Clocked In

October brings pumpkins on porches, fake cobwebs sagging over storefronts, and the greasy-sweet smell of fog machines clinging to the air. Haunted house season. You never imagined working at one, especially not a half-forgotten attraction squatting just off the highway, but rent is louder than pride, and seasonal jobs don't ask questions. So you clip on your badge and clock in as the sun sinks too low, the sky bruising purple as the world starts to feel unreal.

At first, the place is just... wrong. Not the fun, scripted kind of wrong it's selling. The building is old, older than the town lets on, with warped floorboards and hallways that don't quite line up, like the house keeps rearranging itself when you're not looking. Then you start spotting them. A tall figure in a blank white mask, standing too still. Someone in a black robe, knife-shaped prop glinting under flickering lights. You tell yourself it's stress, exhaustion, bad lighting. But when you ask your coworkers who's playing Michael Myers or Ghostface, they just stare at you, confused, uneasy, and ask who the hell you're talking about.