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In Which Michael Is A Volunteer

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"You got a job where?" Pete deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at his curly haired friend over his coffee cup.

"South Park Spook House." Michael clarified, shaking his head, "And it's not really a job, I volunteered to do it."

Pete habitually flicked his hair out of his face with a huff of annoyance, "Why the hell would you volunteer for something like that?"

"Well, why wouldn't I?" Michael countered, "Dude, I get to legally scare the crap outta people with a chainsaw. What part of that doesn't sound awesome to you?"

"The part where you don't get paid." Pete stated simply.

The taller goth shrugged and stirred his coffee, "It's better than sitting at home on Halloween doing nothing."

Pete didn't reply, just sipped on his own coffee as he thought back to when they were younger.

The goths had never bothered with the Spook House as kids, because they all agreed that it was lame. However, as Halloween edged closer Pete found himself growing curious. The old Spook House was a pretty popular place during Halloween.
And if Michael had volunteered, it couldn't be that lame, right? After giving it some thought he finally decided to see what all the fuss was about.

He arrived a good half hour early and watched as the performers showed up.

Most were already in costume; Wendy was some sort of demonic lolita girl, Mike was—what else?—a vampire, and someone was wandering around in a large overcoat and tilted down hat while scraping an emery stone over the blade of a machete. Judging by the tall, lanky frame it had to be Kenny.

There were also a few others whom Pete either didn't recognise, or they had their face hidden somehow.

"Pete?"

He turned when he heard his name and saw Michael walking toward him. Pete took a moment to examine Michael's outfit. His costume was surprisingly simple compared to some of the others.

The tall goth was dressed in his usual attire of black pants with a white button down shirt and black suspenders. His dress shoes had been substituted with black doc martins—most likely for grip while chasing patrons—and he had forgone styling his mess of curls, leaving it wild and beyond unruly. The most striking feature were the contacts that covered his usually brown eyes, turning his iris white and giving him an unsettling creepy look.

"You came?" Michael sounded genuinely surprised to see him waiting.

The shorter teen shrugged, "Yeah, figured if you were so into it then it must be alright."

"Well, glad you could make it, Pete." Michael gave a rare smile before looking up sharply as his name was called by another performer, "Oh, I have to go get in position. Hope you make it to my room!"

"Make it to your..." The pockmarked goth trailed off in confusion, watching his friend head into the house. He didn't finish the thought because he flinched away when the shrill scraping noise from earlier was suddenly right by his head.

"The hell?!" Pete ducked to the side and noticed Kenny standing behind him holding his machete and the emery stone.

Due to Kenny's costume all Pete could see was the blond's nose and mouth, an exact opposite to how he usually dressed. Kenny smirked at him as he stepped around to face the goth and slowly waved the blade near his pale throat.

Logically Pete knew the machete must have been dulled like the safety scissors in school, but his instincts made him tense up as the blade came extremely close to such a vulnerable area.

Abruptly, Kenny removed the machete and leaned in close, whispering into Pete's ear, "You're next."

A cliche line, for sure, but that doesn't mean it didn't work on the goth's jittery nerves and he visibly relaxed when Kenny wandered off again. He also noticed the ticket booth light up, signaling that they were open for business.

The woman at the booth smiled at him, "Hello, welcome to South Park Spook House."

"One please." Pete held out the ten dollars for the lady.

The woman took the money and grabbed a paper bracelet, "Just you?"

"Yep." Pete held out his wrist for her to put it on.

"We don't get many people who go it alone." She commented as she finished securing his patron bracelet, "Have fun and remember; Do not touch the actors. They can't touch you either."

"Got it." He nodded, waving her off and entering the Spook House.

As he began the walk, Pete didn't really want to admit it out of pride, but he felt a bit edgy from the anticipation already.

He entered the living room and spotted Wendy on the floor playing with a porcelain doll. Her abnormally large eyes locked onto him as he stepped into the room.

"Hello." She greeted in a sweet childish tone, waving her doll's hand like one would with a baby, "What's your name?"

"Pete." He replied curtly.

Wendy batted her thick eyelashes at him demurely and held up her doll, "Pete, huh? I like that name, and so does Abby."

Pete nodded tensely, feeling a bit anxious with how happy she was acting.

"Stay and play with me," Wendy requested, reaching up with bloody hands from where she sat on the floor, "We can play hide and seek with your bones. Won't that be fun?"

There it was.
There was creepiness Pete had been waiting for and he slowly started to head for the next part of the house.

"You'll make a great playmate, forever and ever!" She insisted gleefully until she saw him walking away, "No, come back! You can't leave! You can't leave! You can't—" Wendy continued chanting, building up to a shriek as he rounded a corner into the pitch black hallway.

Pete blindly felt his way through, balking when he repeatedly brushed into what he could only assume was that cotton spiderwebbing stuff. He hurried his steps a bit when he heard a low rumbling growl and slow heavy breathing nearby. The sight of light signaling the end of the maze made him sigh in relief and he stummbled over in the direction, coming out in the kitchen.

"Who dares enter my kitchen?!" Came the screech of a witch as she stirred a pot, holding the lid in one hand and the spoon in the other. The make up made it near impossible to identify her, but Pete's best guess was that it was Red.

"I dare." He quipped with a cheeky smirk.

She took him off guard when she abruptly slammed the pot lid in her hand flat on the wall not three inches from his head, making him flinch instinctively.

"Think you're funny, eh?" The witch snarled, boxing him in as he swallowed roughly and watched her with wide eyes, "The last person who smarted off at me wound up in that pot over there! And you'll be next if you aren't careful!" She crowded in close before yanking her arm back and pointing to a nearby door with the spoon, "Go on! Get out! While I'm still letting you!"

Pete wasted no time in obeying her by gunning it to the doorway, his heart rate a bit more elevated than usual from the adrenaline.

He peered around feeling highstrung and jumpy, before he saw that the small dim room was bordered by closed coffins. He flicked his hair out of his face and scoffed. How cliche of them to pull the old Sit Up In My Coffin routine. Pete stepped forward confidently, prepared for one of the coffins to suddenly open and reveal Count Dorkula.

However, he wasn't really prepared for Mike to drop down and hang from the ceiling like a damn bat, so any noises he might have made were purely from surprise and certainly not out of fear.

"Enter into my crypt and you might get bit!" Mike slant rhymed and hissed, baring his fangs at the goth.

"Hiss at me again and I'll make you swallow those teeth McCowski." Pete deadpanned with a glare as he barreled through.

"Peeete, you're supposed to play along!" Mike groaned and crossed his arms, then he gave a sigh, "I hope you at least go along with the others' routines..."

Pete didn't bother to answer the vampire, he just fumbled with the curtain in the doorway before he finally found the opening.

He found himself at the bottom of a staircase leading up to the second floor. Two blonde girls dressed identically were at the top of the stairs. From just a glance they looked like twins, but Pete could juuust make out that one was Bebe and the other was Mercedes. It didn't really matter who they were, though, they both looked like creepy lost children and it was mildly freaking him out.

"Follow us. We'll take you to see him." They said in unison while emphasising the 'him' before turning away to hold hands and head down an upstairs hallway.

Pete cocked his head as he began climbing the staircase, "And who exactly is 'him'?"

"You'll see." The girls replied ominously as they made their way down the hall.

Pete rolled his eyes, but followed the ghostly twins upstairs anyway. He felt kind of silly, he was eighteen for fuck's sake and yet here he was paranoidly scanning his surroundings, fully expecting something to leap out at him.

The girls finally stopped in front of a closed door, standing on either side, "He's in there, waiting for you."

"For me?" Pete remarked sarcasticly with a flat tone, trying to hide how fearfully amped up he was from the suspense, "Well aren't I special."

The room was barely lit by blacklights, turning light colours into a dazzling display of neon. The door shut behind him, seemingly on its own—though a small rational part of Pete's brain reminded him that it was probably one of the girls' doing—and he was left alone in the room.

Or so he thought.

Turning around he jolted when he caught sight of someone standing in front of the door. They had probably been on the hinged side, hiding behind the door and shutting it after he was far enough in.

"Let's have some fun." Pete relaxed just a tad when recognised Michael's voice, but he tensed right back up at the sound of a chainsaw revving up and he took a few steps backward.

That was apparently Michael's signal because he suddenly lunged forward, swinging the chainsaw in front if him and started cackling like a madman.

Pete just barely missed being grazed as his legs finally got the message that they needed to move and move now. His winklepickers skidded on the floor a bit as he made a sharp turn to dodge the whirring saw.

"Oooh, you're a fast one!" Michael crowed gleefully, still in pursuit.

'No, I'm just fucking terrified,' Pete mentally retorted as he scrammbled to avoid the spinning blade. The shorter goth slid again and nearly lost his footing completely before spotting the door, making a beeline to it in a mad dash for safety.

Words fail to describe just how relieved Pete was that the door wasn't locked as he jerked it open and bolted out into the hallway.

However, he couldn't help risking a glance over his shoulder to see if Michael would chase him even once out of the room.

The answer was yes.

"Come back here and hold still!" Michael demanded with a feral grin over the din of the chainsaw, the white contacts giving him a wildly unstable look, "It'll hurt less!"

Pete's hazel eyes widened and his internal monologue deteriorated into a constant mantra of, 'Shitshitshitshit—,' as he hastily ran down the stairs.

He had just barely made it to the bottom of the stairs when Michael brought the chainsaw down on the wall just above the pockmarked goth's shoulder, making the wood paneling vibrate violently against Pete's back.

"Oh relax, I'm just gonna take a little bit off the top!" The curly haired goth reassured, his saccharine sweet voice contrasting his creepy grin and wild eyes.

Pete ducked under Michael's arm and continued sprinting through the house, desperately trying to remember which way he came in. He ignored everything but his immediate surroundings as he ran.

The shorter goth hit a snag—literally—as he found himself going through the pitch dark hallway again, ducking low to avoid getting caught in the webbing as he heard the roar of the chainsaw not too far behind him

Pete skidded into the living room only to find Wendy blocking the front door.

"The hell are you doing?!" He demanded franticly.

Wendy just shook her head and pointed, "Back door."

At this point Pete could care less what door he left out of, just as long as he got out already.

He only stopped running when he almost fell into the covered in-ground pool in the backyard.

Once out of the house Pete's mind could finally calm down and register that the chainsaw didn't even have a chain on it.

'Of course it doesn't, you dumbass,' Pete mentally kicked himself for thinking that it did, 'This is a neighborhood spook house, not a slasher film.'

"You alright?"

He spun around sharply, adrenaline still pumping rapidly, and saw Michael with the chainless chainsaw propped up on his shoulder.

"I just got chased out of a house by my best friend with a chainsaw, do you think I'm alright?!" Pete snapped, regretting his tone mere seconds later when he saw the taller goth's hurt expression.

"Sorry, Pete, but you were fair game." Michael shrugged and gave him a sad smile, "I mean, you did pay for us to scare you."

"I know, I know." Pete groaned, panting heavily as he caught his breath, "I'm fine, I just need a moment."

Michael nodded and started to head back inside, "Alright, you hang out back here for a bit and I'll be done by eleven, okay?"

Three hours later Pete was feeling considerably better after having watched Michael chase numerous people—often in small groups—out of the Spook House. When he wasn't on the recieving end of the taller goth's performance it was kind of nice to see Michael doing something he enjoyed for once.

Even if that meant chasing people out of a house with a chainsaw.