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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Head_Sherbert_2594 on 2024-10-25 14:28:25+00:00.
Nothing but flickering light poles rising out of the fog. Was this the right theater? I sat in my car, taking another look at the flyer.
Come one, come all! Don't miss the premiere of The Burning Woman - the horror film critics are calling "the scariest thing you'll see all year." This Friday, October 3rd. Be a witness. Be a believer.
"110 Willow Creek Drive," I mumbled, reading the address on the bottom right -- precisely where the GPS brought me. The neon sign burned blue and purple, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I stepped out, a soft mist pooled around my feet, the sky painted with moonlight.
To say this theater was trapped in the nineties was an understatement. The teal, purple, and pink geometric shapes on the wall was straight out of Saved by the Bell, and muffled synthwave played from the speakers. I stepped inside, smells of buttery popcorn wafting in the air, whirrs flowing out of the arcade.
"Hi. One for The Burning Woman, please." I smiled at the guy behind the booth, a droopy-eyed employee bored out of his wits.
"That'll be 18.50."
Seriously? I pursed my lips and slid him the money. This was the premiere, after all. Which begged the question: "Where is everyone?" I asked. "This is 110 Willow Creek, isn't it?"
A rippp sliced through the air as he swiped the ticket from the printer. "That's right. You're just a bit early." I glanced at my watch: Eleven-thirty PM, half an hour before showtime.
"And the other showings?"
"We're only showing this tonight." A lopsided smile swept across his lips, accentuating a crescent scar on his right cheek. "It's a very special screening."
"I see."
The man asked, "Are you waiting on anyone?"
I shook my head. "I just moved here from Denver. I was out hiking at Flat Iron yesterday, and I saw the flyer on the trail. Since I have nothing better to do..." I shrugged. "Here I am."
The truth was, I needed something, anything to take my mind off of what happened. Her scream; that shrill, blood-curdling cry for help was seared into my brain. Red aspen. Steep cliffs. Red aspen. Steep cli--
I shook the memory away.
"Denver?" He whistled. "You're a long way from home. Tell me, how does Copper Creek compare to the big city?"
A couple strolled inside, a blonde in a pink designer coat and a muscled man with sunglasses on who seemed more like a bodyguard than her boyfriend.
"Well, um. I love the outdoors," I said. "It's nice to get away from the hustle and bustle."
"Isn't that wonderful. Well, Auditorium Twelve is to your left." He stuck his hand out, but when I went to grab my ticket, he clamped down and said, "You know what happened in there, don't you?"
"In where?"
"Auditorium Twelve."
My eyes narrowed. "No. What?"
He scoffed, empty chasms for eyes, then released his grip.
"Enjoy the show," he said.
What the hell?
Before I could question him further, the couple shoved me aside and ordered their tickets. The girl leered her eyes my way. Heat bubbled in my upper chest, and if I were the old Autumn, this Insta-perfect couple would've gotten a verbal lashing. New-and-improved me, however, chose to grit my teeth and walk away.
I headed toward the snack bar. The rattling of a popcorn machine greeted me---pop, pop, popping, while a slushie machine whirled beside it. Out of nowhere, it began to sputter and leak blue goop on the floor, spilling out profusely with no end.
A wiry, frizzy-haired employee ran to the scene. Armed with a bucket and mop, he cleaned up the mess while huffing, "Shit, shit, shit!"
I suppressed a laugh. "Need a hand?"
"Nope, I'm good!" He nearly slipped as he battled the phantom slush machine, blue staining his Century Cinemas t-shirt. This seemed to be a regular occurrence, judging by the way he finessed switches in the back. With a final gurgle, the leak stopped.
"See?" He heaved a sigh. "Nothing to worry about."
"Does that happen a lot?"
"You'd be surprised." He wiped blue dots from his already-freckled face. For a skittish little dweeb, he was actually pretty cute. "So, what can I get for you?"
I tapped my chin.
"I'll have a Fanta and a box of Raisinets."
"A woman of culture," he quipped. While pouring the soda, he asked, "Have we met before?"
"I don't think so."
"Hmm, you're probably right. I pride myself in knowing most of the folks that come through those doors. Small town and all. You must be new here, I'd definitely remember your face."
I blushed. "Guilty. I moved here last week."
"Let me guess, you go to Willow Barr Institute?"
Two for two.
"Is it that obvious?" I said.
Despite being a small town of five thousand with only a handful of traffic lights, Copper Creek was home to a notable art school founded by Willow Barr, a local artist whose works became world-renowned. The institute drew in students from around the nation, and apparently, with my oval glasses, floral shirt, and corduroy pants, I stood out as one.
"In a good way." He slid my order over. "My name's Jonathan."
"Autumn. Nice to meet you." I shook his hand, sticky from the slurpie attack.
"Sorry about that." He wiped his palm.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"Auditorium Twelve," I said. Instantly, the shine on his face faded. "What's wrong with it?"
"What do you mean?"
"The guy at the ticket booth. He, um, said something happened in there."
"Who, Larry?" He gave a dismissive pssh. "The guy just likes to mess with people. You know, rile them up before a horror movie. I wouldn't worry about it."
"Really?"
"Hand to God." He gestured. "One time, he told people not to eat from the popcorn machine 'cause flesh eating amoebas were going around. This was during the screening of Cabin Fever in Space."
I held in another laugh.
"Ahem." An irked voice hit the nape of my neck. I turned to see the couple, their arms crossed. The girl said, "You two gonna chit chat all night?"
The fervor returned to my chest, but I pushed it down and said, "Sorry. I'll get out of your way."
She made a shooing motion with her hand. "You do that." Her boyfriend swung his arm around her, a proud look on his face. I sipped my Fanta and walked away, hearing them sound off their order. Mr. and Mrs. Plastic weren't worth it. Having been around similar types, I learned not to let their brand of misery drag me down.
LED lights in the hall buzzed and flickered. I looked at my ticket: Auditorium Twelve. I could still picture his face, the guy at the booth. The way his cheek twitched upon saying "Enjoy your show." I rubbed my forearms and exhaled. "It's just a pre-movie prank," I thought. Get it together, Autumn.
After rounding the corner, the auditorium came into view. I walked in and exited the tunnel, and curiously, someone was already there. The person sat in the furthest row in the back, wearing a gray hoodie, head tilted down. The dimmed lights made it hard to see their face. I walked up the stairs, finding my seat in a lower section.
I could've sworn there were no other cars when I pulled up. Wasn't I the first one here? The urge to turn around hit me, but I resisted.
I shoved some Raisinets in my mouth, watching local ads pop up on-screen. "Need to decorate your cabin? Call Bo's Taxidermy. We have deer, wolves, bobcats, you name it!" "Looking for artisan carvings? Look no further than Wynn Woodworks. From hand-crafted furniture to stylish decor, your home will win -- with Wynn Woodworks."
A wave of goosebumps flared on my neck. An icy, bitter chill, alerting me that I was being watched. He's watching you, my intuition warned. The guy in the hoodie. I was moments from turning around, when a large countdown appeared on-screen, buzzing with static.
FIVE. FOUR. THREE. TWO...
There was a scene of a quiet forest, red and gold aspens in the background. I sat up, eyes wide. A gust of wind swayed the autumn canopy like a maestro conducting an orchestra. Hypnotic. Familiar. Then, a hiker with brown curls appeared, trekking by herself.
My stomach twisted. It wasn't just any hiker, it was me. My Highlander backpack, striped leggings, purple water bottle. There was no mistaking it. I was watching myself on-screen as if someone had recorded me from afar, skulking between the trees, zooming into my face.
I rubbed my eyes.
"What the f--"
The snobby couple walked in, breaking my gaze. And when I looked up, the local ads had returned, leaving no trace of the inexplicable scene. My cheeks were red hot, my pulse going into overdrive.
Did I imagine all of that?
The couple sat a row ahead of me, and a minute later, three more moviegoers entered, boys no older than sixteen. They were throwing popcorn at each other and filling the gloomy auditorium with their banter. They were in the same row as the couple, and before they sat down, one of them---a gym shirt-wearing jock with shaggy TikTok hair---sent a cheeky wink in my direction.
I nearly barfed my Fanta. It was hard to believe that only three years ago, I was one of them -- a teenager. I looked back on my high-school days like a war vet reminisced about combat. TikTok guy sat down, snickering with his friends. As he did, I focused on a moon-shaped scar on his neck, similar to the one Larry had.
Jonathan, the messy-haired dweeb from the snack bar, walked in with a bucket of popcorn.
"Hey." He sat beside me. "You forgot this."
"Uh, I didn't order that."
"You didn't?" He placed it on my lap. "Oh ...
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