by Jeff Strand
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” the teenager asked.
“Actually, yes,” I said, approaching the counter and taking out the piece of card. “Could you tell me which game this belongs to?”
He took the card from me, glanced at it for a split second, the handed it back. “Oh, sure, it’s a level one imp. It’s one of the weakest characters in Prophecies of the Night. They’re very common, not collectible at all.”
“Prophecies of the Night?I’ve never heard of it.”
“That’s not surprising. It’s really not very popular. It has a very weak character generation system, not anywhere near as realistic as the designer’s last of couple games. But he was having personal problems and a tight deadline on this one, so it’s understandable.”
“Of course,” I agreed.
“We returned a bunch of stuff to the distributor, but we have a few enemy decks left if you’re interested. That’s where the piece you’ve got came from.”
“Well, if it has an unrealistic character generation system I’ll probably have to pass. You wouldn’t happen to know of any groups that play regularly, would you?”
The teenager shook his head.“Nah. Like I said, it’s not very popular. Actually, you could check the bulletin board against the far wall in case somebody posted one and I didn’t notice, but I’m pretty sure there’s not.”
I walked back to the bulletin board, which was covered with index cards advertising gaming groups. I took a few moments to scan them, but the teenager had been right, there were none for Prophecies of the Night. Oh well. It was a long shot anyway.
I was about to thank the teenager and leave, but something stopped me. Okay, all I’d found was a tiny little piece of card stuck to my jeans. But unless it was already in the ditch, it had to have got there when the killer was moving me, and so there was a good chance that he was a player. And I’d read a few mystery novels, enough to know that it was usually the insignificant clue that solved the case.
I returned to the counter. “Actually, I’d like a deck of those cards, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem.” The teenager left the counter and returned an instant later holding a small deck. He punched some keys on the cash register. “That’ll be eighteen eighty.”
“Say what?”
“Eighteen dollars and eighty cents, including tax.”
“For a deck of cards?”
“Yeah.”
“No, no, no, cards don’t cost eighteen dollars and eighty cents,” I explained.“Cards a buck or two. A little more if they have naked women on them.”
“You’re not a seasoned gamer, are you?”
“Obviously not.”
“I can give you a ten percent discount if you join ourGamer’s Castle frequent buyer club. It costs ten dollars and is good for a full year.”
“No, thanks, I’ll pay retail.” I dug out my wallet and grudgingly handed him a twenty, hoping that these damn cards at least came with bubble gum. “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know a Michael Ashcraft, would you?”
The teenager thought for a moment.“Nope.”
“Jennifer Ashcraft?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. Thanks for your help.”
NOT BEING Sherlock Holmes has its disadvantages. While Sherlock would have been able to solve the whole mystery based on the composition of the dirt on the jeans I wore last night, I managed to pretty much bumble around for the next couple hours without learning anything of interest. I stopped at Michael’s house, a fairly nice one-story deal in the suburbs, but the neighbors on one side were having a yard sale, and the neighbor on the other side was out mowing his lawn, so I decided it would be best to postpone any serious investigating.
I returned home to find that my mother-in-law had just brought the kids back, so we sat down to a soup and sandwich lunch. I tried to be a cheerful daddy, but with everything that was on my mind it was difficult to be as immature as my kids would have liked, even while listening to Kyle’s vivid description of yesterday’s activities.
“An’ we played Squish the Bug an’ we���”
“It’s Stomp the Bug, stupid,” Theresa corrected in that special way big sisters have.
“An’ we played Stomp the Bug an’ Theresa was the bug six times an’ I was only the bug four times an’ then Aunt Marcia came an’ she took us to get frozen yogurt an’ I got chocolate vanilla swirl an’ Theresa got regular chocolate an’ she dropped her cone in Aunt Marcia’s car an’ Aunt Marcia got mad an’ said not to drop her cone again or she wouldn’t be allowed to have food in the car an’ Theresa said okay.”
“Wow, busy night,” I said.
“Yeah.An’ wewatchedThe ElrodMcBugleShow . Elrod drank a whole swimming pool an’ everyone who was swimming got mad.”
“Will you take us swimming, Daddy?” asked Theresa.
“I can’t today, sweetie. Daddy has stuff to do. But I promise I’ll take you pretty soon. Just play outside today, but remember what I said about staying away from the boy next door. Anyone who tries to feed you kitty litter is not a true friend.”
“Are you going off to be a freeloader?” Kyle inquired.
Helen nearly choked on a spoonful of soup. “Where did you hear that?” she asked.
“Aunt Marcia. What does `freeloader’ mean?”
I decided to field that one. “It means your Aunt Marcia needs to keep her enormous mouth���”
Helen cut me off. “It means Daddy is currently testing various career opportunities.”
“Oh,” said Kyle, nodding with understanding.
Roger grinned.“Testing various career opportunities. That’s exactly the way I would have phrased it.”
“Shut up,” I said.
“Daddy, you’re not supposed to tell people to shut up,” Theresa informed me.
“Roger doesn’t count. You can tell him to shut up all you want.”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” sang Kyle.
“Andrew, please don’t talk to our children any more than is absolutely necessary,” said Helen.
Chapter 6
AROUND ONE, I called again.
“Hello, GhoulishDelights , where we make your nightmares a reality.Rachel speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hi,” I said. “I’m calling for Michael Ashcraft.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. He’s out of town. Is this something I can help you with?”
“Possibly.I was given one of your business cards, and I have to admit that the name sounds very intriguing. What exactly do you do there?”
“Do you like horror movies?”
“Love `em.”
“Then you’ll probably like what we do. You know, if you want to stop on by, we’d be more than happy to give you a tour.”
“Sure, why not?” I said. “I’ve got some spare time. When should I be there?”
“We should be hanging around until about five, so any time before that. Do you need directions?”
“Nope.I’ll see you soon, then. Thanks!”
After putting on a new watch and assuring Helen about sixty-eight times that we were both feeling fine and that it wasn’t necessary for us to stay at home to recuperate, Roger and I drove to the address on the card. Ghoulish Delights looked like somebody’s house that had been converted into a business, bearing only a small sign in the same oozing letters as on the card.
After narrowly avoiding a serious crutch mishap, we stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell. It was answered by a tall, athletically-built, dark-haired woman who wore a t-shirt with the Ghoulish Delights logo.
“Hi, I’m Rachel Mallory,” she said, extending her hand. I noticed that she wore black fingernail polish, with a little eyeball drawn on each nail. It was pretty cool.
“Andrew Mayhem. This is my friend Roger.”
“Pleased to meet you.Welcome to our lair.”
We walked inside. The waiting room had a couch, a couple of chairs, a small table, and a wall that had every square inch co
vered with horror movie posters. One of the chairs was currently occupied by a skeleton wearing a pair of bunny ears and smoking a cigarette.
“That’s our mascot, Calcium,” said Rachel. “Have a seat on the couch and I’ll introduce the others to you.” She went over and poked her head into the adjoining room. “Potential customers are here! Everyone act your weirdest!”
Four other people marched out of the room. “Why don’t you all introduce yourselves and tell these nice men what it is you do around here,” said Rachel.
The first guy looked about thirty, wore thick glasses, had short blonde hair with a huge cowlick, and a very ruddy complexion with several streaks of acne. “I’m CarlUnderall ,” he said, looking to the left of me instead of making eye contact.“Cameraman.”
Next to him was a small, thin, redheaded, freckle-faced guy in his mid-twenties. He wore a Ghoulish Delights t-shirt like Rachel’s, except that this one had a fake hand protruding from the stomach holding…well, a stomach. “I’m FarleySoukup ,” he said in a squeaky voice that immediately forced me to hate him.“Special effects.”
The next guy was also in his mid-twenties. He had a dark complexion and was dressed entirely in black. His straight black hair hung over his shoulders, and he even wore black nail polish and a black dangling spider earring���a Goth boy through and through. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d been wearing a set of vampire teeth. If I’d been holding a glass, the temptation to fling the contents at him and scream “Holy water!” would have been unbearable. “Dominick Griffin,” he said.“Sound, story and occasional on-camera predator.”
“And I’m Linda Hanson,” said the girl next to him, who was obviously his girlfriend, judging from the arm coiled around his waist. She was also dressed entirely in black, but she added bleach-blonde hair and blood-red lipstick to the color palette. She was a little overweight, but her tight-fitting clothing indicated that she was comfortable with her body. She flashed me a cheerful smile. “Set decoration, lighting, and props. Welcome to our happy home.”
“Thanks,” I said. “So this is a movie studio, huh? Would I have seen any of your films?”
Rachel gave the others a wave to indicate that they could go back to their business, and then sat down on one of the chairs. “So, Michael gave you a card but didn’t say anything about what we do here?”
“Actually, it was at a party a while back. I’d had a lot to drink and I don’t really remember the conversation, but the name, Ghoulish Delights, sounded pretty intriguing. I’ve kept meaning to call, but this is the first day off I’ve had in a while. Some people call me a workaholic.”
“Well, hopefully you’ll think we’re as cool as our name. You say you’re a horror movie fan?”
“Sure,” I said. “I love all that stuff.The movies, the books, the games, everything. Guess I’m just asicko at heart.”
“I can handle them if the characters aren’t too stupid,” Roger said.
“Let me ask you this,” said Rachel. “Have you ever wanted to star in your very own horror flick?”
“Some days I feel like I already am,” I told her.
Rachel leaned forward. “What we do here at Ghoulish Delights is create a short, custom-made horror film for you and your family and friends to star in, which we can tape in your very own home or anywhere else you want. We have a large selection of script templates, which are completely customizable to suit whatever strikesyour fancy. If you’d like your family of four to star in their very own mad-slasher-in-the-house flick, we can give you the script, the stage directions, and all the blood and gore you could ever want. You’re both too old to belong to a fraternity…no offense…but last week we pretended to kill off sixteen guys in their very own frat house. It’s fun!”
“Do you get a lot of business for this sort of thing?” I asked.
Rachel shrugged. “We’re doing all right. Our office is located here in Chamber, but very few of our customers come from this area. We head out all overFlorida , toMiami ,Tampa …and some occasional tourist business inOrlando , for people who want something a little darker than Disney World.”
“So you just come to somebody’s house and shoot it like a regular movie?”
“Pretty much.You could think of it as a slightly more offbeat version of family portraits. How it works is you would describe the locale you want and the number of actors you have, and then we’d show you our sample scripts. After you found one you liked, we’d revise it to make it a perfect match for your group, and then assign the roles. Don’t worry, everyone gets a good part. We’d come over, and our director would work with your people while our guys set everything up, then we’d film until we got it right. It usually takes most of the day, and everyone has a great time. And when we’re done you have a ten to fifteen minute video that’s yours to keep.”
“And there aren’t any limits? You get to do whatever you want?”
“Oh, no, obviously we have both safety precautions and technology restraints. We’re not going to film your three year-old daughter hanging out of a second floor window, and the only explosives we can get the insurance for are tiny squibs to simulate a gunshot wound.”
“Squibs?” asked Roger.
“It’s a balloon that’s filled with stage blood and hooked up to a small explosive charge. When you set it off, blood sprays and it looks like you were shot. Some effects artists use a condom instead of a balloon, but since we often have kids around we try not to do anything that adds to their sexual confusion.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” I said.
“And we do strictly below-the-neck squibs. So we do have a few restrictions that are simply for safety reasons, because a horror movie stops being fun when people really get hurt. And, like I said, there are things we simply can’t do. We have people saying `Why can’t you show me transforming into a werewolf?’ and it’s because we don’t have the resources. We do have a large supply of monster masks and costumes, and can do minor monster makeup, but you’re not going to get state-of-the-art special effects���it’s not feasible for what we’re trying to do here. We can’t show your son’s head rolling down the stairs, because that involves making a cast, but we can certainly use camera tricks and makeup to simulate a decapitation. AndKaro syrup is cheap, so you can have all the blood you want. So, have I frightened you off yet?”
Actually, I thought it was a pretty neat idea. But then, I guess I’ve always been kind of strange. There’d been many times over the past few years when I’d been able to easily envision Kyle or Theresa turning into mass murderers, and it would probably be fun to see this captured on video. Yet somehow I just couldn’t see Helen finding the idea to her liking. And it was probably expensive as hell.
Anyway, I wasn’t here as a customer, I was here to gather information. “Okay, time to fess up,” I said. “I didn’t get your card from a party. I’m really a journalist. Have you heard of themagazineDearly Demented? “
Rachel shook her head. This wasgood, because I’d made up the magazine and would have hated to be quizzed on the contents had it turned out to be a real one.
“That’s not surprising, since our premiere issue is still four months away. Our target audience is comprised of those people who are interested in the darker side of life, but in a fun way, of course. And I think a feature article on Ghoulish Delights would fit exactly with what my editor is looking for.”
“Really?Who’s your editor?”
I gestured to Roger.“Him. He doesn’t quite trust me out on my own yet.”
It would have been more believable to say Roger was my photographer, but that kind of lie generally works better when one is in possession of a camera.
“We’ve actually had a few stories done on us,” Rachel remarked. “Mostly just local newspapers, though channel eight sent a camera crew out last Halloween and did a short feature. It was sort of slanted toward calling us a bunch of sick lunatics, but we got a couple of gigs out of it.”
“Well, I can assure you thati
fDearly Demented called you a bunch of sick freaks, it would be a wholehearted compliment.”
Rachel smiled. “We’d be honored to have you do a story on our little outfit. Would you like a tour now, or would you like to set another appointment?”
“What would work best for me is if I could just talk to eachperson, find out exactly what it is they do for Ghoulish Delights. For example, what exactly do you do?”
“At the moment I’m doing my job and Michael’s…that’s Michael Ashcraft, our director…so I’d be absolutely overwhelmed if business weren’t slow right now. Basically, I’m the producer, so I’m responsible for overseeing, well, everything. I do most of the interaction with thecustomer, from the interesting and informative sales pitch you just heard to making sure they’re happy with the condition of their home afterward. And I’m responsible for all the financial aspects of the business, making sure we run things as cheaply as possible so we don’t price ourselves out of reach.”
“What does something like this cost?” Roger asked.
“The price varies substantially based on what options the customer requests, sort of like a new car.”
“How much for a base model?”
Rachel smiled again. “To be completely honest, we prefer to wait until a customer is completely enraptured before springing the cost on the poor person.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Well…it’s more expensive than taking the family out to play miniature golf.”
I nodded my understanding. It suddenly occurred to me that this whole reporter charade would work better if I actually had a small notebook or a tape recorder. I considered making a comment like “So, Roger, is theol ‘ photographic memory storing everything all right?” but that would have been stupid. I probably should have planned a cover story before driving over here. The idea that I really suck as a detective crossed my mind.
“So was this whole thing your idea?” I asked.
“No, it was Mike’s. We were friends all through college, and we’d rent maybe six or seven horror movies every weekend. We’d just sit in his dorm room andtoxify our brains watching these things. We sort of went our separate ways after he graduated, partially because his girlfriend, now his wife, was jealous of all the time we spent together…not that you need to write anything about that.” She suddenly looked worried. “You’re not going to use that quote, are you?”
