Glo could hear the voice all the time now. It was constant; encouraging her, urging her forward. With every step Glo had taken, the words had become louder and more distinct. They had led her through the woods, and gained strength with each passing yard until now. Glo knew that this glade had been her destination all along. This shack was where the voice wanted her to be. And yet, despite surrendering to the voice--and leading her friends on with easy little lies about moving closer to the lake-Glo's instinct now was to turn back, to run. To get away from this evil place.

"Come along, dear,” said the voice, as clearly as if from someone standing beside her. "I'm waiting for you.”

Glo gripped her temples and wailed, Get out of my head!"

"But we've become such good friends," said the voice persuasively.

Z-Moll smiled at her boyfriend. "She's out of her head, all right. Come on. Let's go find a door."

Even though it was almost impossible for Glo to hear past the voice, she had to warn her friends. She had to fight. But how much determination did a fifteen year-old have?

Enough.

She stood fast against the floodtide of spectral delusions and managed to disgorge a single word of caution.

"Don't.”

But how much trust and loyalty did the two other fifteen year-olds possess? Could they even begin to empathize with, or understand, what Glo was going through?

Chapter 3, Friday the 13th: Carnival of Maniacs