A Midsummer Night's Scream Page 2

  Then his screams stopped. His eyes closed. His head tilted back at an impossible angle. His eyes bulged, staring blankly at the ceiling.

  The others gaped in helpless horror. They knew Randy was dead. The electrical shock had killed him. But it kept him dancing. Jolt after jolt. His arms flailing, his legs bobbing and bending. A crazy, horrifying dance.

  A dance of the dead.

  Finally, he collapsed to the floor.

  He didn’t move. Darlene’s sobs broke the silence. Tony moved to hold her, but she knelt down beside Randy and held him by the shoulders. His mouth hung open. His face was burned black.

  Tony banged his fists on the wall angrily. Brian stared wide-eyed, as if he’d gone into a trance.

  “I warned him. You heard me,” Tony said. “You all heard me.” He was trying to sound tough, but his voice cracked.

  “Too late for warnings,” Sue murmured.

  “We’ve got to get it together,” Tony said, shaking his head. “We’ve got to think. Think…”

  “We’ve got to get out of this house before … before someone kills us all,” Brian said.

  Darlene set Randy’s charred head down gently. Then she climbed to her feet. “Brian is right. Let’s go. Let’s just get out.”

  She spun toward the kitchen door and strode over to it. Sue watched her struggle with the door handle. “Locked,” Darlene reported. “We’re locked in.”

  “Try the front door,” Sue said. She led the way back through the dining room. Past Cindy dead on the floor, her pale hand still sitting on the table. Through the library and front room. Back to the tall front door.

  Tony grabbed the door handle. Pushed, then pulled. Angrily, he set his shoulder against it and tried to force it.

  “Locked,” he finally admitted, breathing hard. “Someone must have locked it. We’re … trapped in here.”

  “Who is doing this to us?” Brian cried, pressing his hands to the sides of his face. “What crazy maniac wants to kill us all?”

  Tony frowned at Brian. “Get it together, man. If you lose your cool now, you’ll never get out of here.”

  “But … but…” Brian sputtered. “The doors are locked and the windows are barred.”

  “Upstairs,” Darlene said. “Maybe we can climb out an upstairs window.”

  Their shoes thudded on the hardwood floors as they made their way to the bottom of a steep stairway. The four teens gazed up into the darkness at the top. They hesitated.

  “Are you sure you want to go up there?” Brian asked. “It’s so dark, man.”

  “We have no choice,” Darlene said, pushing the two boys aside, “if we want to get out of this house alive.” She raised her foot to the first step. “Follow me.”

  They watched her run quickly up the wooden stairs. They were steep. There was no banister. And each step squeaked when she climbed onto it.

  She turned back to the three at the bottom. “What are you waiting for? Come on!”

  She raised her shoe to the next stair—and stumbled. They all screamed as Darlene fell. There was no step beneath her. The top boards were missing. It was an open hole.

  Darlene uttered a shrill wail as her body sank into the hole. She fell quickly. She raised her arms to stop herself, but she wasn’t quick enough. Her scream was cut off by a sickening craaack.

  The sound of her neck breaking.

  Her eyes went wide. Her face froze. Her body plummeted into the hole, and on the way down, her chin caught the stair edge. The fall broke her neck—and she died instantly.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Tony and Brian were screaming, staring up at Darlene’s head.

  Sue turned away from the scene of horror. She pointed at a strange man who suddenly appeared behind them. He was very short and had a wild nest of black hair on his head and a heavy black beard that cast his face in shadow.

  “Stop it!” Sue shrieked at him. “Why don’t you stop it? Stop it! Stop it!”

  4

  CURSED

  THE MOVIE SCREEN WENT WHITE. My friend Delia Jacobs and I sat staring at it, blinking at the sudden bright light. I tried to swallow but my throat was too dry.

  “That … was so horrible,” I said in a whisper. I pressed my hands against my cheeks. My palms felt cold and wet against my hot face. I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples.

  “Claire, I totally don’t believe it,” Delia said. “But it really happened, didn’t it? Those poor kids. Trying to make a movie and … and…” Her voice faded.

  Delia gripped the arms of the leather chair. She shuddered. “We actually watched those three young actors die. I think I’m going to be sick. Really.”

  “Me, too.”

  We were sitting in the front row of my family’s basement screening room. It’s a pretty awesome room—six rows of soft, comfortable chairs, a huge LED screen, a theater-quality sound system, and in the corner, an antique popcorn cart on two wheels that actually makes the best popcorn ever.

  But we didn’t make popcorn today. Delia and I knew what we were going to watch was truly horrifying. And real.

  My dad begged us not to watch it. He said it would give us nightmares. “I know you’re curious,” he said. “But sometimes it’s better not to know the reality.”

  Dad is an avoider. He likes to see the bright side of things. He has a way of pushing aside the unpleasant. I’m a lot like him. But this time I didn’t agree.

  Delia and I decided we had to see that film. We had to know what we were getting involved in.

  Let me explain.

  Delia and I have always dreamed about acting in movies, and our dream has come true. This summer we are going to be in the remake of Mayhem Manor. That’s why we just sat through the original Mayhem Manor film from 1960.

  Or, at least, what exists of it.

  The film ended when Darlene fell into that open stair and broke her neck. That was the last scene they shot. Because of the three horrible accidents—and the three deaths—the movie was never finished.

  It was a horror movie that turned into real horror.

  Three young actors lost their lives while the camera rolled. Books have been written about the tragic accidents that stopped the film. Some people believed that Mayhem Manor was cursed. It became a dark Hollywood legend.

  My mom and dad run WoodCast Studios in Burbank. They make one or two movies a year. Dad decided to green-light a new version of the old horror film. Sixty years had passed since the original Mayhem Manor. He knew a remake of a cursed film would get a lot of press, a lot of attention.

  Delia and I were desperate to be in it. As I said, we both totally want to be actors. We both auditioned …

  … and the rest is movie history.

  Okay, okay. I exaggerate. But, you never know.

  “Did you watch it?” A voice from behind us. My dad walked to the front of the screening room.

  “Yeah. We did,” I said. “Where were you? You were going to watch it with us.”

  He shrugged. He looked tired. “We had a problem on the set of Please Don’t, that comedy we’re doing. So what else is new? I had to stay late.”

  I told you Dad is an avoider. I knew he wouldn’t watch it with us.

  He rubbed his smooth cheeks. “I owe you girls an apology. I should never have given you the footage. It’s too upsetting and—”

  “Too late,” Delia murmured. “My stomach is already acting like a wave machine at Six Flags.”

  “I know I’m going to have nightmares tonight,” I said.

  “I warned you,” Dad said. “Maybe if you keep telling yourself it happened sixty years ago…”

  “How did it happen?” Delia asked. She suddenly looked very pale. “Did someone like deliberately kill those actors?”

  Dad shook his head. “It was a big mystery. A mystery that was never really solved. The L.A. police … the FBI … private investigators … they all decided the deaths were accidental. Three horrible accidents.”

  My stomach churned again. “I feel sic
k. Really.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Dad said. “But I guess you have to know the truth. You’re going back into that house to film our remake. So you need to know what happened there.”

  Delia and I gazed at the blank screen on the wall. I kept hearing those awful screams in my ears. Not acting. Real screams.

  “If either of you wants to quit…” Dad started.

  “No way!” Delia and I said in unison.

  “You’re right. We have to keep telling ourselves it was sixty years ago,” Delia said. “It’s history, right?” She was trying to be positive, but her voice trembled.

  “We’re so psyched to be in this movie,” I said. “We’ve both waited so long. It’s our dream, you know. We can’t wait to start. Right, Delia?”

  Delia nodded. “Can’t wait.”

  It’s true. I couldn’t wait for rehearsals to start. My first movie. What could be more exciting?

  Now if only I could get those three kids to stop screaming in my ears.

  PART TWO

  5

  STRANGE IMPULSES

  A WEEK AFTER DELIA AND I watched the footage of the old film, I went to Ross Harper’s party hoping to find Jake Castellano. Like the song says, I had lovin’ on my mind.

  Ross lives in an enormous mansion with a swimming pool the size of Lake Tahoe, on Loma Vista in Beverly Hills, which is a short drive from my house. Of course, my dad had to drive Delia and me to the party because of the screwed-up California driving laws.

  Delia and I are almost seventeen, which means we can drive anywhere we want to—until curfew time at eleven at night. Which makes no sense. How are we supposed to get home if we can’t drive after eleven? I mean, a lot of my friends don’t go out till eleven.

  Hey, but no complaints from me. Any pool party at Ross’s house is worth walking to, especially if his parents are away.

  Delia sat in the backseat of Dad’s BMW. She had her phone in one hand and drummed her fingers on the seat with the other. I could hear the tinny beats of music escaping from the earbuds in her ears.

  Did I mention that Delia and I are like this (two fingers close together)? I don’t think you could call her my BFF, but she’s definitely my Best Friend For Now.

  That’s because her mother keeps talking about leaving L.A., getting away from the lunatics, she says. Mrs. Jacobs and her new boyfriend aren’t in the movie business, and if you don’t work in movies in L.A., where are you?

  Delia doesn’t get along with either of them. The new boyfriend grooms dogs at home, and Delia hates dogs because she is allergic to all the fur. So she sleeps at my house whenever she can. Actually, she lives at my house and just goes home to change her clothes.

  Dad seemed preoccupied as he drove. He kept his eyes on the twisting road and crinkled his face, as if he had unpleasant thoughts running through his mind. I guessed he was thinking about going back to work tomorrow.

  I didn’t want to think about movies tonight. I wanted to think about Ross Harper’s party. His parties can be way wild.

  When Ross’s parents are away, some kids get pretty messed up, mostly on beer and wine and smoking things. And we all know why couples slink off to the pool house across the terrace. You don’t need to guess. I mean, it’s a three-bedroom pool house!

  Well, tonight I wanted to find Jake Castellano and get him alone somehow, away from Shawn O’Reilly, his hulking shadow, and just spill my guts. Tell him how I feel about him. The whole sweaty hands, heart-fluttering thing.

  Oh, wow. I don’t want to be living some douchy kind of teen romance. But I wouldn’t mind some romance. With Jake, that is. We’ve been bumping up against each other most of our lives, so he thinks of me as—wait for it—a friend. Is that the worst word in the English language?

  Delia didn’t want to come along. She doesn’t like Ross Harper. Delia says she hates rich people like Ross.

  Delia’s father made piles of money in real estate in the Valley. But I guess that doesn’t count to her since he ran off with some kind of countess and left her and her mother in their house on Melrose.

  When I told Delia that Shawn would probably be at the party, her dark eyes flashed and her whole expression changed. She’s been crushing on Shawn for weeks now. She says he hasn’t noticed. Which means Shawn is basically plant life, because Delia is the hottest girl at Beverly Hills Academy. Ask anyone.

  I don’t really understand what she sees in Shawn. He’s a big goofy teddy bear. And my idea of a good time isn’t hanging out at the beach, watching Shawn draped over a board in his wet suit, waiting for the next good wave.

  Anyway, my dad dropped us off at the gate in front of Ross’s house. Yes, there’s a tall iron fence around the property. Through the bars of the gate, I gazed up at the house, bathed in white light.

  I pressed the button on the intercom. The gate buzzed and started to swing open. As Delia and I walked up the wide driveway, we could hear music and kids talking and laughing around the pool on the other side of the house.

  It was a perfect L.A. night. The air was soft and warm and smelled sweet from the hibiscus beds along the drive. The huge house glowed. Like a movie set, I thought.

  As a maid showed us through the house to the terrace in back, I felt kind of tingly. You know. Like this could be an important party.

  Was I tense much? You think?

  Well, I’d had Jake on my mind all day. Crazy. He was like furniture. I mean, he’d been in my life forever. Our families are so close. Our parents are business partners—they run the WoodCast movie studio together—and we live next door to each other.

  I’m not sure when I started to think about Jake differently. But I was definitely thinking about him. And tonight …

  Who knew what tonight would bring?

  Do I have to describe the party scene to you? You’ve seen parties, right? Maybe not on a terrace as big as the Burbank airport. I saw at least two dozen kids around the pool, mostly from our school, but a few I didn’t recognize.

  They were standing in small groups or sprawled on the white wicker pool chairs, beer bottles in their hands, so I figured Ross’s parents weren’t home. Kids were talking loudly over the dance music that boomed from the speakers on poles around the pool.

  Some kids were in the blue sparkly water, mostly standing in the shallow end with their drinks on the edge of the deck. I waved to Ross, who had his arm around a tall redheaded girl I’d never seen before. I didn’t see Jake or Shawn.

  Delia had a short blue-and-white camisole shift over her swimsuit. She just pulled it off and tossed it over a chair. She kicked off her sandals and slid them under the chair. She has a great body, and I actually saw heads turn to stare at her as she made her way to the others, rocking her blue bikini.

  I wore white tennis shorts and a tank top. I didn’t plan to swim tonight. Hey, I’m all right in a bikini. I’m not a total knockout like Delia, but I’m okay in a cute way. Some people say I look like Cameron Diaz. But, you know, younger. Not so slutty.

  Couples were dancing on the side of the deck. They had green and blue lightsticks raised above their heads and they were jumping to the throbbing beats, like a crazy rave.

  I stepped close to the pool and actually gasped when I saw Annalee Franklin doing slow laps in the clear water. I gasped because I thought she was totally naked.

  That would be bold, even for Annalee. But as she swam closer, I saw her bikini. It was two strings. Literally. Two strings.

  She gazed up at me with her green cat-eyes. She probably saw my mouth hanging open. “Hey, Claire,” she called, paddling gently, water running off her smooth black hair. “Shooting starts tomorrow. We’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

  “I’m seeing a lot of you now!” I replied. I knew she couldn’t hear me over the music and the splash of the water. Annalee’s mother was some kind of beauty queen in China before the family moved here. And Annalee has the same perfect skin, cheekbones to die for, and fabulous smile.

  “I’ll be seein
g you on the set,” she said. She ducked under the surface, then resumed her slow swim. Were kids along the deck staring at her? Duh.

  “Don’t judge her,” a voice said. I turned to see Delia grinning at me.

  “Don’t judge her?”

  “She’s needy,” Delia said.

  “For sure. She needs a swimsuit,” I said.

  Delia gave me a shove. “Prude.”

  That kind of stunned me. “Huh? Really? Am I a prude?”

  But Delia took off without answering. I raised my eyes and saw where she was hurrying. Shawn and Jake had just stepped out from the house.

  My mouth suddenly felt dry. I watched Delia run up to the two guys as I crossed to the wet bar at the other end of the pool. Ross turned to greet me with a glass in his hand. “Hey.” We slapped knuckles. “Claire, what are you drinking?”

  “Nothing yet,” I said. I nodded at the glass in his hand. “What’s that?”

  “Red Bull and Stoli.”

  I blinked. “Any good?”

  He handed it to me. I took a sip. Awful.

  I grabbed a Diet Coke and tapped the can against his glass, like we were toasting. I took a long drink.

  Ross and I were kind of a couple for about an hour in tenth grade. But he decided it was more fun to play World of Warcraft with his buddies and get wrecked from his parents’ liquor cabinet than hang with me.

  No big whoop.

  “When is your birthday party?” Ross asked. “Some kids were talking about it.”

  “June twenty-first,” I said. “That’s the summer solstice. Midsummer night. It’s going to be crazy huge. At the movie studio. That’s the longest night of the year, and the party’s going to rock all night. Are you going to be in town?”

  He shrugged. “Hope so.” He took a long drink. Some of it spilled down his chin. “I hear you’re in that … that horror movie.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Delia, too. And Annalee. And Jake is working as a PA or something. I’m so excited. My parents finally gave in and said I could be in a movie. We’ve been rehearsing. We start filming this week.”