On Halloween night, an accident struck the haunted house attraction. The children and I were trapped in a pitch-black room, while the staff outside spoke without the slightest urgency.

“At this hour, the repair workers have already gone home. If you want them to come back, you’ll have to pay an extra thirty thousand in overtime.

“If you’re unwilling, then stay inside for the night.”

I begged them to call the repair worker first.

We had been in the sealed space for too long, and one boy with heart issues was struggling to breathe.

But the staff member only scoffed.

“That’s got nothing to do with me. He’s not my kid. Either pay, or sit quietly.”

Yet later, outside the emergency room, that same woman knelt on the floor in tears, begging the doctors to save her own child…

The kindergarten had organized a Halloween trip to an amusement park, and the children were thrilled.

As their preschool teacher, I was in charge of the senior class, and several of them were eager to try the haunted house.

I wanted to refuse, afraid they would be frightened, but one of the bolder children rushed inside first.

The rest immediately followed, and I had no choice but to go after them.

When we later passed a small dark room, the door suddenly slammed shut.

No matter how we pushed, it wouldn’t open.

The children looked to me for help, and my heart tightened at my own helplessness.

This haunted house had been designed especially for kids; in theory, they should have been able to open it easily.

I made a quick decision and crouched down to calm them.

“Everyone, this door only opens when you shout the correct password. Now, let’s see whose eyes are the sharpest and who can find the password first!”

The moment I finished speaking, the children eagerly scattered around the room to search.

I quietly walked to the door we had just come through and pushed it hard, not expecting much.

As I feared, the haunted house allowed only forward movement—any door behind us stayed locked.

I suppressed the panic rising in my chest and reached into my pocket to call for help.

My fingers touched nothing. The hollow feeling in my stomach dropped even lower.

We had been required to leave all phones, bags, and personal items in the lockers before entering.

I looked around helplessly.

A sealed room. Dim light. Young children.

How was I supposed to call for help?

The energetic kids soon searched the entire place but found nothing.

Before long, they turned to me again.

“Miss Cambria, there’s no password written anywhere!”

“I think I know! Is it ‘Open Sesame’?”

“Haha, it can’t be that easy. But I know the password—my mom said it once when she was watching TV.”

“Wow, really? What is it?”

The lively Tommy Spark lifted his chin proudly, grinning as he announced, “Of course I know! The password is: Sweet potato, sweet potato, I’m a potato!”

The door didn’t move at all.

The children laughed at Tommy for making up a fake password, and his face flushed red with anger.

Several kids glanced around nervously, their little hands gripping each other tightly.

In the darkness, someone whispered in fear:

“Miss Cambria… are we ever getting out?”

At her words, the children grew even more frightened.

I was about to speak when the class monitor, Levi Lennon, tapped his wrist twice, and a moment later, a small light flickered on.

“Don’t be scared. It’s not dark now.”

Joy surged through me.

I hadn’t expected the phone watch on his wrist to still be there.

I immediately borrowed it and called the number posted on the wall.

The phone rang for a long time.

Just as I was about to give up, someone finally picked up.

“Hello? Who is this?”

An impatient woman’s voice came through the receiver, and I quickly answered, “Hello, are you a staff member from Little Tots Amusement Park?

“We’re trapped inside the haunted house—the door won’t open.”

The woman on the other end clicked her tongue again, even more impatient this time. She muttered under her breath, wondering why the door had malfunctioned again.

I repeated myself urgently, telling her we had young children with us and asking her to send someone as soon as possible.

“What’s the rush?” she replied in a slow, unbothered tone.

“If you were so anxious, you should’ve called earlier. At this hour, the repair workers have already gone home.

“If you want them to come back, you’ll have to pay for their overtime.

“Three repairmen—a thousand five hundred each. Transfer four thousand five hundred to my account, and I’ll call them right away.”

Her indifference and outrageous greed stunned me.

“Nearly five thousand dollars? What kind of overtime repair fee costs that much?” I blurted out in disbelief.

The woman let out a cold laugh.

“If you don’t want to pay, then you’ll just have to spend the night with the ghosts.”

She set the phone down on the table, and soon the sound of her crunching potato chips crackled through the receiver.

The children heard her words and burst into frightened sobs.

Panic surged through me like boiling water in a pot. I could only try my best to comfort them.

From the other end, the woman shouted impatiently:

“God, so noisy! Have you decided? Are you paying or not?”

Suddenly, a cry rang out from the children:

“Miss Cambria, something’s wrong! Someone can’t breathe!”

I rushed over.

Tommy’s face had turned pale, and his mouth hung open as he struggled for air, one hand clutching his chest.

My heart lurched violently.

Tommy was claustrophobic—he must have been having an episode.

“There’s a kid here having an attack!” I shouted into the phone.

“Send someone to open the door immediately and call an ambulance. If anything happens to him, you will be held responsible!”

The staff member scoffed and replied without a hint of concern, “His condition has nothing to do with me. He’s not my kid. How’s that my problem?

“I’m giving you one minute to decide. Are you paying or not?”

Then she slammed the phone down and disconnected the call.

The children sat on the floor, crying.

They had understood: only by paying the ridiculous fee could they get out.

But in this critical moment, where could I possibly find four thousand five hundred dollars for that woman?

In my arms, Tommy gradually turned a bluish-red as his breathing grew heavier.

He clutched my collar tightly, whispering “Mama” with a fragile, gasping voice.

Panic and urgency surged through me.

I was about to use the watch to call for help when Tommy’s faint cry of “Mama” sparked an idea.

I bent close to him and asked urgently, “Tommy, I remember your Mama works at an amusement park. Is this the one?”

Tommy nodded with effort.

Levi, who sat beside us, immediately added loudly, “Miss Cambria, Tommy’s mom works here! Last time, on his birthday, she even brought us here to play!”

I hurriedly tapped the watch and leaned close to Tommy.

“Do you remember your Mama’s phone number, Tommy?”

He nodded and forced out the numbers one by one.

I quickly dialed them.

A few seconds later, a familiar voice came through the receiver.

“Why are you calling my phone? Have you decided now?”

I frowned.

Why did her voice sound so familiar?

A terrifying suspicion crept into my mind.

Time was too short to dwell on it.

I hurriedly said, “Are you Tommy Spark’s mother? We’re trapped in the haunted house at Little Tots Amusement Park.

“Your son is having an attack! Send someone immediately to open the door!”

The silence held for three seconds.

Then, uncontrollable laughter erupted through the phone.

“Hahaha! So the news about the haunted house got around fast, huh?

“You knew someone was trapped in there just now.”

“But you’ve got it wrong. Tommy took the day off today to go to a party with his Papa. How could he still be in the haunted house?

“Do you think I, Holly Spark, am a fool?”

I suddenly remembered that Tommy had indeed taken the morning off.

His father only brought him in the afternoon, claiming it was inconvenient to have Tommy around for his date.

There was no time to explain.

The children’s cries grew louder, and I nearly shouted back.

Worried I would frighten them more, I lowered my voice as I spoke, “Mrs. Spark, this is the person who just spoke with you. Your son, Tommy, is here in my arms. He has claustrophobia, correct?

“He’s already having trouble breathing. Please send someone immediately to open the door!”

I spoke quickly.

Silence fell on the other end of the line.

For a moment, all I could hear was my own and the children’s ragged breathing.

Seconds dragged by, and then Holly laughed softly.

Her reaction unsettled me even more.

“I already told you—pay, and I’ll call the repairmen,” she said, her voice dripping with scorn.

“You’re just trying to trick me so you don’t have to pay!

“Tommy’s homeroom teacher is a woman in her forties. Your voice sounds no older than twenty or thirty—still trying to fool me?”

She moved to hang up.

Beside me, Levi clutched my hand, holding back tears.

His voice trembled as he said, “Mrs. Spark, it’s Levi! I’m Tommy’s class monitor.

“You spoke to me at his birthday last time. Don’t you remember? Our previous teacher, Mr. Liam Patterson, got sick, and now Miss Cambria is our homeroom teacher!”

“What a horrible child! Trying to take advantage of others from such a young age,” Holly burst out.

“If your Tommy really is there, why don’t you let him speak to me?”

I held the watch to Tommy’s mouth.

Sweat streaked his face, his skin tinged purple.

He opened his mouth but could not form the words.

My heart burned with anxiety.

“Mrs. Sparks, your son is trembling and can’t speak. If you don’t send someone to open the door immediately, it’ll be too late for him!”

Despite my urgency and panic, Holly remained unbothered, humming slowly with amusement.

The frantic rhythm of my breathing and the children’s stifled cries became music she seemed to savor.

Pleasure laced her voice, “I said, if you want to get out, you have to pay first.”

At the same moment, Tommy whispered hoarsely as he trembled in my arms, “Mama…”

Holly paused for an instant, but then her voice flared with anger, “You heartless people! What does it matter if you found a voice like my son’s? I won’t be fooled!

“If you refuse to pay, then spend the night in the haunted house!”

She slammed the phone down.

The watch dimmed, and darkness fell over the room once more.

The children could no longer hold back, wailing one by one, their cries tearing through the silence.

“Waaah! Help! Mom, I want my mom!”

“I don’t want… I don’t want to sleep here. I want to go home…”

“Waaah!”

Dozens of children cried at once.

My head felt ready to burst. I hurried to soothe them gently.

“Everyone, don’t cry. Listen to me.

“Don’t be afraid. Remember what I said—when we face danger, we call the police, right?

“I’m calling the police to come save us, so stop crying, everyone.

“If we keep crying, Tommy will get worse.

“If you’re scared, let’s hold hands and sit together, okay?”