Haunt

Gallows Trixie Searches for Snapper - Part 1 of 2

Weekend One - Friday Night, continued

September 16, 2022

POV: Kelsie Conrad

The worst part of this job was the damn makeup line. Screamsters were stuck in it for at least half an hour on a good day. It was still hot as the dickens out here, so the screamsters huddled under the shade trees and whined.

Lucky for me, my character was Gallows Trixie, the in-costume lead for The Badlands Fright Zone. So I got to skip the line like other house leads: Papa Legba and Patches the Killer Scarecrow. I could stand up front, waiting for the next senior makeup person available to get my skeleton prosthetic going.

There I was, the first Friday of Haunt, back at it again during my favorite time of the year! I'd been working officially for six years since I was fifteen. But Mom had brought me to Seven Wonders since I was a baby. Around there, Mom was basically the Sheriff. I'm the daughter of head yellowshirt supervisor Kim Conrad, "The Taskmaster," and I know this place like the back of my boots. I'm an acrobatic elf during Winterlights and a character actor during the rest of the year, like Francois the Tumbling Cat or daredevil Eddie the Eagle on occasion. I can backflip with the best of them. But Haunt is the best time of year, and Gallows Trixie feels like my true alter ego.

If I sound like I'm some deep-south hick who just fell off the side of the Appalachians, it's because of my job; my costumed characters talk a little thick in the Americana section of the park (except for Francois, who talks like Pepe Le Pew). But I retain the chicken-fried accent out of costume. My parents are deep-south hicks from the Ozark Mountains, and I picked up on it; plus, a southern accent makes people more comfortable around me, and maybe I feel more comfortable speaking to other people like this. In Missouri, it ain't all that unusual, anyway.

"Trixie!" From the line, my friend Jerry Dance hollered. "Show us some sparks!"

I couldn't resist showing off. I glanced behind me, saw an opening, took a few running steps, and dropped into a baseball slide. My flint-steel gloves, kneepads, and boots caught the pavement and ignited beautiful flashes of sparks, which followed my movements in a magic spell. I kicked my legs full circle and came out of it in a round-off. The applause of the line made me blush with joy.

Jerry laughed. "You ought to be in the Olympics. But can you make the line move faster?"

Suddenly, we heard a scream inside the warehouse. It wasn't a screamster practicing, but real, like someone in pain. Believe me, I hear enough fake screams to know a real one.

Everyone in line stopped their conversation and dropped into a low, worried buzz of speculation. Yellowshirts darted into the entrance. As quickly as yellowshirts ran in, they came racing back out and were replaced by security guards swarming the building. Holy shit.

I saw Mom. She made her way to the entrance, traversing the length of the line in a brisk walk. She eyed each of us, guarded and focused like a drill sergeant. Even when she caught my eye, she moved on without a word. What the hell was going on?

When she reached the end of the line, she said something on her radio and then turned her attention to us. Mom raised her arms and shouted with her ear-splitting crowd-control voice, "Attention everyone! We're looking for a small woman in all gray. She's bald with dark costume contacts. If anyone sees a girl like this, report her to a yellowshirt or security immediately. Do not approach her."

That's weird. Girls do not go bald for this job. What did she do?

At that moment, the only thing that physically separated us employees from the rest of the park was a tall wooden fence. Sure enough, through a knot-hole, I saw a curious crowd from beyond, wondering if something interesting was happening. Mom's voice respects no boundaries, and every patron beyond the fence heard her yelling. I turned back to see–

Aagh! Mom, standing right in front of me.

She barked, "What are you doing? I need all management's help now, and that includes you."

I know that, Mom! "Alright, I'm right behind you."

---

Before I knew it, I was in a yellowshirt meeting, a circle of important faces. We were up on the unofficial meeting sidewalk in the employee square. I'm the only one in a black cowboy hat and blonde pigtails, but otherwise, I felt right at home.

The supervisors buzzed in a panic. I entered in the middle of all this commotion and caught some details. There was an unknown, dangerous creature on the loose. Whatever it was, she bit Jackie's thumb off. Bit it off! Infected it with some poisonous gunk, too. Horror show shit!

Now, here's something you need to know about me. Because I've been around the park for so long, I'm a little more "in the know" than most people. I'd heard stories about lost spirits wandering into the park and becoming corporeal (or what they call "fabricated"). Spirits feel welcome and at home here, or they want to take advantage of our schemes only spoken of in whispers around the Queen of the Nile water ride, or most likely, they sense that the fabrication magic might help them, turn them visible, or audible, or somehow more solid, and they sure do want some of that. They're not usually going around biting fingers off, though. That was new.

Mom pointed to all the yellowshirts, assigning them all jobs.

One of my outlaws joined me: Zeffer the Spike. Tall, lanky guy, an actual cattle farmer who legitimately wrangled cows for a living. He was so great with a rope; he taught me how to lasso, but I wasn't as good as him yet. His signature thing, and the reason for his nickname, was a dozen five-inch-long railroad spikes sticking out of his right side like they'd been hammered into him. Of course, he didn't have his makeup on yet, and neither did I - probably a good thing.

Mom pointed at the two of us. "Zeffer, Kelsie, we need to cover as much of the park as possible before the Overlord's Awakening. If this spirit is still around and decides to bite the patrons, we're all in serious sh—shenanigans." She censored herself from swearing.

I offered, "How about Zeff and I start at International Plaza and make our way around?"

"Please." Mom said, looking at me thankfully. "Zeffer, head through South America, move through Africa and Europa. Kelsie, go through Asia, around Australia, and past Greece, and both of you meet at the Badlands. You're my fastest skaters."

"We get to use blades? Wow."

"This is f—fully serious." Mom handed us both a yellowshirt-issue radio to clip on. "If you find the biter, report your location and a Black Staircase incident. I'll take care of the rest."

That was a little shocking - I've never been part of a Black Staircase incident in all my time here.

"Do we have a codename for the biter?"

"How about Gollum?" Zeffer suggested. "Little bald monster who chewed someone's finger off? I can see that. We can throw her into a volcano."

Mom touches her lip. "Ah, hmm. That's good, but we don't want to cause copyright issues. No, I already heard from Ramis: the codename is Snapper."

*****