The candelabra quickly vanished.
Lana grabbed my shoulder and turned me toward her. “Hurry. Don’t watch them. We don’t have much time, Delia.”
I didn’t bother to correct the name this time. It was obvious she never intended to get it right.
She shoved the rolled-up script at me. I grabbed for it but dropped it.
Lana muttered something under her breath. As I bent to pick it up, I saw Delia and Annalee standing together on the other side of the dining-room table. I lifted the script and straightened the pages. “Where’s the scene?” I asked Lana.
“This one. This one.” Lana poked the page impatiently with a long red fingernail. “I’m sitting at the table. I say something about how we have to find dinner. The others are all arguing about how we’re going to spend the night in this horrible house. Tony and Randy get into a fight…”
“Okay.” My eyes scanned the page till I found the scene. Behind me, crew members were scurrying about. A boom mike was moved till it hovered over the table. More lights came on from the catwalk above. I heard Les shout that he was going to film the run-through, just in case it was good.
“Give me my first line,” Lana demanded, squeezing my wrist. “Hurry. You’re too slow. You’re not being helpful at all.” She gazed around frantically. “Where is Pablo? I can’t believe that bald-headed rat is doing this to me.”
“Jeremy, nice of you to show up,” I heard Les say with total sarcasm.
I glimpsed Jeremy Dane stepping onto the set. He flashed Les his fabulous smile. He’s twenty-three, boyish good looks to die for, a major tween-god and gossip mag idol from starring in Whoa, Jeremy, a Nickelodeon sitcom that rocked the TV ratings for six years. This is his first movie.
“Where’ve you been?” Les demanded. “You go out for a smoke?”
“I don’t smoke,” Jeremy replied.
“Well, maybe you should take it up. It might wake you up.”
Jeremy shrugged. “Whatever.” He smoothed a hand through his blond hair and flashed Lana a grin and a two-fingered salute. I saw Annalee hurry over to greet him.
“My first line,” Lana said through gritted teeth. “Give it to me. What is it?”
“Uh … you sit down at the table. And you say, ‘Come on, guys. Let’s all sit down. We can discuss it calmly. We have to go with the flow, right?’”
“That’s too much. Go slower,” Lana snapped. “Tony and Randy start arguing, right? There’s a shoving match. What do I say? Where do I look? Quick—what do I say?”
Was she so nervous she forgot everything? Or was she pretending she needed all this help just for attention?
My guess was she wanted attention. I knew she wasn’t stupid. She had spent the whole week of rehearsals pretending she needed everyone’s help. But it was easy to see how phony that was.
I lowered my eyes to the script. “You shout at the two boys to stop fighting. Then you look up. You see the sword falling from the ceiling. I mean, you have to pretend you see it falling. You scream—”
“I know. I know,” Lana snapped. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m a professional, you know.” She fluffed a hand up through her hair. “Okay. What do I do next?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Les interrupted. “Places!” he called. “Everyone. Places. That means you, too, Lana. I see you hiding in the corner.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” Lana replied sharply. “I was rehearsing.” She went storming toward the dining-room set.
“Then you’ll probably nail it in one take,” Les said.
Lana flashed him her warmest, phoniest smile. “I always do my best for you, Les, dear.”
“Well, you might start out on the other side of the table where you belong,” Les said.
The crew members knew better than to laugh. But I saw a big grin spread over Jeremy Dane’s face.
The studio publicity staff wanted to start a story that Jeremy and Lana had become a couple. But it wasn’t true. Jeremy spent a lot of time huddling with Lana, playing nice with her and trying to help her with her part. But he was always making faces behind her back.
Les guided Lana to the edge of the set. “You enter from here and you walk to the chair in the middle. It’s marked. See the tape on the back?”
Lana nodded. “No problem.”
“You gaze up and down the table. You’re a little worried. The six of you are spending the night in this haunted house, and no one is behaving well. You pull out the chair and sit down. Then you do your first line.”
“I get it, Les.”
“And don’t look up at the swords. Not till I give the signal.”
“Got it.”
“When you see the sword shooting down, we have to see the horror on your face. Instant terror.”
“Okay. No problem. But nothing really falls down on me?”
“We do that all later in CGI,” Les said. “Nothing falls on you. But you have to see it in your mind, Lana. You have to see it crashing down on you.”
“Of course, Les.”
“Sit down,” Les said. “Let’s start with you sitting at the table. You know your lines, right?”
Lana pulled out the chair, then settled onto it. She hesitated. Then she called to me. “Delia, could you bring me my script? Could I have it back, please?”
I hadn’t moved from the corner. I didn’t even realize I still had the script in my hand. I took off running with the script raised in front of me. “Here it is,” I called.
I was only a few feet from Lana when I tripped over a floor cable. I stumbled forward with my arm raised—and before I could catch myself, my head bumped the hard wood edge of the dining-room table.
“Owwww.” I actually saw stars.
Shaking off the pain, I pulled myself to my feet. I heard alarmed voices all around. “I’m okay,” I shouted. “Really.”
But I heard a whisper in my ears. Like a gust of wind. Or a human sigh.
I pressed my hand over my forehead. The pain was fading but the whisper grew louder.
I glanced up—and my breath caught in my chest as I saw the swords on the ceiling move. They both tilted, up then down. One of the swords started to fall.
I froze. No time to move. No time to scream a warning.
The silvery blade came sailing straight down. Glowing in the lights, it fell straight like a guillotine blade.
I heard a sick crunch.
Lana’s eyes bulged.
She raised her arm. And I saw … I saw … no hand attached to it. No hand. No hand on her wrist.
The blade sliced her hand off cleanly.
She opened her mouth to scream, but only a hoarse gagging sound escaped her throat.
A gusher of bright-red blood came spurting up from her open wrist. It splashed over the table and puddled on her lap.
The whole room exploded with cries and shouts. People sobbed and moaned in horror.
I tightened my jaw, struggling to keep my breakfast down.
And I stared at the small, pale hand all by itself on the table.
The fingers …
The fingers curled and uncurled.
The hand had been sliced off, but the fingers still moved.
The fingers rubbed the table. Clenched and unclenched.
And then they lay still.
20
DON’T DO IT, DELIA
LANA’S SCREAMS RANG OFF THE WALLS. People rushed to help her. Someone wrapped a towel around her arm to stop the blood spurting from her open wrist. Over her screams, I heard sirens outside. Security guards had gotten the word and came rushing in, looking alert and frightened, hands on their holsters.
I held my head, still throbbing from my stumble. The whispering in my head had stopped but the memory of it lingered. In the corner of the room, I saw the actor who plays Brian bent over, throwing up loudly.
I spotted Jake, hanging back by the doorway. I ran to him, my chest heaving, sobs shaking my body. I ran into his arms. I nearly knocked him over.
&nbs
p; “Was it my fault?” The words burst out. “Did I do that? My head … it bumped the table and then the sword crashed down.”
Jake kept his arms around me. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, eyes on the crew people stretching Lana out on the floor. Dark blood puddled under the table and her chair. Her screams had turned to moans.
“How could it be your fault, Claire?” Jake said. “Bumping the table didn’t make that sword fall.”
“Then … what did?” I gasped. “What did?”
* * *
Messed up. It was all messed up. A week later, we were all still totally freaked. The production was shut down. In fact, the whole studio had been abandoned while the police did their thing.
We were all at my house. Shawn, Delia, Jake, and me. We were spread out on the green leather chairs and the long couch in the den. There were Cokes and bowls of Tostitos and pretzels on the low slate coffee table. But no one felt like eating.
We tried to talk about other things, but it was hard because we all couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. Especially Jake, Delia, and me, who saw the whole thing.
“Every time I shut my eyes, I see the blood,” I said. “It just came spraying out of her wrist … spurt … spurt … spurt … like from a pump. And then she started screaming. Screaming in this weird animal voice. You know. Like some creature being squeezed in a trap. And each scream came with another spurt of blood.”
I covered my face with my hands. “I … just can’t get the picture out of my mind. Or the sound of those horrible screams.”
Shawn tried to put his arm around me. To comfort me, I guess. But I shrugged him away. He looked a little shocked at the rejection. But I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. He lumbered over to the foosball game in the corner of the room and fiddled with the handles.
Delia dropped beside me on the couch and took my hand. “I honestly didn’t think it was real,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, we were making a movie, right? So my brain just figured it was part of the film. Special effects. Fake blood. Then … when I realized what was happening … that it was all real … I … I don’t remember exactly. I must have shocked out or something.”
Delia swallowed. I saw big teardrops cover both of her eyes. They rolled down her pale cheeks. “I kind of fell,” she said. “I remember I dropped to my knees. I fell to the floor and covered my eyes. I didn’t want to see it. That hand on the table by itself. Like a pale, white crab. I didn’t want to see it. But I couldn’t shut out the screams. I couldn’t…”
Her voice trailed off. The two of us huddled together. Behind us, Shawn fiddled quietly with the foosball game. I knew he wasn’t good at showing any emotion. A silence fell over the room.
I think we all jumped when the doorbell rang. Through the den doorway, I saw Maria, our housekeeper, hurrying to answer the front door.
A few seconds later, Annalee Franklin appeared. She was wearing yellow short shorts as tight as her skin, a tight sleeveless purple t-shirt, and purple sneakers to match. Her shiny black hair came down to her bare shoulders.
“I just came from the hospital,” she said. She tossed her red vinyl bag against the side of the couch and dropped down next to Jake. She patted his leg. “Hey, Jake.”
I jumped to my feet. “You saw Lana? I didn’t think she was seeing anyone.”
Annalee shrugged. “They let me in. I said I was family.”
Family? Really?
“Well, how is she?” I asked. “Tell us. Don’t keep us in suspense, Annalee. Is she okay? Is she getting out of the hospital?”
Annalee’s expression turned serious. “She’s not exactly okay. I mean, she lost so much blood, you know. She almost died. They didn’t think she was going to make it.”
“But she’s okay now?”
“Well, she’s going to live. But she … well … she wouldn’t talk to me. She said I’m a stranger. She doesn’t know me. I said I came to represent the whole cast. She just repeated the word. Represent? Represent? Then she turned her head to the wall. I think she’s totally depressed.”
“Of course she’s depressed!” Delia exclaimed. “Wouldn’t you be? Her career is over. She’s finished. Toast. And all because of a stupid accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Jake said, turning to Delia. “I told you. It’s the curse. The Curse of Mayhem Manor.”
“Stop saying that,” Delia scolded him. “That’s just junk.”
“How could it be an accident?” Jake said. “It was an exact copy of what happened in the original film. In that old film, Cindy got her hand sliced off. And now—what? Cindy got her hand sliced off. Do you really think that’s just a coincidence? There’s a curse on this film. Believe me.”
I sighed. “Maybe Jake is right.”
Delia scowled. “We don’t need that superstitious garbage now. All your woo-hoo magic. This is real life. Real life.”
“Maybe it’s not superstitious garbage,” I told her. I grabbed Delia’s arm. “I heard something, Delia. Just before the sword came crashing down. I heard a whisper … a loud whisper in my ears and … and it sounded human.”
“Stop it, Claire. Just stop it,” Delia begged. She covered her ears.
“Even Pablo, Lana’s psychic, warned her not to go in the old house,” I said. “He felt the curse, too.”
Annalee had her hand on Jake’s thigh. I wanted to kill her. She kept leaning against him. Teasing him.
“They’re going to go on with our film, right?” she asked me. “Did your dad say—”
I sighed again. “Dad says the lawyers want to stop production. Lana’s going to have a major lawsuit, and—”
“But our parents are counting on this film,” Jake interrupted. “They need this movie to keep the studio going. They really want to start up again as soon as the police finish in the old house.”
A wave of sadness rolled over me. “I’ve waited so long for this break. Years! I really hope we can keep filming.”
Shawn stepped away from the foosball game and sat down in the chair across from Annalee. He was staring at her legs. “In the hospital, did you see Lana’s arm?” he asked her.
“It’s all wrapped up. It has like a cast over it.”
“It looks like a stump?” Shawn asked.
“Don’t be gross,” I said. “What do you think it looks like?”
Shawn shrugged. “Just asking.”
“Let’s try to change the subject,” Annalee said. “Tell us about your birthday party, Claire. Why are you making such a big deal over seventeen?”
I really didn’t want to discuss my party with her. But maybe it would help get us out of this deep muck of sadness.
“Because I couldn’t have a Sweet Sixteen,” I said. “No one was around last year.” I shook my head. “That’s why having your birthday in the summer is the worst. Everyone’s always away.”
“You were away, too,” Annalee said. “Your family was in France, remember? Remember how I begged you to take me along?”
“Anyway, that’s why they promised me I could have a huge Sweet Seventeen,” I said. “They said I can have the whole studio … anyone I want to invite … bands … lights … food trucks…”
“Wow. I’m ready to party!” Annalee said. She flashed Jake a smile and rubbed her hand on his arm. She was definitely coming on to him—right in front of me, even though she knew how I felt about Jake.
I decided to ignore it. “They said I could have anything I could dream up,” I continued. “So I’m calling it A Midsummer Night’s Dream. We all read the play last year, right? It’s going to be like that, with fairies and lights in the trees and all kinds of magic and music all night.”
“Awesome,” Shawn said. “Did they have Coors in Shakespeare’s time?”
“For sure,” Jake said. “But no coolers. So they had to drink it warm.”
Annalee laughed as if Jake had made the funniest joke in history and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.
Dad walked into
the room. He had a serious look on his face. He had just come from the studio. He was still dressed in khakis, a blue dress shirt and tie, and his navy blazer.
“We got the go-ahead from the lawyers,” he announced.
“You mean … you’re going ahead with the picture?” I said.
He nodded.
I wanted to jump up and cheer. I saw Delia’s eyes flash with excitement.
“Maybe some of you would like to quit,” Dad said, his eyes stopping on each one of us. “That would be okay. You just have to tell me now. If you believe like Claire that there’s a curse on the film—”
“Wait a minute,” I cried, jumping to my feet. “Jake is the one who thinks there’s a curse. And now that the same thing happened to Lana that happened to that girl back in 1960—”
Dad raised a hand to cut me off. “I know. Do you think we haven’t discussed the whole thing for days? It was a terrible, terrible accident. And I know your take on it, Claire. I know you think there’s some kind of evil supernatural curse on the house and—”
I scowled at him. “You’re making fun of me. It’s like a joke to you?”
“Believe me, it’s no joke,” Dad said. He turned to Jake. “Your parents agree with me, Jake. We’re all in agreement. We have come through a terrible tragedy. But if we want our studio to survive, we need the film to go on.”
Jake shrugged in reply. “I’m just an intern,” he muttered. “I’ll stick with it if everyone else will.” Annalee squeezed his hand.
Dad turned to Delia. “We have to replace Lana,” he said, rubbing his chin. “We decided we don’t have time to go out and find another well-known actress. So we thought of you, Delia. You’re beautiful and you’ve acted in other productions. And you’ve been in rehearsals, so you’re familiar with the part. Will you step into the starring role for us?”
I don’t know about the others. But I just stared at Delia, who had her hands pressed to the sides of her face and looked totally shocked. And I thought: Don’t do it, Delia. Please don’t do it. Something terrible could happen. Please don’t be next.
“Of course I’ll do it,” Delia said. “Thanks.”