by Stine, R. L.
“No—Jake. Don’t!” I raised both hands to protect myself.
But with a furious cry, he pulled his arm back—and swung his fist at my face.
14
AN EVIL PRESENCE
“NOOOOO!”
I ducked away.
The fist sailed over my shoulder and hit the back of the booth.
I kept my arms raised, shielding my face.
Jake stood across the table, eyes on me, breathing hard.
Was he going to swing at me again?
No. His expression softened. He let out a long sigh, like air escaping a tire. He blinked a few times. Then he sank back onto his seat.
Shawn rubbed his cheeks. He scratched his head. “What just happened?” he asked Delia and me.
Jake stared at me, his eyes kind of blank. Like he was dazed. “Whoa,” he murmured. “Whoa.”
“Why are you two staring at us like that?” Shawn asked. “Do I have lettuce stuck to my teeth or something?” He rubbed his teeth.
“Did we pay for lunch?” Jake asked.
Delia and I exchanged glances. The potion’s spell had worn off. Thank goodness we’d used only a few flakes.
What had I done? Stolen the wrong potion. This was the opposite of a love potion. Was it a hate potion?
“Let’s roll. Let’s pay the check,” Jake said.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sure. Let’s pay the check.”
“You’re suddenly in a hurry?”
“Yeah. I’m meeting up with Annalee.”
We all chipped in and paid for lunch. Then we made our way out of the restaurant. As we walked to my car, I hung back with Delia. “Well, that went well,” I said.
* * *
The first day of shooting. Were Delia and I excited? Does a butter fly?
I drove to Burbank, parked the car in the studio lot, and we started to jog toward Mayhem Manor. At the end of the path, I could see the twin gray towers rising up in the distance. Like giant bat wings. The old mansion stayed dark, even in the brightest sunshine.
A cart rolled by with a large movie projector strapped to the back. And I saw Jake’s dad, in a dark business suit as always, walking with two other business-type dudes, waving a sheet of paper in their faces and talking rapidly as they walked toward his cottage office. I waved but he didn’t see me.
A few minutes later, the gray mansion and its tall towers loomed over us, and we stepped into its shadow. The air instantly grew colder, and the stale smell of mold and mildew of the rotting shingles on the front wall invaded my nose.
“I’m a little wired,” I said. “I mean, I dreamed about this day, but now I’m really scared. You dreamed about it, too, right?”
“No,” Delia said. “I always wanted to be a princess.”
“Funny.”
“Who’s joking?”
I gasped as someone stepped out of the shadows. It took me a few seconds to recognize Pablo, Lana deLurean’s psychic. Again, he was dressed in a silky white suit, but he had pulled a blue-and-white Dodgers cap over his bald head.
“Hello,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I pulled off my sunglasses. “Dark here,” I murmured. “Hard to see.”
Delia eyed him suspiciously. “Aren’t you going inside?”
He shut his eyes. “I feel bad things about this house. I can feel the presence of something very evil.” He opened his eyes. “Do you feel it, too?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Lana went inside?” Delia asked.
He nodded with a sigh. “She wouldn’t listen to me. I warned her this wasn’t the right day to go in there. But she said the movie came first. She was angry with me. But…” His voice trailed off.
“We have to go in, too,” I said.
Delia scowled at him. “Why do you want to scare people?”
He blinked. “I have a responsibility. I have to speak what I feel, what I sense. I must be honest.”
He spread his hand over Delia’s forehead. “Shut your eyes,” he said. “Listen hard. Concentrate. Do you feel anything?”
“Yes, I feel your hand on my forehead.”
He didn’t laugh. He removed his hand. “The evil here at this house is so strong,” he said, gazing from Delia to me.
Over his shoulder, I saw the sign on the front door of the mansion: LIVE SET. DO NOT ENTER IF RED LIGHT IS ON. A red lightbulb had been installed at the top of the wooden door. It wasn’t lit.
“Pablo, it’s just a house,” I said. “Just a neglected, old house.”
“And now it’s just a movie set,” Delia added.
His eyes flared. “No, it isn’t,” he snapped. “It’s a graveyard, ladies. It’s a living graveyard.”
And with those words, Delia and I pulled open the front door and stepped inside.
15
“WE’LL SLICE HER IN HALF”
BACK IN 1960, MAYHEM MANOR was built on the back of the studio lot on a wide, empty field that wasn’t being used. It was meant to be a movie set, but the carpenters built an entire house with solid walls and floors and stairways that led to a basement and a second-floor attic.
It was designed to look like the scariest haunted house ever built. The ceilings are cracked, and giant spiders and tarantulas hang down on long strings from a tangle of silvery cobwebs. The stairways are narrow and winding, and the steps are steep. The floorboards squeak and groan.
The windows are narrow and dust-smeared, and sunlight slants in at odd angles, never seeming to brighten the rooms. The house feels cold even under the brightest sunlight on the warmest summer days.
The furniture is heavy, old, and dark and covered in a powdery layer of dust. Big iron candelabras hang on the cracked, stained walls, and a giant chandelier juts down from the ceiling of the front room like a fat, black insect.
I feel a chill every time I step inside. But all the equipment and wires and lights and digital high-def cameras and crew members scurrying around help remind me that it’s a movie set, not a haunted mansion.
Delia and I stepped into the vast front room and let the cold air rush over us. My eyes adjusted slowly to the eerie darkness.
The dining room had been totally transformed into a movie set. A tall scaffold stretched high above the long table and held a catwalk jammed with lights and camera equipment. I saw two guys in denim overalls hoisting themselves up the narrow rope ladder to the catwalk.
Delia tripped over a clump of cables, and I caught her before she fell. Two crew members were setting the dining-room table. The clatter of china and silverware was drowned out by shouting voices. A boom mike swung over our heads. Digital cameras were being moved into place.
I saw our director, Les Bachman, arguing with two of the camera operators. Les waves his hands a lot when he talks and always seems frantic and angry. He’s a big, blustery guy who wears big, loose sweatshirts and baggy, unwashed jeans and likes to bump you and invade your space when he talks to you. I’ve heard some crew guys call him Hurricane Les.
But everyone seems to like him and respect him. Mom says he’s the top horror director in Hollywood—mainly because he horrifies everyone who works for him. I told you, Mom is a riot.
“Claire, check it out.” Delia elbowed me.
I followed her gaze. Annalee was on the far side of the room. She was cozying up to a tall, red-bearded crew member. She kept touching the front of his t-shirt and smoothing her hand on his shoulder as she talked. The guy seemed to like it. He had a big grin on his face.
Annalee spotted us, let go of the crew guy, and came running over. She was wearing a pink, very low-cut top over white shorts. She almost knocked me over, wrapping me in a hug. Like we were long-lost sisters or something.
“Isn’t this exciting?” she gushed. “Can you believe it? We’re in a movie?” She backed off, nodded at Delia, and straightened the top of her blouse, which was almost down to her waist.
“It’s Lana’s big scene today,” I said. “But look a
t her. Does she look thrilled? Not.”
Lana huddled by the catering table with her costar, Jeremy Dane, who plays Randy. She looked totally stressed. She kept flipping through the script, stabbing her finger at different lines. Jeremy had his arm around her waist and kept nodding his head solemnly.
“Jeremy keeps looking at me,” Delia whispered. “I think he likes me.”
I figured Jeremy just wanted to get away from Lana. But I didn’t say anything to spoil Delia’s fantasy.
“Jeremy is so sweet,” Annalee said. “I just love him. He and I have so much in common.”
Oh, wow. Please kill me now.
She squeezed my hand. She had to be the touchiest person on earth. “Claire, I’ve been texting you. About your birthday party. I want to help. What can I do? Why don’t you come over, and we’ll sit by the pool and toss ideas back and forth? I’d love that. I have all kinds of ideas for you.”
Annalee, I don’t even want to invite you to my party.
“Yeah. Thanks,” I managed to say. I pulled my hand free from her grip. “My parents are planning most of it. It’s going to be a huge deal. You know. Here at the studio.”
Her face twisted into a pout. “But you’ll let me know what I can do? I really want to be there for you, dear.”
Thank you, dear.
I know I sound catty. But trust me. She’s a terrible person. She’ll cling to you like a leech if you let her get too close. Why do you think Delia hadn’t said a word? She knows Annalee, too.
“I’m so pumped,” Annalee said. “I’ve been practicing my screams. I’m getting really good at it. I practiced them with Jake last night.”
My breath caught in my throat. “You were with Jake last night?”
She nodded. She had an evil grin on her face. She knew what she was doing to me. “He’s so awesomely adorable … isn’t he?”
Now I wanted to scream.
It was going to be a day of a lot of screams. Les Bachman wanted to get something difficult out of the way. So he decided to shoot Cindy’s horrifying murder first.
The writers wanted to improve the scene from the original script. In our version, the six teenagers are in the dining room. Randy and Tony get into a shoving match. They bump the dining-room sideboard. A sword falls from the ceiling and slices Cindy in half.
“Cutting off a hand is too tame for today’s audiences,” Les explained to us all during rehearsals. “These days, you have to slice a whole body.” He shook his head. “Give the audience what it wants, right?”
Of course, it would be different from the original film. The slicing would all be done with CGI.
I shivered. It was freezing cold and damp inside the house. I wished I could pull on a sweatshirt or something, but I wasn’t supposed to mess up my costume or my hair.
I raised my eyes past the catwalk to the high ceiling and saw the two crossed swords hovering over the long dining-room table. Seeing those swords made me shiver again. Nothing had changed in this house in sixty years.
And once again I saw the moment in the original movie when the sword dropped from the ceiling and cut off Cindy’s hand. Cut it off so neatly. So cleanly … clean until her blood started to pump out like a fountain.
A horrible death. Right here. Right where Delia and Annalee and I were standing.
And we were about to do the scene all over again.
Delia gave me a gentle elbow poke. “Stop thinking grim thoughts,” she said.
“Excuse me? Since when do you know what I’m thinking?”
“I could see the look on your face, Claire. Stop stressing. Everything’s going to be okay this time. You’ve been listening to Jake too much. It’s all going to be digital this time, right?”
I raised my eyes to the ceiling. “The swords are still up there, Dee. Lana is going to be sitting right under them.”
“Get over yourself,” she said. “History doesn’t always repeat itself. This time, it’ll all be fine.”
“Places, actors,” Les shouted. He waved us onto the set with both hands. “Look alive. This isn’t a zombie movie. Yet!”
A few people laughed at his lame joke. We all hurried toward the dining-room table.
“Okay, let’s set you in your places,” Les said. “We’ll block this out and try a few run-throughs.”
Annalee stepped up to Les, fiddling with the top of her blouse. “Where am I, Les? Over by the end?”
Before Les could answer, I heard a man scream from above. “Hey—look out!”
I gazed up in time to see the sword fall. No time to move. It shot straight down. The long blade gleamed in my eyes—until it sliced down over Annalee.
“Noooooo!” I shut my eyes and opened my mouth in a screech of horror.
16
THE UNICORN CAGE
I HEARD A CRASH AND A SHATTER OF GLASS.
Someone grabbed me around the waist. I turned to see Delia holding on to me. “It’s okay, Claire,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”
“Huh?” I raised my eyes to Annalee. She stood beside Les. They were both staring down at the floor in front of them.
Shouts and cries erupted all over the set. Tense laughter. Crew guys moved quickly toward the table.
“Close call,” someone said on the catwalk above us. “Sorry about that. A cable came loose. Everyone okay?”
A light had crashed down from the catwalk. The black metal case was on its side. The glass had shattered into a million pieces over the floor at Les’s and Annalee’s feet.
Not a sword. Annalee hadn’t been sliced. A light. Not a sword. I had imagined … imagined …
I raised my eyes to the ceiling. The two crisscrossed swords were still in place. My chest was heaving up and down. I gulped in large mouthfuls of air.
Delia held on to me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I choked out. “I thought—”
“I know what you thought,” Delia said. “Claire, you’ve got to get your head in a better place. Really.”
“But it could have killed her,” I insisted.
Les broke in to our conversation. “Okay, go home, everyone. Just go home. I have to deal with this. I won’t have this on my set. Go home. We’ve had enough horror for today.”
Voices and cries of surprise all around.
“And don’t start talking about the Curse of Mayhem Manor,” Les warned. “That was a tech accident. That’s all. I’m going to have a little meeting with these guys right now.”
He waved with his clipboard. “Go on. Get out. Be back tomorrow at nine sharp.” He gazed up at the catwalk. “We’ll have some changes made. That won’t happen again. I promise you, it’ll be safe here from now on.”
Delia and I turned to leave. Annalee trotted up to us. “Wow. That was scary. Like I didn’t know what was happening, and then it was all over before I could even make a sound.”
“Glad you’re okay,” I murmured.
“What a shame no one filmed it or videoed it or anything,” she said. “I could be a star, right? At least on YouTube.”
I saw Delia roll her eyes. “Annalee,” she said, “is that all you think about? Being a star?”
She shook her head. “No. I think about guys, too.”
Delia and I laughed. I’m not sure she meant it to be funny.
“Where are you two going?” she asked, stepping between us and putting an arm around each of our shoulders. “Can I hitch a ride?”
* * *
My family and Jake’s family have dinner out together once a week. And we usually eat at The Ivy. There are a million restaurants in L.A., but everyone feels comfortable there, and our parents like to see all their buddies in the movie business.
A lot of young movie people and stars hang at Joan’s on Third. But my parents still prefer The Ivy.
Jake and I always order the same thing—the fried calamari and the salami pizza. Jake’s dad gives us a hard time. “It’s a fine restaurant,” he says. “It’s not a pizza joint.” But Jake and I happen to like the
salami pizza. So give us a break.
Mr. Castellano is the only one who is tense at dinner. He’s the one who jumps up from his chair and runs to say hi whenever someone he knows walks in. Jake’s mom just sits and waves to them. And my parents always concentrate on their food. I think they’re happy to let Jake’s dad do all the work and schmooze with all the movie people and let them enjoy their dinner.
Tonight, we arrived at the same time. The valets took the cars, and we sat at our usual table outside near the door so Jake’s dad could see who comes in and out. He was in his uniform—black Armani suit, pale blue shirt, and red tie. Jake’s mom wore designer skinny jeans and a white sweater top, because she gets cold even in the summer.
The waiter came around and Dad ordered the usual, vodka martinis for everyone. “I’ll have one, too,” I said. “Extra olives, please.” A joke. But they just stared at me, and I asked for a Sprite.
“How’s the internship going with Zack?” Jake’s dad asked him, arranging his silverware the way he likes it.
“Great,” Jake said. “I’m learning a lot. He really knows the new software. Of course, we haven’t really had anything to edit. I didn’t go to the studio today.”
“You missed all the excitement,” I said.
Jake grinned. “I heard about it. The Curse of Mayhem Manor strikes again.”
“Don’t talk that way,” his dad snapped. “I don’t want any curse talk around here. This picture is very important to us all.”
“Oops. Sorry.” Jake didn’t bother to make his apology sound sincere.
Mrs. Castellano checked her lipstick in a little hand mirror. “What did you do today instead of the studio?” she asked.
“Shawn came over and we hung out at the pool,” Jake said.
His mom squinted at him. “Have you been drinking?”
“No. Of course not.”
I almost burst out laughing. Jake smelled like a Budweiser factory. Did he really think he was fooling anyone?
His mom pressed her lips together. “I’m always surprised you and Shawn are such good friends. You really don’t have much in common.”
I knew she didn’t approve of Shawn. She thought he was a bum.
“You know,” Jake said, tapping his fork on the table, “the thing about Shawn? I’ve never been with Shawn when I didn’t have a good time.”
