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“You earned this.” Dad says. “That test was really hard and you aced it.” Mom breaks her stare with the road ahead and glances back at me in the rearview mirror. Her dark eyes match the colour of her hair. The thin jaw line and pointy nose give her a hawkish look. Dressed in a short sleeved, green, silk blouse, and black peasant skirt, people can say many things about my mom, but unfashionable isn't one of them. We pull in the parking lot of the amusement park. Opening the car door I step out just as a loud speaker belts out: Come one, come all to the most terrifying freak show on the planet. Here you will meet societies cast offs, the unwanted and freakishly weird. 'Great I should fit in just fine.' “Come on Heather, give it a …show more content…

Simon stumbles to the kitchen, while his mother checks her phone. He flops down in a chair at the table. "Mom, can I go to the Fear Festival this year?" A chilling message posted on Facebook turns her stomach. 'We'll meet again soon my sweet' She hits delete and turns to look at her son. He's a handsome young man with sandy, brown hair, hazel eyes and a freckled nose matching her own. One day, she thinks, he'll look like his father. A pretty girl will come along and snatch him away. The day is getting closer all the time and she wishes it wasn't. “Good morning to you too. How did you sleep?” "Good," he says, knowing his mom is changing the subject to buy time --time to come up with an excuse why he can't go to the Fear Festival. Simon slouches deeper in his chair. “Mom, there's so many cool things to do. They have mazes, and haunted houses, lots of creepy monsters, and the rides are pretty cool too. You don’t have to take me, my friends are going. I can catch a ride with one of their parents.” The strength with which she grips the coffee mug turns her knuckles white. “Are they?” He shovels a spoonful of cereal and milk in his mouth. “Yeah,” he replies, forgetting to swallow first. The cereal runs out of his mouth along a milky river. He puts his face over the bowl to catch the mess. "Really Simon?” she says, handing him a napkin. “Sorry,” he replies, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I really don't think it's a good idea,” she says. He's

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