In Character
He never broke character. The audience thought it was the show.

About this book:

Arthur Pendelton doesn't work at Blackwood Asylum—he inhabits it. At forty-one, he's the veteran butcher in Room Seven, moving through the haunted attraction's third floor with the precision of a surgeon and a German boning knife concealed beneath his leather apron. While college kids smear greasepaint and scream for twelve dollars an hour, Arthur studies the physiology of fear: the way held breath triggers a patron's autonomic panic before their mind can rationalize the sound. He knows the drop-panel's mechanics, the amber gels' psychology, the exact weight difference between a foam prop and eight inches of high-carbon steel. But when the house opens on a freezing October night, the line between performance and something far older blurs—and the audience's screams stop sounding like entertainment.

Because Arthur isn't acting. He never has.

*In Character* peels back the plywood walls of the seasonal horror industry to reveal something rotting underneath: a world where the most convincing monsters are the ones who understand that terror isn't a gag—it's a transaction. And tonight, the butcher has decided the show requires a more authentic cut.