He was missing two lower front teeth. Peppered stubble whorled on his cheeks; vines of long hair framed his face. His eyes locked on Gage as he extended his hand, raising his voice over the chaos of the midway.

“Give me your ticket, kid.”

Smiling, Gage placed his ticket in the man’s red-stained palm, then raised his voice. “Hey, is that real blood?”

“You tell me, kid. Look where fate has brought you.” The fat man cast his tattooed arm back to the huge arching sign bearing blood-dripping words that proclaimed the attraction.

The Chambers of Dread: America’s Biggest Traveling World of Horrors!

“This is so cool!” Gage said.

“Cool? How old is your young soul?”

“What?”

“How old are you?”

“Nine!”

The man’s eyes narrowed into reptilian slits as he assessed Gage, then his dad, then his mom. They stayed on Mom long enough to border on being unsavory before coming back to Gage. Then the man knocked on the wooden advisory bolted to the metal barricade next to him.

Warning! This attraction may be too intense for pregnant women and people with heart conditions. It is not recommended for children under the age of 12 unless they are accompanied by an adult.

A fat finger, tipped with a long, yellowed and chipped fingernail, pointed at Gage. “Mark my words, kid. These Chambers is cursed. No one who enters is ever the same when, and if, they leave. Now’s the time to run home with your mama. Otherwise, move ahead. Next! You, there! You’re doomed!”

“Whoa!” Gage’s laugh betrayed excited nervousness as he and his parents inched forward in the crowded line that snaked between barricades to the entrance. The aroma of deep-fried food, grilled meat and cotton candy wafted from the food stands. He felt his mother’s hands on his shoulders before she leaned into his ear.

“You’re sure you’re okay to do this, sweetie? You’re not too scared?”

“Mom, I’m not scared!”

“We could skip this and get something to eat over there.”

“He’s fine, Faith. You’re always babying him,” Gage’s dad said, while checking messages on his phone and texting responses.

Always working, Faith Hudson thought, irritated. It was as if his phone was part of his anatomy. Now he was dialing.

“Seriously, you’re calling someone?”

Phone pressed to his ear, Cal flashed his free palm to Faith, signaling her to quiet down. She bit her bottom lip, hesitating, then said what she was thinking. “And I was going to thank you

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