Page 54 of All That Glitters
Meanwhile, Elvis the dog, ever curious and apparently immune to the toxic effects of exhaust fumes, followed a thick power cable from the lights over to the portable generator humming nearby. The camera tracked the dog’s investigation as he sniffed the generator curiously, looked at it from a few different angles, then lifted his leg.
“Elvis, no!” Roy shouted from behind the camera, but it was too late.
A shower of sparks erupted from the generator as it short-circuited. The sparks ignited the dry grass surrounding the generator, which went up with a whoosh.
Immediately, half a dozen inmates rushed over with fire extinguishers, spraying white foam on the spreading flames with more enthusiasm than accuracy. Most of the foam seemed to land on each other rather than the actual fire, creating a scene that resembled a deranged snowball fight more than firefighting.
“Minor technical difficulty!” Craig could be heard shouting in the background. “Keep rollin’!”
In the next clip, the flashing red lights of a fire engine colored the night. A professional fire crew hosed down the smoldering grass with expressions that suggested this was not their first visit to this particular production.
A police officer was calmly writing a ticket, the length of which suggested he was including every possible violation he could think of. He handed it to Craig, who took it with the defeated expression of a man watching his production budget literally go up in smoke.
Craig’s shoulders slumped as he read through the extensive list of citations. He folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket, then looked up, his eyes finding the red recording light of the camera. He was being filmed. Again. This was the last straw. His face contorted into a mask of explosive rage as he came storming right at the lens.
“Roy! I told you to quit filmin’ and help with the—”
And the screen went dark.
The image flickered back to life, with Roy’s face once again filling the entire screen. And then some.
“Hey, folks, Roy here again. After the… uhm, incident in the cemetery the other night, Craig thought we oughta lay low ‘round there a couple days, so we found us this here new location.”
The camera made a shaky pan to reveal they were inside a high school chemistry classroom. Rows of tables, beakers, Bunsen burners, and anatomical charts lining the walls. “Gotta make it real quick though,” Roy added, “before the security guard finishes his smoke break and finds out we’re in here.”
The camera swung over to Carrie, standing behind a long table. Next to her were three college-age boys who looked like they’d just won the nerd lottery. They wore lab coats, thick glasses, and pocket protectors, and looked at Carrie like they’d just died and gone to Heaven.
“Them guys is our science nerds,” Roy explained. “We put out a casting call at the college and got over two hundred engineerin’ majors wantin’ to do it soon as they found out they’d be in a movie with Carrie. Bunch of them even offered to pay us. These three won the roles, ’cause they built actual workin’ potato cannons for the audition.”
The camera zoomed in on the makeshift weapons the nerds were holding. They were crude PVC pipe contraptions with bicycle pumps duct-taped to the sides and wooden stakes protruding from the barrels. “This here scene we’re filmin’s when Carrie’s character, Jessica, gets them nerds to build these stake launcher things to kill vampires with. Ain’t never seen nothin’ like it in a vampire movie. Real high-tech stuff and all.”
The camera swung over to one of the nerds, who was pumping pressure into the PVC pipe of his vampire-killing potato cannon with the bicycle pump.
POP!
The stake suddenly shot out the front of the pipe and hit a glass jar on a shelf. The jar toppled off the shelf and shattered on the floor, spilling a clear, viscous liquid. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the liquid began to bubble. And then bubble more. And more. A mountain of thick, white foam erupted from the puddle, growing at an alarming rate, like a science experiment gone horribly, comically wrong.
Craig looked over at the growing disaster. “Anyone know what that stuff is?”
“I think it was industrial-grade soap concentrate,” one of the nerds squeaked in terror.
The foam now poured across the floor and expanded upwards, filling the classroom like a washing machine with its lid left open.
“And that’s a wrap, folks,” Craig said, bolting from his chair.
The image jerked abruptly, then went dark.
The image flickered back on outside the classroom. It now showed the Rif Raf crew, Carrie, and the nerds piling out the classroom window and onto the lawn outside, just seconds ahead of the foam-monster that now filled the entire classroom with a solid mass of white bubbles. The gang tore off toward their trucks in the dark parking out front, Roy filming the entire scene in footage so jerky it would make the Blair Witch Project blush.
The image then went dark.
After a few seconds of static, a new image appeared — Roy’s face again, but this time filmed indoors, probably back at the Rif Raf clubhouse.
“So that was the first week of production on this here film,” he said cheerfully. “I’d call it a success, all things considered. Only one fire, minimal property damage, and no actual arrests. Plus, got our clothes all washed. Week two comin’ up, where we tackle the vampire transformation scene. Should be real interestin’, ‘specially since Todd’s been experimentin’ with homemade fake blood using ketchup and somethin’ he won’t tell us the ingredients of.”
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Between you and me, I think our little movie’s gonna be a real classic. Just gotta make sure Elvis stays away from the electrical equipment.”
The dog appeared suddenly in frame, his tongue lolling happily as he dropped what appeared to be a chewed-up piece of camera equipment at Roy’s feet.
