Keeley's eyes snapped open; she had no idea where she was. Spinning white swirls, flashes of yellow, and what looked like leaves growing from the walls formed her disorienting background. Though panic should have seized her, her mind was blank—oddly, hollow.

A nasally voice spoke, the words floating before her in red letters: "This is great! She totally looks like an addict."

A deeper voice, with a Southern accent, followed. These words swam into view in a spooky neon green font: "Shut up! She can still hear you."

Keeley heard and saw the words, but couldn't comprehend them. She wanted to ask for clarification, but her tongue felt like lead; she couldn't speak. Was she sitting up?

A giant, angry clown head—like the one from that recent horror movie—loomed before her, seemingly mocking her. Clowns…she'd never liked them. They were supposed to be funny, but they were terrifying. Why were they ubiquitous at children's parties if they were all psychopathic serial killers?

The clown head moved closer. Keeley wanted to swat it away, but her arms remained immobile. "No, go away! Bad clown!" she thought.

The neon green words reappeared, though the voice was a whisper: "Hey, I think that's enough. We should get out of here before we get caught."

Were the green words coming from the killer clown? Its lips weren't moving. The head grew larger, threatening to smother her. Was she in a room? A box? She couldn't tell; the leaves completely obscured the walls. The clown was too large for the space! She was going to die!

The red words swirled around the clown head, though the nasally voice was nearly inaudible: "Are you going to just leave her here? I hope you have a plan to get her back without arousing suspicion."

"I told you," the green words began, "eventually she'll be knocked out. I have someone on standby who will change her back into her clothes and take her home. She'll never know what happened."

Keeley still didn't understand the colorful words. Her brain felt like mush. All she knew was that the leaves had transformed into vines, strangling the clown head, and she didn't like it one bit. She was terrified of the clown head and wanted it gone, but what would happen after the vines finished with it? She would be their next victim!

The colorful voices faded. Keeley was alone with the vines as they slowly vanquished the clown head. She wanted to scream but remained voiceless.

The clown head emitted a horrifying sound as it was strangled—a cross between nails on a chalkboard and a tomcat in heat. Keeley wanted to cover her ears and squeeze her eyes shut, but her arms were limp as spaghetti. Even with her eyes closed, the vines and clown head remained. She had no control.

The vines closed in, and a silent scream echoed in her ears. The last vestiges of her rationality produced the words "save me," bouncing painfully inside her skull. Please save her from the vines…

Aaron had finished his duty as Alice's date. She was dancing with friends, and he sat on a chair against the far wall with a glass of iced tea. He pulled out his phone, debating whether to text Keeley. She might be annoyed if she was busy with her father.

He composed and deleted several messages before settling on: "Doing anything fun for your birthday?"

He was about to send it when another text arrived—from an unfamiliar number. Thinking it was spam, he almost deleted it before reading the contents: "Your girl is in trouble. Room 522. Hurry."

His girl? Many at school knew about the rumors surrounding him and Keeley, rumors that hadn't entirely subsided even after a month of silence. He couldn't imagine who else that text referred to. But Keeley was supposed to be at home with her father. Why would she be at the prom hotel? This could be a trap.

Dozens of girls coveted the title of Mrs. Hale, but none more so than Lacy. This was likely her doing. Lure him to a hotel room and…what? Did she think she could become his wife by tricking him into sleeping with her?

Aaron scanned the dance floor, not seeing Lacy. He bet she was waiting for him upstairs. He wouldn't fall for it.

His phone buzzed again, this time a picture: a girl slumped against a hotel bed's headboard. Keeley.

How?! How was she here?!

He bolted from his chair, sprinting to the elevator. When the button jammed after repeated presses, he cursed and ran for the stairs. His heart pounded; he didn't care if it was a trap anymore. Keeley needed him.

He reached the fifth floor, breathless but still running. 504…512…518…522! A key card lay before the door. He prayed it was the right one as he swiped it. The door light turned green, and the knob turned.

"Keeley?" he called anxiously. No answer.