by Stine, R. L.
23
CLAIRE RUINS A SCENE
IT WAS PRETTY OBVIOUS THAT Les planned to shoot the kitchen scene. This wasn’t just a rehearsal. Why else would Lazslo be there, and why would the lighting crew have everything in place and the sound guys be scrambling around the kitchen?
I think Les wanted to take it one step at a time. Make everyone feel comfortable. Then keep to his shooting schedule.
I didn’t think I could feel comfortable ever again inside the old house.
When you’re like me and you believe that supernatural and paranormal things can happen, it makes the world a scarier place. Standing in that brightly lit kitchen, I felt super-alert, like every molecule in my body was tensed and ready for something weird to happen. Maybe something horrible.
And I couldn’t keep Puckerman out of my mind, that furry little man who kept appearing and reappearing where he shouldn’t be.
Pulling on my ’60s pleated skirt and lacy-collared top beside Delia in the dressing room, I shuddered. Maybe Jake was right. Maybe there was a curse on the old house. Maybe …
“What’s your problem?” Delia’s voice cut into my thoughts. “You suddenly turned pale.”
“Oh … uh…” I realized I hadn’t told her about seeing Puckerman in the mirrors. But I didn’t want her to roll her eyes at me and tell me what a flake I am for seeing strangeness wherever I go.
Also, Delia had a lot on her mind. She was the star of the film now. She had lines to learn and scenes to memorize. She had to be thinking about Lana. She didn’t need me freaking her out even more.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Just thinking. You know.”
* * *
When Delia and I returned to the set, we saw Annalee standing with Jeremy behind the kitchen counter. She was snuggling against him, and the two of them were beaming at each other like they were on a Valentine card.
Annalee took a step back as soon as Delia strode into the kitchen. “I was just holding your place,” she told Delia. “Till you got back. You know. Like a stand-in.”
Delia put on a fake smile. “No problem at all,” she said sweetly.
Annalee wants to be the star, I told myself. Watch out for her.
Jeremy gazed from Annalee to Delia to me. “Are you three friends?” His dark eyes flashed. A devilish grin spread over his handsome face. “Maybe all three of you would like to come to my place in the Valley, and we could … uh … do something.”
Annalee giggled.
Before anyone could answer, Les called Jeremy over. A few seconds later, the two of them were screaming at each other.
“You’re joking, right?” Les bellowed, gesturing with his clipboard. “You really don’t know if you’re Randy or Tony?”
Jeremy shrugged. I couldn’t hear his answer, but I saw him back away.
“You’re standing here and you don’t know which part you play? Didn’t anyone get you a script?”
“I don’t really use a script,” Jeremy said. “I usually work in the moment.”
Les looked like a grizzly bear ready to pounce. He tossed his clipboard to the floor and balled his hands into fists.
Jeremy’s eyes went wide. He backed to the wall. “Look, you only have a five-day commitment for me,” he said. “Then I’m off to do a Disney shoot for Bruckheimer. You’re wasting precious time, aren’t you?”
Les’s big chest was heaving up and down. His broad forehead glistened with sweat. “When you’re right, you’re right, Jeremy lad. You are a waste of time.”
Jeremy shut his eyes and wrapped his arms in front of his chest. “I want to see my agent. Is Howie here? Someone get Howie on the phone.”
“No need.” Les bent down and scooped up his clipboard. He stepped forward and smoothed a hand over Jeremy’s shoulder as if brushing something off his shirt. “Let’s kiss and make up. It’ll be a brief romance, okay? We’ll shoot your big death scene, and then you’ll be free to go and not read your script for Jerry Bruckheimer.”
Jeremy eyed him warily. “We’re going to finish up today?”
Les nodded. “First, we have to electrocute you.”
Jeremy turned to Delia. “Like in the original movie.”
“Like in the original movie,” Les repeated. “If you had opened your script, you would see that we’re using the same script as the 1960 film. Of course, we’ve updated it a bit.”
Delia whispered in my ear. “Whoa. For a moment, I thought Les was going to devour Jeremy.”
“Seriously,” I whispered back.
I glanced at the silver toaster on the kitchen counter. The image of Randy in the original film being shocked by the toaster flashed back into my mind. Randy surrounded by the crackling, white current. Dancing … dancing … His arms and legs tossing about, even after he was dead.
I shut my eyes and tried to force the image from my mind. I guessed we were about to see the same scene, this time with Jeremy. I suddenly wondered if Jeremy was a good dancer. The thought made me snicker.
“Okay, everyone. Places,” Les shouted. He stood at the kitchen doorway, waving us all up to the counter.
I followed Delia, Annalee, Jeremy, and Aidan, the boy playing Tony, onto the set. I didn’t have any lines in this scene. I was just supposed to scream my head off when Jeremy was electrocuted by the toaster.
Becka Tisdale, the script assistant, was having a whispered conversation with Les. She was as tall and needle-thin as Les was squat and chubby, and I always thought they looked like different species whenever they huddled together. She jabbed a finger at the open script in her hand, and Les kept nodding.
Finally, Becka closed her script, turned, and walked out of the kitchen, and Les turned back to us. “Okay. Let’s block this out,” he said. “For those of you who didn’t read your script, you are in a panic, frantic to get out of the house. But to your horror, you find the doors and windows locked. You appear to be trapped. So you—”
“Did we try the basement?” Jeremy interrupted.
“That comes later,” Les said. “Unfortunately, you won’t be around for that scene. Okay. Let’s start here.” He rubbed his stubbled cheeks. “You run into the kitchen. Tony, you pick up the phone. You hold it to your ear. You tell everyone it’s dead. No dial tone.”
Aidan squinted at him. “Dial tone?”
Les groaned. “Old-fashioned phones have a dial tone. You know. A buzzing sound.” He pointed at Aidan. “You and Jeremy have an argument. You want to try the upstairs windows. But he says he is starving. He wants to make a sandwich.”
“I’m kind of hungry, too,” Annalee said. “I only had coffee this morning.” She was being cute for Jeremy.
“Please don’t interrupt,” Les said sharply. “Jeremy starts to search the kitchen for food. You look in the fridge. You pull out drawers and open cabinets. You get more and more frantic, see.”
Jeremy snapped his fingers. “Got it, boss.”
Les uttered an annoyed sigh, but he continued. “You pull out a loaf of bread. You rip out a few slices. You move to the toaster. Drop the bread into the toaster. Push the lever down. And then you get the shock of your life.”
Jeremy nodded. “I have to fake it, right?”
“You have to act,” Les corrected him. “We don’t have any special effects rigged up today. The electrical current will be added in post. So you have to imagine that your body is receiving jolt after jolt of electricity—and you have to make us see it. See it and feel it. We want the audience to feel every snap, crackle, and pop.”
Jeremy nodded. “I can handle it.” He did a crazy dance, bending his knees and flailing his arms above his head, jerking his head forward and back. “Like that, right?”
“Not bad,” Les said. “Remember—jolt after jolt. We need to see the rhythm of it. Open your eyes wide. Let your mouth hang slack. Maybe your tongue flops out.”
Les turned to the rest of us. “You all scream your guts out. You’re so shocked and frightened, you don’t do anything to help him. You just stand there
and scream.”
He swung back to Becka, who stood beside Lazslo in front of the camera. “Did I cover everything?”
She nodded. “I think we’re good to go.”
“Let’s try a run-through,” Les said. He stepped away from the door. “Go out and come running in. Breathless. Scared. I want to see it instantly on your faces. Come on. Let’s go. Make me proud.”
He always said that at every rehearsal. I guess it was supposed to inspire us. You know. Get the adrenaline flowing.
The four of us moved out of the kitchen and waited in the doorway for the PA to slate the scene. “Scene twelve, take one.”
Les gave the signal. Then we came running back in, stumbling, pushing one another, our eyes wide, chests heaving up and down, panting and terrified.
The scene was going well until I ruined it.
Aidan and Jeremy argued. Aidan tried to pull Jeremy from the kitchen so we could investigate the upstairs windows. Jeremy tugged free of his grasp and started searching frantically for food.
My eyes went to the toaster. I shouldn’t have been looking there, but I couldn’t stop myself.
A feeling of cold dread washed over me.
I pictured the boy in the original film, holding the toaster, jerking and dancing inside the crackling current. And then I pictured Lana. Her small white hand sitting by itself on the table.
I stared at the gleaming silver toaster. And I knew what was going to happen to Jeremy. It wasn’t just a hunch. It was a powerful flash from the future.
I knew what would happen to him as soon as he pushed the lever.
My breath caught in my throat. My whole body shuddered.
I raised my eyes in time to see Jeremy pull the loaf of bread from the bottom kitchen drawer. He raised it high and pushed it in Aidan’s face. “See? Food,” he said. “I’m going to make a sandwich. Then we can escape this old house.”
He tore two slices of bread from the loaf and tossed the loaf to the counter. Then he turned to the toaster—
—and I leaped forward. I threw myself at the counter, and I shrieked: “No! Don’t TOUCH it! Jeremy—don’t TOUCH the toaster!”
24
A BAD BURN
“CUT! CUT!” LES SCREAMED.
Then everyone started shouting at once. Les stomped angrily into the kitchen. Becka Tisdale followed him, to help him out, I guess. It took a while to get everyone quiet.
“Claire, what is your problem?” He kind of spit the words at me through gritted teeth, growling like a bear.
“The … toaster,” I stammered, pointing.
“What about it?”
“I just had a feeling. Like in the old film. I mean…” I could barely choke out the words. My pulse was pounding in my ears.
Les angrily grabbed up the toaster in both hands.
“NO!” I screamed.
Les raised the toaster in front of him, showing it off to everyone. “It’s not plugged in,” he said. “See? No way it can shock Jeremy. Look, Claire. We even cut off the cord.” He spun the toaster around. “No cord. No electricity. Okay?”
I lowered my eyes. My hair fell over my face.
Please, kill me now.
“Sorry,” I managed to choke out. “I’m really sorry, everyone. I’m … totally embarrassed.”
Les shook his head. “Let’s take a ten-minute break, people, to regroup. Everyone come back refreshed, okay? We’re going to film this scene today. Ten minutes. See you back here.”
Delia walked over and put her arm around my shoulder. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It was only a run-through. What’s the big deal?”
Jeremy Dane grinned at me. “Thanks for trying to save my life, Claire,” he said. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“S-sorry,” I stammered. I kept my eyes down. I really did feel like a fool. The toaster wasn’t even plugged in.
“You want to come to my dressing room?” Jeremy said. “We could discuss the scene.”
“No thanks,” I murmured.
Jeremy nodded and walked away.
I saw Jake standing behind the kitchen counter. I hurried over to him. “Did you see the whole thing? I just changed my image from jerk to total jerk.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” he said. “You didn’t ruin a take or anything.”
Delia straightened my hair behind my head. “You weren’t a total jerk. No way. You had good reason to be afraid. We all saw what happened to Lana.”
I picked up the toaster and rolled it around between my hands. The toaster couldn’t shock anyone.
Annalee was over by the camera, flirting with one of the crew guys. She saw Jake and flashed him a smile. Les Bachman and Becka were having a discussion, both talking at once.
I set down the toaster. Then I led Jake and Delia to the catering table in the front room, and we grabbed Cokes. “Do you like that guy Jeremy Dane?” Jake asked.
“No way,” Delia and I both answered at once.
“He likes himself a lot,” Delia said. “He likes to toss his blond hair back and forth like this. He thinks it’s a turn-on.” She demonstrated. It was pretty funny.
“We don’t have to put up with him much longer,” I said. “This is his last scene.” I brushed a tuft of hair off Jake’s forehead. “You have better hair than Jeremy.”
“Thanks. It’s banging hot out there. You two want to come for a swim when you’re finished?”
“Sure,” I said. Hey, an actual invitation from Jake. Wow. But he had his eyes on Delia.
“I … might be busy,” Delia said. Then she added, “Where’s Shawn? He doesn’t answer my texts.”
“Laguna,” Jake said. “Dee, you sure you don’t want to come over later?”
Before she could answer, Les Bachman interrupted. “Okay, people. It’s not getting any earlier. Places, please.”
Delia and I set down our Coke cans and hurried back to the set. Annalee patted the crew guy’s chest, then trotted into the kitchen. Aidan returned, smelling of cigarette smoke.
“Okay. We’ve got everyone but our star,” Les said. “Anybody see the great Jeremy? Maybe he decided to read his script.” He laughed at his own joke.
“Jeremy Dane? Jeremy?” Becka shouted. Her voice echoed through the big house.
“Probably downstairs in his dressing room,” I said. “I’ll go get him.”
I started toward the back stairway. Delia hurried after me. “I’ll go with her,” she announced.
The dressing rooms were downstairs in the basement of the old mansion. The steep wooden stairs creaked beneath us as we made our way down, leaning on the narrow banister. “Jeremy! Hey—Jeremy?” I shouted.
No reply.
A row of small dressing rooms began at the bottom of the stairs. The first door was open and yellow light washed out.
I heard rapid footsteps. Running in the other direction.
“Jeremy? Is that you?” I called.
Delia shouted, too. “Hey, Jeremy—you’re keeping everyone waiting.”
I peered into the open dressing-room door. I saw a mirrored dressing table, a small, open closet, empty, and a table cluttered with food plates and soda cans.
And then I saw Jeremy Dane.
From the back. He appeared to be standing in front of a microwave oven on the wall. He leaned toward the oven, the door open just a crack.
“Jeremy? Hey—Jeremy? What’s up?” I called.
Jeremy didn’t move.
I grabbed Delia’s hand and squeezed it hard as we stepped closer.
And then a groan escaped my throat, and I thought I would toss my breakfast.
Jeremy’s head … his head … it was inside the microwave.
His body stood limp and unmoving, propped against the wall. And his head …
“He’s burned!” Delia screamed. “His whole face is burned black!”
Yes. I pulled open the microwave door and saw him clearly. His skin was black, like burned meat, and peeling off his face, curling off in flakes.
We
both screamed as his body suddenly fell. It collapsed and tumbled heavily to the floor.
I heard a sick rrrip sound. And stared in frozen horror … stared into the oven … stared … stared at his melted skin.
Jeremy was crumpled on the floor. But half of his face—half of his face was stuck to the bottom of the microwave.
25
MELTED CHEESE
“WE’VE BEEN MOPING AROUND FOR TWO DAYS,” Jake said. “We need to think about something else.”
“How can we?” I cried. I didn’t mean to sound so shrill. “Jake, you didn’t see what Delia and I saw. Jeremy’s face melted. His head was totally black, and his skin was stuck to the microwave. How could that happen? How?”
The four of us were in a tiny booth at the Hamburger Hamlet on Larchmont, south of Beverly. It seemed that whenever real horror struck, we had to soothe ourselves with cheeseburgers.
Shawn pulled a long gob of cheese from his burger and lowered it to his mouth.
Delia uttered a groan. “How can you eat melted cheese after what we saw?”
I don’t know why, but that made me laugh. Yes, Jeremy’s face was like melted cheese. But why was I laughing? Nervous laughter, I guess. Laughter to keep from crying.
Shawn shook his head. “The whole thing is impossible. If his head was in the microwave, the door had to be open. And if the door was open, the microwave wouldn’t work. I think—”
“Shawn, we’ve been over this a hundred times,” I said. “You’re repeating yourself.”
“It doesn’t make sense—”
“Listen. We saw what we saw. The police said there was an electrical surge, like an explosion. He leaned into the microwave to put in his lunch and … it just exploded. He was nuked standing up.”
“How can it be an accident?” Delia said softly. She’d only taken one small bite from her cheeseburger. “The police decided it was an accident. But … it was just like what happened in the old film.” She shivered.
I felt sick. Two days later, and I still felt sick. “His hair was all melted,” I said. “It was totally stuck together. Like it had turned to wax. Oh, wow.”
