Then he looked up, and swayed on his feet, disoriented by a dozen distorted, menacing figures. He took a breath, and the room fell into place: mirrors. Before them was an array of funhouse mirrors, each one distorting the images it reflected. Carlton’s eyes flitted from one to the next—one showed him and Marla as tall as the ceiling; in the next they were blown up like balloons, crowding each other out of the frame; in the next their bodies looked normal, but their heads shrank to stalks an inch wide.

“Okay, then,” he whispered. “How do we get out of here?”

As if in answer to his question, two mirrors slowly began to swivel, turning toward each other until they had made a narrow door in the wall of close-set panels. Beyond the small opening lay more mirrors, but Carlton could not tell how many there were, or which way they were directed, as one mirror caught another, doubling the reflections until it was impossible to see what was real and what was not. Marla stepped through the gap and beckoned: there was a gleam in her eye, but Carlton couldn’t tell if it was excitement, or the strange, dim light. He followed her, and as soon as he was through the gap the panels began to pivot again, closing them inside. Carlton glanced around, growing nervous now that their exit had been blocked off. They seemed to be in a narrow corridor that branched off in two directions, the walls made of more floor-to-ceiling mirror panels.

“It’s a maze,” Marla whispered, and gave him a smile when she saw the look on his face. “Don’t worry,” she added. “I’m good at mazes.”

“You’re good at mazes?” Carlton said with irritation. “What is that supposed to mean? I’m good at mazes.”

“What’s wrong with saying that? I’ve always been good with mazes.” Marla shook her head.

“What, like the hay maze? When we were five? Is that what you’re talking about?”

“I got through it before anyone else did.”

“You climbed over the top of the bales. You’re not supposed to do that.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Marla’s face flushed. “I’m not good at mazes.”

“We will get through this together.” Carlton took her hand, long enough to stop her from having a panic attack, then released it.

She looked in both directions, thoughtful, then pointed decisively. “Let’s try that way,” she said. They started down the path she had chosen, and Carlton followed, keeping his eyes on her feet in front of him. After only a few steps he heard her sharp intake of breath, and snapped his head up: they were at a dead end.

“Dead end already?” he said, surprised.

“No, the panel closed,” she hissed.

“This way, hay maze,” Carlton said with a hint of amusement. “Back this way.”