20 April 2027
Tuesday. Blindfold on the path this morning, between plot one and plot two. Black, soft, folded once. Somebody dropped it on the way out.
I have pieced together that the evening starts with the pairs not being able to see, and not being able to use their hands much, and then they’re in the boxes. That’s as far as I go. I don’t want to know the rest. I’ve been told the rest is the fun part, and I believe it, from a safe distance.
What I do know is the noises. A thump, sometimes, from nowhere. A gasp. Once a scream so sudden it knocked my tea over. The staff call those “jump scares” and say they’re all part of it. If you’re the sort who doesn’t like a fright, they’d rather you told them before you go in, and so would I, for the sake of my tea.
Handed the blindfold to the front desk. They said thanks, they’d been one short. I said they should count them like I count plots.
Tally: plots disturbed, two. Blindfolds recovered, one. Cups of tea lost to fright, one.
— H., groundskeeper
