Chapter 13

“Come this way, y’all,” said Sunny, our aptly named tour guide, with a mega-watt smile. A middle-aged brunette dressed in yellow from head to toe, she was so perky that I couldn’t imagine how she ever slowed down enough to sleep at night. Her smiles were cheery, her voice was bubbly, and when she moved, she even seemed to bounce.

We’re talking supreme perk.

About twenty of us were making our way down the path to the barn. She pointed at the rusted water pump out front, which I hadn’t even noticed was there.

“That’s from the first-ever western shot here at Tattered Star Ranch: The Range of a Cowboy’s Heart. Remember how they used it to fill up the buckets for the fire scene?”

Not waiting to see if we did, in fact, remember, she led us onward. We moved down main street past the shops that had also been built for Cowboy’s Heart. They retained their original signage—we passed a saloon, barbershop, general store, apothecary, and sheriff’s office, though we paused in the center so that Sunny could list the different films that had been shot on this spot, including a famous gunfight that had been spoofed so often even people who hadn’t seen the original movie got the reference. She pointed out details like the hat still attached to an upper-story window by an arrow.

“I’m going to tell you a secret now.” Sunny clasped her hands together and beamed at us. “This whole row has been turned into one large gift shop! Please return later during your visit—we have everything from penny candy to posters—for all the souvenirs you could ever want honoring the many movies made here. Be sure to pick up something for all of your beloved friends and family members.”

Once we reached the end of the row, Sunny led us through the cool, airy stables, where curious horses greeted us with soft whinnies from their stalls as we traipsed through the middle of their home. Tour members began taking pictures, posing for selfies with the equine residents. “Please don’t touch,” Sunny said sternly. “But do come back for our horse show held nightly.”

I wasn’t crazy about the way she kept promoting the things we could do here other than taking the tour, but I supposed that was to be expected. This was a business, after all. Tours made money. And I’d bought a ticket, I reminded myself, so I should try to get my money’s worth. Sighing, I rolled my neck gently one way, then the other—I sensed a vague throb in my forehead despite the ibuprofen I’d taken—and vowed to be open to whatever came next.

We emerged in the harsh sunlight, near the edge of the forest that surrounded the ranch. When Sunny led us into the trees, I found myself at the end of the tour. Which was fine. I didn’t want to make conversation, anyway. I trudged behind the others, listening to their exchanges. Everyone seemed to be having a grand time except me.

We arrived first at a clearing, which had been the location of several battle scenes in multiple westerns, according to Sunny, then continued deeper into the woods. The dirt path twisted often, and before long, I’d lost sense of which direction we were heading. It was difficult to see too far in the distance on either side between branches. The thick boughs above blocked the sunlight from reaching us, and the temperature dropped as the darkness increased.

Conversations gradually halted. This cathedral of green demanded silence.

We went on like that for I didn’t know how long. It was picturesque but increasingly eerie. The air seemed charged with menace.

The further we went, the more my apprehension grew. I tried to sort out why. Was I hallucinating because of my head wound? Had I read too many fairy tales where dangerous things lurked in the woods? Or was my intuition legitimately trying to warn me about something? Whatever the source, I had the distinct feeling that someone was watching us.

Then Sunny took a sharp right, and we spilled back into the magnificent sun. “Are y’all interested in the horror films that were shot on the ranch? If so, here’s one for you.” Sunny’s smile got even wider. “Any fans of Monsters at the Slaughterhouse?”

Some people clapped, and there were a few loud whistles from the back of the group. Banter broke out again amid a tangible attitude of renewal. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who felt a sort of disconcerting spell cast by the forest.

Ahead of us loomed the dilapidated building from which people spent most of the film trying to escape. I was hardly in the right mindset to give this a try, but at least we were out of the trees. Sunny slid open a large door on tracks and motioned for us to follow her. The area was dark and full of shadows.

Large silver hooks hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly, over a cement maze on the right. A deep pit yawned on the left. Around the edges of the space were individual cells with metal doors. All three zones were sites of suffering for the characters. Seeing the space prompted disconcerting memories of the way killers in the film had slid noiselessly up to their victims and pounced.

As people headed over to the maze, enthusiastically trading favorite scenes from the film with their companions, I wandered off. Normally, I was interested in behind-the-scenes anything. I taught gothic literature and watched horror movies and had been looking forward to this tour for weeks. It would have been different if Lex were here. Alone, though, it was disturbing. My nerves had been on overload since Ellis had been found, and I realized that I just wasn’t in the mood for horror right now. In fact, I was a bit freaked out by all of it.

So I aimed for the exit. I wasn’t thrilled to be heading back into the forest, either, but the atmosphere in here was worse. As I approached the open back door, I heard a muffled shout and something that sounded like a thump. Distance to the source was difficult to gauge. When I peered quickly outside, I didn’t see anyone, so I went over to the walk-in freezer on the side wall, which was the only other room on this side of the building. In the movie, several people had met their demise there.

I put my ear against the silver door but couldn’t hear anything. If someone was trapped inside, however, I didn’t want them to meet the same fate as the characters in the film. Grabbing the handle, I pulled. With a loud click and a whooshing sound, the door swung toward me. I was almost afraid to look, but I made myself do it anyway.

The interior was empty.

Relieved, I let go of the handle and took a step inside, just to check the corners that weren’t fully visible from where I stood. A hard blow against my back propelled me forward and the door slammed shut behind me. I crashed onto the cement floor, white hot pain shooting through my palms and knees.

After bending my wrists and legs to make sure nothing was broken, I clambered back upright.

Did someone shove me in here intentionally? Now I was freaked out and mad.

I ran back over the door to open it, but there was no latch. Seriously? Who doesn’t put a latch inside a freezer?

Oh, wait. Horror movie freezers don’t have latches because if they did, the characters could stroll right out again instead of staying inside and freezing to death like they’re supposed to.

The cold air already felt like it was piercing my bones. Shivering, I pulled out my cell phone and checked for service.

None. Nada. Zip.

Should have expected that—the walls were as thick as a cave. I shot a glance around the freezer’s dingy white walls, dirty metal shelves, and unidentifiable stains. I didn’t even want to hazard a guess as to what those were.

Again, I pounded on the door, but no one came to let me out. Sinking onto the floor, I tried to come up with a way to escape.

Instead, my brain started doing Panic Math, calculating how much oxygen was in here and how much time I had left until it ran out.

Not that I know how to calculate any of that.

But my thoughts were scrabbling about, trying to find something to glom onto, and math is where they went.

I closed my eyes and did a round of diaphragmatic breaths to calm down, which was working nicely until it occurred to me that maybe I was using up the oxygen faster.

I shoved that idea away and started another round of breaths.

Suddenly, the door was open—blessedly open—and Sunny was poking her head inside. “Hello there! Are you okay? What happened?”

“The door closed on me.”

“Aw, you’re not the only one, sweetie. All of the tour guides have found a Freezer Victim—that’s what we call y’all, no offense—at some point. Dang door weighs more than my car does. That’s why we have a protocol here at Tattered Star Ranch. I am required to check this location each and every time we are fixin’ to leave the building.”

“Thank you so much,” I said, scrambling to pass her as she prattled on.

“And this is only the second time I’ve ever found someone inside...how exciting!” She put her free hand on her heart, delighted to have a new Freezer Victim anecdote to tell at her next tour guide meeting. “The first time was quite a shock—let’s just say some honeymooners were celebratin’ their nuptials. I don’t think they would have minded if we’d left them in here all night!”

As she closed the freezer, I went directly outside and turned my face up to the sweet, sweet sun. Before too long, though, the heat intensified the throbbing in my head, so I edged into the shade. Sunny bopped over with a first-aid kit and helped me clean up the wounds. I was sore, but the scrapes would heal. When she warned me to be more careful, it was almost humorous. Between the microphone injury and the face plant and the freezer fall, I would be lucky to limp out of here alive.

Then I remembered that there was a killer on the loose and revised my thought: we all would be lucky to get out of here alive. If I wasn’t helping with the investigation, I’d consider leaving right now. I pulled out my phone—happily working again now that I was outside of slaughterhouse walls—and texted Lex, asking how the conversation with Flynn had gone. He didn’t answer. When the group had finished their exploration of the structure, we plodded back onto the dirt path—thankfully going in the opposite direction this time, away from what I could only think of as That Part Of The Forest Where Maybe There Are Eyes Watching You.

Sunny called over her shoulder. “If you look through the next patch of trees, you might be able to see the carnival set from the cult favorite, Terror Along the Midway. We’ll get there in a bit, but first, we’ll visit the graveyard where the souls of the Trail Way Gang are said to walk at night. You’ll remember them from the classic western, A Long Ride to Santa Fe.”

Some applause and happy squeals burst out behind me. I rubbed my temples. I wanted this tour to be over with. I was tempted to ask Sunny for a shortcut back to the hotel, but I reminded myself again that the tickets had been expensive, and it seemed like a waste to give up now.

I glanced at my watch. Twenty minutes left. I could do this. Just walk, Lila.

Sunny pulled open a metal gate and gestured toward the headstones. “Feel free to wander. See if you can figure out which one is the intended grave of Stetson McAvoy, the hero of the film. Remember that they only got his plot half-dug-out before he came roaring back to life?”

As I was first in line, I aimed for a shady spot in the far back corner, which might help ease my headache. Others ambled around, but I moved with purpose: I needed to get out of the sun. I passed row after row of graves, barely glancing at the headstones.

When I reached the corner, I almost tripped over a wooden shovel handle resting beside a pile of dirt. That must be the grave Sunny meant.

I took a few steps closer, peering down into the hole.

At Flynn McMaster.

The next sound I heard was my own scream.