Page 73 of Horror and Chill
I wait for the catch. There is none coming. “And my no is a no, even if you get excited about the shot. If I say no group scene, that’s it. If I say no to Corwin, then he sits and watches.”
“Your no is a no,” Evander agrees. “Even if I'm the one who wants more.”
Something loosens in my chest. Not trust. Not even close. “Good. Then, next piece: logistics. How far is the cemetery?”
“Half a mile through the trees,” Garron says. “There is a fence line, but it's broken in two spots. We can use the south gap.”
Evander’s voice goes warm, and it makes my stomach pull tight. “What else?”
“Sandbags for the tripod feet,” My mind is already running frames. “I want the camera low on one angle, high on another. We will shoot darkness first, the approach through to the crypt. I want to hear the crunch. Then the crypt door. Then the pickaxe. Then the heart. The blood hits last.”
Corwin is already nodding like he sees it too. “And when your viewers scream in the comments, what do we get to do then?”
“If you can keep your mouth shut for one shoot,” I hold his stare, “I will consider letting you co-star again. Not a promise, a possibility.”
He groans like I strangled him with hope. “You are going to kill me.”
“That would ruin my calendar profits.”
Garron shifts. “No headstones get harmed. No bones. No names in a frame if you can help it.”
“I'm not a ghoul,” I say. “I make a story. I don't tear one up.”
“Good,” he smiles. “Then we can do this.”
Evander moves to the kitchen counter, pulls a pencil from a drawer, and sets a notebook in front of me. Lines on the page wait. “Write it out.”
I hesitate. Then I take the pencil anyway and print “Cemetery—Midnight” at the top. My hand steadies as the list forms under it.
Lanterns. Candles. Tripod. Sandbags. Pickaxe. Heart. Blood mix. Safety shears. Alcohol wipes. Towels. Boots. Black dress and lingerie. Batteries. Cards. Duct tape. Trash bags. Water. Hand warmers. First aid kit.
Corwin leans over and points at “blood mix.” “Is this the syrup trick?”
“Yes,” I say. “It moves right. It dries wrong, but we'll not let it dry.”
“Put whiskey on the list,” he adds. “For after.”
“For during,” I correct. “If we have to have some liquid courage.”
He laughs and taps twice on the page. “I like you bossy.”
“I'm not bossy. I'm the boss.”
Evander’s mouth almost smiles.
“Phone,” I say finally. “I need it to test light. I need the camera app. I need my notes.”
Garron pulls it from his pocket and walks it over. He sets it on my knee. “Airplane mode,” he murmurs. “And you don't leave the room without one of us.”
I tap the setting and set it down again. “I want a shower. A real one.”
“We will not stop you,” he says. “Door stays open. One of us stands outside. I don't care which.”
Corwin perks. “Me.”
“No,” Garron and Evander say together.
I roll my eyes and stand. The three of them stay where they are, which is somehow worse than being grabbed. I walk to thebathroom. The water hits hot and loud, steam curling into the hall. When I come back out in a towel, they look up like I just walked into church.
