Page 8 of Haunt the Mall
The webbing vibrated. An ominous baseline swelled in our souls–and then we saw them–the long legs of death. Beckoning. Beckoning!
Screams cascaded through the theater.
The final girl fell into a web, her leg stuck in white, wispy jaws. She was trapped. The spider reeled her in. But no—she wasn’t going down without a fight. The final girl used the last of her strength to throw herself out the attic window. Glass shattered. The widow lurched after her prey.
But the webbing slowed the girl’s fall out the third-story window. Jagged shards sliced through the netting. She fell—oh god, she fell hard, but she survived. The girl looked up, bracing herself for the spider to creep out the window. But it didn’t. Where was it? Crawling through the rest of the church to surprise her? Lurking in the darkness?
The girl scrambled to the cute local hunter for help as his truck pulled around.
He called her name. He got out a gun. And he pointed it at her chest. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But sacrifices must be made.”
I gasped, delighted.
“We’re all just creatures tangled in its web,” he monologued to the girl he’d romanced most of the movie. Oh, I’d love to have popcorn for this.
She reached for the tow chain on the back of his car.
The spoilers finally made sense. This girl better get his murdering ass.
After a few heart-racing minutes, the blood-spattered final girl stood above the hunter’s body, the gaping hole of the attic window behind her. Spider legs crept out of the house, forming a dark crown.
She was the widow now. Kind of.
Got to love a circular ending.
I clapped, the impact slamming back into my joints. Enthusiastic audience members hooted their approval. It helped to unleash some of that pent-up adrenaline. I was so glad I didn’t wait to see this. The lights came partway up, so people shuffled out of the theater. But the lights were still somewhat dim. Was there a post-credits scene?
I checked my phone. Shit. I was already cutting it close. I couldn’t set a bad example for my team and be late coming back from my lunch break. Especially for a two-second gag. Still.
I twisted my cross necklace, glancing from the dwindling audience filing down the hall to the screen.
Please. Show me something.
With the whisper of rustling paper and footfall, the manager promenaded through the crowd. He paused between the upper and lower level seats and slow-blinked at me in greeting.
My heart pounded harder. For him—and the movie.
5
Popcorn Bouquet
I couldn’t sit there in silence while he stood waiting for me, not even if it was mostly because he needed me to leave so his team could clean.
I staggered down the steps and rasped, “I wanted to see if there was anything post-credits.”
“There is.” He offered me a bag of popcorn.
My stomach flipped as if he’d offered me a bouquet of salty roses. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said.
“Of course I did. You’re one of our preferred customers.” He shook the bag, glistening kernels rolling over one another amid the tempting smell of warm butter.
My fingers brushed the treated paper. Was this the freebie offered for the movie pass? “Oh, I didn’t sign up for the loyalty membership,” I said.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Perhaps the free popcorn will convince you to join us.”
“Maybe.” I laughed, happy to accept a snack on my empty stomach.
His gaze fixed on my mouth as I brought a kernel to my lips. The intensity made my insides quiver. Why was he so invested in crafting the audience experience? He’d definitely been the one to prank me with the spider plush, right? But that had been harmless.