and stepped aside. Gesturing with a pointed finger, she ordered, “Hurry into your outfit and take your place.” Then she turned sharply on her white stilettos and said over her shoulder, “The dress rehearsal will start in ten minutes—whether you witches are ready or not. No one will ruin A Ghoul’s Night Out.”

Skye hurried through the haunted house toward the backstage area. The volunteers who had constructed the interior had done an amazing job. Skye couldn’t imagine the time it must have taken to build all the sets and props. There were three main sections. The first was a spa that had been turned into a chamber of horrors, the second was a demonic dance club, and the third contained scenes reenacting famous murders by women—Lizzie Borden being the star.

The trio of passageways that brought the attendees from section to section were populated by the more traditional Halloween characters. Skye and her fellow witches were each assigned to one of these corridors. They were to pop out through a door in a false wall, scare the pants off the group walking through, and then run as fast as they could to the opposite end of the hall and disappear behind another panel.

Before reporting to her spot, Skye darted behind the sets and grabbed her costume from a nearly empty rack. The lone costume still hanging there was one of her fellow witches’. Clearly she wasn’t the only late arrival. She silently cheered, glad she wasn’t alone in incurring Annette’s wrath.

Without stopping, she nipped into the outer hallway and ran past the entrance that led to her designated position. When she reached for the knob of the ladies’ room door, the hall lights flickered twice.

Skye felt her heart stop until she realized the flickering was only the signal that the dress rehearsal would start in five minutes. Not wanting to be caught in the haunted bathroom when the lights went out for real, she burst through the door, shrugged off her backpack, and dashed into the nearest of the three stalls.

She tore the plastic covering off the witch’s dress and threw the bulky garment over her head. While Skye struggled to tug it into place, she thought she heard a strange noise, but the heavy fabric muffled the sound. She mentally shrugged; it was probably the third witch, who, having finally arrived, was also in the bathroom putting on her costume.

At last Skye managed to get into her dress. When her head emerged, she realized the sound she had heard was someone crying. Her stomach clenched, but she took a steadying breath and said to herself, It is not the ghost. It’s a real person and she’s upset. Do something.

Squatting, she looked under the stalls, then toward the sinks and mirrors. Fear knotted inside her. There weren’t any feet. If no one else was in the bathroom, who was sobbing?

Skye held her breath and listened. The weeping had stopped. Had she imagined it? She adjusted her costume, stuffed the sweater she’d been wearing into her backpack, and cautiously pushed the stall door open. She was alone. She was loath to look into the mirror—terrified that a bloody woman would stare back. Nevertheless, by telling herself to quit being so stupid, she forced herself to turn toward the glass.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she used spirit gum to attach the prosthetic nose and chin that were a part of her makeup. She was fiddling with a fake wart that was supposed to be worn on her chin when she caught sight of her watch. The dress rehearsal was starting in less than a minute. She swiftly stuck the black pointed hat on her head, ran to the door, and pushed. It wouldn’t budge.

She put her shoulder to it and shoved with all of her not inconsiderable weight. It opened a couple of inches, but immediately slammed shut. Someone or something was holding it closed from the other side. Was this a joke? Why would someone want to trap her in the john?

Skye grabbed the flashlight from her backpack, preparing for when the lights went out for good. But she stuffed the light back into her pack when she remembered that the safety inspector had said that the bathroom lights had to remain on throughout the event.

Next she scooped out her cell phone. Whom should she call? As she considered her options, she glanced at the digital display. No signal. Shit! Now what? If she didn’t get out of there and to her appointed place on time, Annette would have her head on a platter.