The Halloween Fee

The woman on the other end clicked her tongue again, even more impatient this time. She muttered under her breath, wondering why the door had malfunctioned again.

I repeated myself urgently, telling her we had young children with us and asking her to send someone as soon as possible.

“What’s the rush?” she replied in a slow, unbothered tone.

“If you were so anxious, you should’ve called earlier. At this hour, the repair workers have already gone home.

“If you want them to come back, you’ll have to pay for their overtime.

“Three repairmen—a thousand five hundred each. Transfer four thousand five hundred to my account, and I’ll call them right away.”

Her indifference and outrageous greed stunned me.

“Nearly five thousand dollars? What kind of overtime repair fee costs that much?” I blurted out in disbelief.

The woman let out a cold laugh.

“If you don’t want to pay, then you’ll just have to spend the night with the ghosts.”

She set the phone down on the table, and soon the sound of her crunching potato chips crackled through the receiver.

The children heard her words and burst into frightened sobs.

Panic surged through me like boiling water in a pot. I could only try my best to comfort them.

From the other end, the woman shouted impatiently:

“God, so noisy! Have you decided? Are you paying or not?”

Suddenly, a cry rang out from the children:

“Miss Cambria, something’s wrong! Someone can’t breathe!”

I rushed over.

Tommy’s face had turned pale, and his mouth hung open as he struggled for air, one hand clutching his chest.

My heart lurched violently.

Tommy was claustrophobic—he must have been having an episode.

“There’s a kid here having an attack!” I shouted into the phone.

“Send someone to open the door immediately and call an ambulance. If anything happens to him, you will be held responsible!”

The staff member scoffed and replied without a hint of concern, “His condition has nothing to do with me. He’s not my kid. How’s that my problem?

“I’m giving you one minute to decide. Are you paying or not?”

Then she slammed the phone down and disconnected the call.

The children sat on the floor, crying.

They had understood: only by paying the ridiculous fee could they get out.

But in this critical moment, where could I possibly find four thousand five hundred dollars for that woman?

In my arms, Tommy gradually turned a bluish-red as his breathing grew heavier.

He clutched my collar tightly, whispering “Mama” with a fragile, gasping voice.

Panic and urgency surged through me.

I was about to use the watch to call for help when Tommy’s faint cry of “Mama” sparked an idea.

I bent close to him and asked urgently, “Tommy, I remember your Mama works at an amusement park. Is this the one?”

Tommy nodded with effort.

Levi, who sat beside us, immediately added loudly, “Miss Cambria, Tommy’s mom works here! Last time, on his birthday, she even brought us here to play!”

I hurriedly tapped the watch and leaned close to Tommy.

“Do you remember your Mama’s phone number, Tommy?”

He nodded and forced out the numbers one by one.

I quickly dialed them.

A few seconds later, a familiar voice came through the receiver.

“Why are you calling my phone? Have you decided now?”

I frowned.

Why did her voice sound so familiar?

A terrifying suspicion crept into my mind.

Time was too short to dwell on it.

I hurriedly said, “Are you Tommy Spark’s mother? We’re trapped in the haunted house at Little Tots Amusement Park.

“Your son is having an attack! Send someone immediately to open the door!”

The silence held for three seconds.

Then, uncontrollable laughter erupted through the phone.

“Hahaha! So the news about the haunted house got around fast, huh?

“You knew someone was trapped in there just now.”