It was stressful, knowing I was working for a purpose.
I think that was starting to get to me, y’know? I realized that the money I was earning meant something. I remember debating whether or not I’d get a rock band controller or a lightgun with my first paycheck. It seems so silly now. I couldn’t spend an hour without being reminded that the $16 dollars I was given for it was going to be paying for my rent, or my food. And without it I would be gone.
I kept trying to shake it off, especially as the day got harder and harder. Cameras were going down and our systems were on the brink of disconnecting while customers stumbled around the dark for a clue, and we could barely offer them guidance. Checking the clock, it was about 30 minutes before I was originally going to clock in. The supervisor had me arrive early to save them from a crowded afternoon, and I was almost 4 hours into my shift when the internet controlling the cameras was reset and couldn’t be turned back on.
Panic was getting to me. I was somehow the most knowledgeable person there on the systems but I couldn’t navigate the mess of wires to find the blinking lights, and each second that I wasted was time people sat in the lobby waiting for the room to be set up. I was told to run the game. I had nothing but my two hands and some walkie talkies, and I was told to play it by ear. So I unplugged the lights for any amount of hope that the room would be dark enough to play, and led the guests in. I remember following that wire and tugging it out of the socket, watching the neon light blink out as I placed the plug next to the power strip. Hope that works, I said to myself as I ran out and began to start the most scuffed game I would ever run.
I sat outside the door, whispering updates to the person in the control room through the walkie talkie until the supervisor returned to try and help me. With a hushed voice, he told me his plan to try and fix the game and put us back on schedule. It all revolved around the first scare.
In the plans for the room, there were two significant scenes in which we sent in an employee in a mask and coat to be the room’s killer. While the second involved sneaking in and hiding within before jumping out to chase them, the first involved more finesse. It had the players hide within the room’s closets to allow the scare actor free reign in making noise and banging on doors without fear of accidentally running into the players. Or, in this case, time to be able to open the cabinet that leads to the cameras.
We’d both tell them to hide in the room, letting me go inside to be the scare actor and letting him work on the systems to figure out what was wrong. I barely remember replying. The stress of the event gave me no other options but to follow what my superior had told me. There wasn’t much else discussion, or much time. Which is why it was confusing when I left with the music cue—the cue we have to tell the scare actor to leave—that my supervisor didn’t return. I reached for the door to return, when he came out in a huff.
“Why did you leave? I barely had time.”
I shut myself up before I made a scene right outside the game room. We simply waited till they moved deeper into the room and then worked on fixing things behind their backs.
It took a while, but the cameras and light controls came back up somewhere in the middle of the game. I remember that as it wrapped up and the group was given their outro, the supervisor approached me and the others to let us know what was wrong.
“Something got unplugged, and replugging it in fixed the router.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that wasn’t exactly right, but I simply went back to work. I couldn’t take much more standing up for myself. I bottled my anger and decided it wasn’t worth the hassle.
None of that was too terrible, however. At least, until everyone started to leave. I was left with another game to run. Just another game, like the 5 I ran before on the day long shift. Just another game, right?
The people were immediately loud and aggressive. We usually tell our guests that the scare actor has a taser so they should avoid physical confrontation, and one of my coworkers relayed that one of them said “If I punch you, you’d be knocked out.” I shelved the thought, most of the time these people are just bluffing.
I led the group out of the lobby and desperately attempted to talk over them. I couldn’t really tell what other language they were speaking, but I could tell even those who did speak English didn’t have a full grasp of it. It was hard enough to corral the group, but I attempted to get them to sit down as a varied group of them went in and out of the bathroom. I had to practically drag them back to stop them from bringing the recording camera into the bathroom so I could hold onto them while they walked in and out of the women’s room, not even bothering to check which one they went to.
I didn’t realize it yet, but that was my first mistake. I wasn’t cautious at the time, and taking away that camcorder was the reason I didn’t have any evidence for what I learned later that night. As soon as I had done that, the only story that would be told of this night would be mine. Mine, and my co-worker’s. And considering how I was treated, I don’t think the boss was too keen on listening to two women speaking up about what happened.
She had just left one of our other rooms and joined me at the desk for the second to last game of the night, and immediately we both shared a worried expression about the game. The monitor was erupting with angry and aggressive screams that made my head split open. It was almost 8 hours in—I was officially earning overtime for my time working here. Extra money, I thought as I pushed on, to save me. To keep me alive.
My coworker was about as new as I was. She was actually around my age—perhaps older, and definitely with more job experience. I remember meeting her the first day I was training; She had just quit a job at a boba shop and was looking for a better place to work. A better job, I thought to myself. I hadn’t even begun to consider what came after my first one. I looked back to the cameras with the large group of players that stumbled around the dark room, screaming out at each noise and clinging to each other. I wish for her sake that she has found a quieter place by now.
Just like before, we had to send someone in for the first scare. I looked at my coworker with a mix of pity and worry. We had both been discussing how eager they seemed to fight, and how quick they seemed to react. Even as we played the message over the radio telling them to hide, their screams drowned it out and they all stood in the center with no reaction but pure fear. I wasn’t sure what to do. Part of me believed I could just do as we always did, but…
It was then I felt my life flashing red again. The idea of being punched or hurt. The fear of being attacked. Each vision in between each flash of red reminded me how thin a line I had been treading. How weak I really was.
And then of you. Of my dream to be with you.
And I couldn’t bring myself to do it, nor could I bring myself to do it to my coworker. I refused to endanger anyone when I could take the reins and change the game. So I did, without another word. I simply let them cower in the room and I approached the door to bang on it, angrily knocking on the door as I heard them yelling from inside. It was too much to ask them to try and be quiet. I felt them press against the door, and I held it firmly closed. I knocked, and they screamed. And I left. It was a simple, but less effective form of the real thing.
I came back with a shrug. I had no intent to share how worried I really was with my coworker, especially when I could tell she wasn’t the happiest about this environment either. We both just agreed to continue working together and plan out a way to complete the final scare without anyone getting hurt as well.
The hour they took passed slowly, both me and my coworker watching the group yell and scream and slam and bang their way through the room’s walls and puzzles. We both took some turns doing the minor scares and swapping the locks, both a bit more comfortable with them in the other room deeper into the game. But even then, we both were starting to lean on a worst case scenario. Especially as the group inside forced open the lock for the final door.
This didn’t compromise the puzzles in any way, really. I could think of quite a few ways to fix it in time for the final scare, looking back on it. Other contingencies to keep the integrity of the story and puzzles. But with the loud screaming from the computer and the pounding in my head and the flashing visions of my future, I took the wheel once more.
“If I get fired for this, I stand by it.” I said aloud.
And I pushed them out of the room. I played the final jumpscare sound and ushered them out. “You’re out of time,” I told them. It wasn’t a lie, but policy stated we were supposed to never end the games early. I didn’t care. I pulled them out to the lobby, which is when I saw one of them exhale a puff of smoke.
My mind raced back to seeing them rush in and out of the bathroom before the game started. Ah.
I kept myself smiling and led them down the stairs with a sigh. I was sick of it. I was on the verge of breaking down. I checked my phone—close to 11 at night. I had been there since 2:30. It was enough to make me groan as I shuffled back to the room to begin cleaning it up, relocking the door and checking to make sure nothing had broken. It was too much. The room wasn’t scaring me anymore. Props and darkness weren’t scaring me. I was finally scared of pain, of death, and of being taken away from my future with you.
The final group came in by the time we finished setting up the room, and there was no time to leave them waiting outside. My coworker led them in as I put myself on break to hide my face in my hands. I softly took a deep breath, thinking of you.
I wanted to quit, something I had never thought about since getting hired.
I didn’t get the chance.
The night after, I remember falling asleep to my paycheck and a request to call my supervisor. My eyes closed seeing the number I was paid. $662.52. Overtime didn’t pay that much. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.
The next morning, I drove over. It was a small drive, but they still gave me “gas money” as if to do some sort of service to me. I parked in an open spot as I saw another car pull up on the curb, and two people came out. One of them was my supervisor, looking over to me with a soft smile. The other never made eye contact with me—He looked away and leaned on the side of the car. I assumed he was my boss—I never actually met him. I held out the key, and my supervisor took it from my hand. I didn’t say a word. I turned and left and choked back an anger I had for the man I saw by the car.
I never actually met him. The thought repeated in my mind as I drove away.