As the Crow Flies

by Rysa Walker

  Then, just as she’s about to scream, she sees a tiny flash of amber light. Her hand is shaking so badly that it takes a moment to locate the light again, but once she does, she picks out a second amber dot beyond that.

  Reflectors. One of her friends in high school had called them drunk bumps—those reflective dots positioned between the lines in the center of the road that help you stay in your lane at night.

  Aside from her pepper-spray flashlight, those dots on the road appear to be the last spots of light left in the universe. They’re only on the road leading into town, though. When she steps from the second reflector to the third, she shines the light behind her and finds that the first two reflectors have vanished.

  For a sickening, heart-stopping moment, she imagines the scarecrow stepping out of the pitch black. Lunging at her, ready to rip her into shreds. Only his face is now Scott’s face, with those eerie white eyes.

  But nothing reaches out at her from the dark, and once she recovers from her panic, she turns back to that line of tiny amber dots. She will not think about anything she’s seen. Not about Chase, because that wasn’t Chase. Not about Bill or the girls, because they are all okay. And definitely not about her stupid childhood fears. These tiny lights in the dark are all she has, but they are a sign that she is not entirely alone.

  She has to believe that following these tiny pinpoints of light will lead her out of the darkness, if she can just continue to put one foot in front of the other.

  And so she follows.

  Three

  DAISY

  At seven forty-five, Daisy runs a brush through her hair and debates fastening one more button on her light-blue shirt. Under normal circumstances, she would search on her phone for an image from the movie to check whether Laurie Strode left one button or two undone. Sure, no one else will know, but she’d have a certain satisfaction from knowing she had it correct. She’d feel more Laurie Strodish, and she would therefore be more convincing. Right?

  But that’s not a possibility today. Since they’ve been plunged back into the Dark Ages, she’ll have to rely on her memory. Or better yet, just take the advice MB gave her at lunch. Make him notice. She grins at her reflection and decides that accuracy to the movie is secondary to what might catch Tucker’s eye. The second button remains undone.

  Her costume is simple—so simple, in fact, that she’s guessing a lot of people won’t have a clue she’s even wearing one. High-waisted navy jeans with front slash pockets, in addition to a sky-blue button-down shirt with a very different kind of slash running down one sleeve.

  It’s not the costume she’d planned to wear, but she’s okay with it. She and Dani had decided months ago that they’d dress up as scream queens. Dani had called dibs on this outfit, since her hair is a little lighter and has more natural curl, a bit like Jamie Lee Curtis’s hair in the first Halloween movie. So Daisy had ordered a chin-length blonde wig, complete with 90s-style chunky bangs, and a cream cable-knit sweater. She dyed part of the front blood red, so that she could be Casey Becker, the Drew Barrymore character who gets offed in the opening scene of Scream.

  But when Daisy ran into the house to grab her costume on the way back from Martha’s, the blonde wig was missing. Everything else was there for both costumes. Only the wig was gone.

  It was a typical Dani move, and normally, she might have been pissed about it. But Daisy had wanted to be Laurie Strode in the first place. Laurie was smart and strong, and she lived to see the sequels. Daisy would like to believe that Dani picked up on the fact that she really didn’t want to dress up as Casey Becker and left the other costume out of the goodness of her heart. But she knows better. The far more likely scenario is that Dani decided to do something entirely different at the last minute and needed Daisy’s blonde wig to complete the look.

  And so, Daisy had shoved the blue shirt and jeans into a plastic bag and ran back out to the car where Tucker and Chase were waiting, avoiding the urge to look back at the mirror in the hallway. She couldn’t have said why, but it felt unwise, maybe even dangerous when it was dark, and the house was empty. Because the mirror-that-had-always-been-there hasn’t always been there. It’s wrong, just like the letters on Martha’s fridge and the pictures of her pod students.

  This outfit is a better choice, anyway. All of the advertising for the FrightFest has encouraged people to come in costume, but a blood-spattered sweater would have been a bit tacky given that she’s working tonight. And even if no one else gets what she’s wearing, Tucker will know exactly who she’s supposed to be when he gets back from making the streets safe for trick-or-treaters. Marty started patrolling around five, but peak trick-or-treating was usually between seven and nine, and Tucker said both of them needed to be out there.

  Chase is waiting on the staircase that leads up to the projection booth when Daisy exits the restroom. He looks at her quizzically. “I thought you were putting on a costume?”

  She grins. “This is a costume. One day, when you’re older, you can watch the movie it’s from. Are you sure you want to be up here in the booth, though? It’s kind of stuffy. Trent said you could help him collect tickets. Or you could just watch from the theater. You put in some sweat equity today—I think you should get the best seat in the house.”

  “I’d rather be in the booth. Anyway, I told Ben I’d stick with you. He was a little pissed that I didn’t stay with Julie Kennedy like I said I would.”

  “Okay, then,” she says, giving him a smile. “Let’s grab a soda, and we’ll head up.”

  When Ben and Chase had returned with dinner from the Chickwich, Ben had told them that he had indeed drawn the black dot and was headed up to the Grimshaw house to preserve the honor of Haddonwood High. He’d said the last bit jokingly, and Tucker had joked back, asking if he wanted a police escort. Daisy could tell from looking at both his face and Tucker’s that this was one of those stupid masculine things that she was never going to understand. Ben didn’t want to go. That much was obvious. But he was also bound and determined to follow through, more scared of being declared a coward than he was of the supposedly haunted house.

  Before today, Daisy would have emphasized the supposedly part. As much as she enjoys horror, she’s always been a skeptic about the supernatural. A hopeful skeptic in the case of her mother, but a skeptic, nonetheless. The Grimshaw house gives her the creeps, though. It gives everybody the creeps. There’s just something off about the place, even on ordinary days when everything else in the universe is operating in a sane and logical fashion.

  The Hart feels a little off tonight, too. Daisy has spent close to a hundred hours here over the past few weeks, many of them alone. The place never spooked her in the slightest, even when she was scanning through some pretty scary films. Tonight, though, there’s a different energy in the theater. Or maybe it’s just an aftereffect of everything else she’s seen today. Either way, she’s glad Chase is here. It’s nice to have someone around who isn’t totally oblivious to the day’s actual events.

  A small voice inside keeps insisting that continuing with the FrightFest is a bad idea, given everything that’s going on in Haddonwood. Even if it’s too late to notify people of a cancelation, they could have posted signs on the doors. CLOSED DUE TO FLU. People would have understood. Someone at school had said classes were canceled today in Viola City because so many teachers were sick.

  Daisy hadn’t even bothered to suggest canceling the show to Trent, however. He’d arrived at the theater in a burgundy velvet tuxedo. It seemed a bit over the top to her, but then she realized it matched the seats and the curtains that hid the movie screen. Maybe that’s what ushers had worn back when the place was open. And tuxedo aside, Trent was definitely in one of his manic phases, rushing around to make sure everything was ready. He’d been positively beaming, and there’s no way he’d have agreed to cancel or postpone. She just hopes enough people come to make their effort worthwhile.

  When she and Chase round the corner, Daisy can see that her fears a
bout a small crowd are unfounded. Trent hasn’t opened the doors yet, but a line of people are waiting on the sidewalk. She’d also expected Trent to be the only person in the lobby, but to her surprise, two teenage guys she’s never seen before are manning the concession stand. One of them looks a lot like her biology teacher. But if Mr. Furlong has a son her age, she’s never seen him. Maybe he’s homeschooled?

  She and Chase get drinks and a bucket of popcorn. Then she heads over to where Trent is fanning out a stack of photocopied programs on a side table.

  “I thought you were just going to work the concession yourself,” Daisy says, nodding toward the counter. “They haven’t been trained or anything.”

  Trent waves a hand. “They showed up earlier today. And they have experience. It’s not exactly rocket science.”

  “Yeah, but…do you know them? I mean, you’re trusting them with the cash register.”

  He laughs. “Daisy, Daisy. Always watching out for me. Everything will be fine. You’ll see. Now you two scat so I can let our audience in.”

  They both move back toward the stairwell as Trent unlocks the doors and steps behind the podium that they’re using as a temporary ticket booth. A steady stream of people begins to pour into the lobby. She feels Chase tense up next to her.

  “Let’s head back to the booth,” she says.

  Once they’re upstairs, she looks down at the people filing into the auditorium. She’s mostly looking for MB and Dani, both of whom said they’d stop by. And, to be honest, both of whom she fully expects to skip.

  What surprises her most, though, is the fact that she doesn’t recognize anyone. There’s usually a decent turnout for school fundraisers. That’s one reason she’d talked Trent into promising a donation for the band uniforms out of the proceeds. Parents, teachers, students—most people will put in an appearance simply out of a sense of loyalty. But so far, there’s not a single familiar face in the crowd.

  That feeling is back, that sensation of a connection her mind is almost making. She looks back down at the audience, trying to force her brain into action. But the thought floats away into the ether.

  “The ad in the Vanguard seems to have paid off,” she says to Chase. “I’ve never seen this many out-of-towners here. Viola City folks usually act like any event in Haddonwood is beneath them.”

  She feels Chase’s eyes on her. He looks away quickly when she turns to face him, but she caught a quick glimpse of his expression. It almost looked like pity, but she can’t imagine why Chase would feel sorry for her.

  “What?” she asks. “Do you see people you know down there?”

  Chase shakes his head. “No. You’re right. They’re strangers.”

  Almost all of them are wearing costumes, too. The advertising flyers she’d helped Trent put together had offered a dollar off a large popcorn for those in costume. She’d expected to see the usual array of plastic superhero and monster masks, but there’s not an Iron Man or werewolf in the bunch. Most of the crowd is in historical attire. One man is dressed in what appears to be a leisure suit. A girl at the edge of one of the aisles is wearing a full pink skirt, and the guy with her has his hair slicked back and poufed up on top, kind of like Elvis.

  The girl glances over her shoulder, and Daisy gets a clear look at her face for the first time. Or rather, a clear look at where her face should be. It’s like the photographs at Martha’s house for a moment…just a featureless blob. And then the details fill in, from the bright pink lipstick to the poodle appliquéd on the side of her skirt.

  Daisy tells herself it’s a trick of the lighting, but she doesn’t believe it. She begins scanning the audience, looking for more of what she’d described to Tucker as pod people. But everyone is now facing forward, waiting for the show to begin.

  At five minutes after eight, Trent walks down the aisle, stopping to chat with a few people along the way. Finally, he steps onto the stage at the front of the theater and gives the little speech Daisy has heard him practicing for the past few days. It’s mostly about Jill Hart, the woman who owned the place back when he was in his teens, and how happy she’d be to see all of them here.

  When he finishes, Daisy pushes the button to open the curtain. Even though they’ve practiced this several times, the movement startles Trent. He hurries off stage, looking nervously over his shoulder, as if he’s being chased by something far more sinister than half of a velvet curtain. The genial host who was chatting with the audience vanishes as Daisy lowers the lights, replaced by a frightened rabbit of a man who seems to want nothing more than to get back to the safety of the lobby. His sudden change of behavior would be odd if she hadn’t seen his mood shift so many times. Her dad must be right. Trent probably has every penny he owns tied up in this place.

  Daisy starts the movie, her stomach twisting at the stray thought about her dad. But she can’t focus on that right now. The cell phone networks will be back up soon, and she’ll talk to him. He knows how much effort she’s put into the festival, and he would have called by now if he could, to wish her luck on opening night. Which means he’s probably even more worried than she is. And while she hates thinking of him being worried, the fact that he’s somewhere in Atlanta feeling the same way she does is oddly comforting.

  Daisy jumps, bumping into a stack of film cases, when Chase laughs at the scene where Porky Pig drags his terrified cat, Sylvester, back down the stairs to sleep in the kitchen. The boy has been so quiet that she’d almost forgotten he was in the booth.

  “Are you sure you don’t want the chair?” Chase asks.

  “I’m fine. I need to move around to switch the machines over anyway. But I will take some of that popcorn.”

  She grabs a handful. It smells good, but it’s oddly stale for having just been popped.

  When the first cartoon is over, Daisy switches projectors and begins the process of changing reels. About halfway through, she hears a soft tap at the projection booth door. She reaches over to open it, and Tucker steps inside.

  “Thought you were going to be out until around nine?” she whispers.

  “So did I.”

  “Hold on,” she says. “I’ve got to finish getting the next reel set up.”

  Tucker leans against the back wall while she threads the film into the machine. When she rejoins him, he touches her torn shirt sleeve.

  “What happened?” he asks, clearly worried.

  She gives him a little smile, realizing he probably can’t see much in the dim glow of the projectors. “I ran into this guy with a knife…and a mask.”

  It takes him a moment, and then he returns her smile. “Was it the boogeyman?”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  They watch the cartoon for a moment, although Daisy is really watching Chase watch the cartoon. He’s enjoying it, and it’s nice to see a smile on the kid’s face. These two cartoons were new to her, although her dad remembered both of them when she described them to him.

  “You okay?” Tucker asks.

  She nods. “Just thinking about Dad. Are the trick-or-treaters finished already?”

  “Must be. Marty said he saw a couple of groups around dusk, and then two or three later on. I didn’t see anyone. The only activity seems to be here and down at the bonfire, which is huge. I hope they keep it contained.”

  Daisy holds up a finger for him to wait and then steps forward, watching for her cue. When the number pops up in the margin of the screen, she switches to the other projector to start the main attraction. The first frames are a countdown, and then there’s a bit of film from years ago with The Hart in large letters.

  The next reel is a compilation of teaser trailers, including one she found for William Castle’s Macabre. Dramatic music is followed by an announcer informing the audience that a one-thousand-dollar life insurance policy has been taken out for anyone who dies of fright during the screening—unless they have a heart condition or are so scared they commit suicide. And then William Castle himself, the poor man’s Alfred Hitchcock
, promises their money back for viewing Homicidal, if they are too frightened to watch the last few minutes.

  A wave of nervous laughter runs through the theater, and Daisy grins up at Tucker, who is standing just behind her. “Are you sure you can handle this, Officer Vance?” she whispers.

  “If not, I guess I can get my money back.”

  Daisy feels his breath against her ear as he responds, and she’s suddenly very aware of how close he is. It’s unavoidable in the small room. Not that she would change it if she could.

  Tucker seems to have noticed the same thing. She hears him pull in a ragged breath, and then he runs one hand gently, tentatively, along her shoulder, his fingers brushing her bare skin when they reach the slash in the costume.

  Daisy leans back against him, watching as the film moves from trailers to the clips of actual movies that she spliced together. The first section is classic opening scenes to set the mood. While most of her personal favorites are too new to be in Jill Hart’s collection, there are some really creepy films in this scream reel. Mostly B movies, but a few major productions as well, with some big-name stars.

  She’s seen the clips so many times that she’s barely paying attention, but that’s also partly because she’s so very conscious of Tucker’s nearness. Daisy can feel his heart racing against the back of her neck. After a few minutes, the hand that he’s been resting on her shoulder slides down her arm, and he laces his fingers through hers.

  When Nosferatu appears out of the shadows, Tucker and Chase both jump. Daisy chuckles softly, and Tucker whispers, “You did a good job. Hard to believe you could do all of this with just film…without a computer.”

  “The real fun is going to be splicing all of the pieces back in,” she says, nodding toward a stack on the floor next to the projector table. “Each one is in its own separate bag, but it’s still going to take days.”