Date: 2026-05-26 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: young adult horror; the october society; scary old films; trapped; no way out
Description: Squeaky-clean Martina Ramirez is about to commit her first crime with a group of six schoolmates—breaking and entering into an abandoned movie theater. But the trespassers soon find themselves trapped inside, and while desperately trying to discover a way out, a projector starts playing a film introduction to a vintage episode of a horror series named Forlorn Harbor. When the introduction ends, one of the group becomes trapped within the film. The only method of escape is to survive the episode, but Forlorn Harbor doesn't play fair. As the terrifying night wears on, the projector displays more
Publisher: Rowan Prose Publishing

FORLORN HARBOR

Jim Doran

Table of Contents

Title Page

Forlorn Harbor

DEDICATION:

Lookout

The Theater

The Serial

A Sunny Day in Willowton

Interlude

A Changeling of Scenery

The Lobby

Quit Hanging Around

One More

Red Rover

Confessions and Ideas

Silent Auction

The Commercial

The Tallax

Coming Attractions

Three Wishes

The New Girl

Thunderous Encounters

Forlorn Harbor

The Dilemma

The Ending Nobody Saw Coming

Acknowledgments (Roll Credits)

CHECK OUT THESE OTHER EPIC YA READS FROM ROWAN PROSE: | Jim Doran is a genre writer who has been published in Havok, Every Day Fiction, and Ye Olde Dragon’s horror and fairytale anthologies. He resides in Michigan.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

© COPYRIGHT 2026 by Jim Doran

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

AI was not used to write this book, to create the cover art, or in formatting.

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for genAI training and development of machine learning language models.

Warning: May contain mature content that may disturb some readers. Reader discretion advised.

Cover Art Design by: Kelly Moran/Rowan Prose Publishing

Photo Credit: Adobe Images/Deposit Photos

First Edition

ISBN: 9798230213888
eBook Edition

Rowan Prose Publishing, LLC
www.RowanProsePublishing.com

Published in the United States of America

PRAISE FOR JIM DORAN:

“Each ‘episode’ of this horror novel is a thrill to read.”

-Kristiana Sfirlea, Readers’ Favorite Gold Medalist Author of The Stormwatch Diaries series

“An enjoyable, scary book filled with suspense. I was as immersed as the characters, and equally unable to escape.”

-Michelle Tang, Author of DuMort

DEDICATION:

To my rising curtain, my thunderous applause, my Hope.

Lookout

Martina stood alone at two in the morning under the marquee of an old, abandoned theater, waiting to commit her first crime. All she had to do was keep an eye out for the police. Her part was simple. Easy-peasy. Her classmates had the more difficult job. They had to pass the steel grating barring their entrance and collect the goodies inside.

This area of Queensborough, Pennsylvania was marked by gated stores and long-abandoned buildings. The party store on the other side of the four-lane road advertised beer, liquor, CBD, and lottery tickets—everything but food.

Several streetlights flickered, and the ones that shone steadily spotlighted flakes of November snow—icy dust devils. Thin frost coated a nearby fire hydrant as well as several objects on the cracked sidewalk—a shard of glass, a button, a black plastic bag.

Everyone said this was too early for snow, but Martina wouldn’t know. Back home, or what used to be home in Tampa, icy precipitation was rare and brought the city to a halt. Not here. She had overheard at least six inches of snow had to fall before they considered canceling classes at James Carter High School, or Jimmy’s High as the students called it.

The frigid air should keep some people off the streets. Good. She didn’t want to encounter anyone but her classmates tonight. They had promised her the entire operation would take less than an hour. In, out, gone. Here’s your money. Bye.

But nothing was ever that simple, was it? While she waited, an older man rounded the corner on the other side of the road. He ambled along, bundled in a heavy overcoat with a sailor’s hat pulled low. Martina assumed the man was homeless to be out on such a night.

She stepped into the shadows. Yet, when the man reached a point directly across the street, his head swiveled toward her.

He peered at her with the intensity of a flashlight parting the darkness. For those few seconds, he stared at her. Martina turned and pretended to inspect the structure behind her.

Shivering, Martina counted the specks in the bricks of the building. One. Two. Three. Counting soothed her. When she reached ten, she stopped.

With the apprehension of a person who loses sight of a spider, she glanced over her shoulder. Gone. No footprints in the frost, no echoing footsteps retreating. Almost as if he had never existed.

She faced the building again and leaned her forehead against the bricks. “Martina, you imagined him,” she whispered. “Just like you let your imagination run away before.”

When she had first arrived tonight, Martina had examined the façade of the building. The Olde Gem Majestic Theater had been abandoned a decade before. A faded plaque displayed 1922, the construction year. The plaque triggered her mind to wander into the past.

The Queensborough planners had erected this building when the neighborhood overflowed with men in topcoats and women in berets. Martina pictured herself on the street, dressed for a night out. In her daydream, she approached the fully functional movie house with its lights blazing and its patrons dripping with jewelry. Car horns honked, and excited ticket holders babbled about the production, but the images and sounds drifted away when a howling blast of air from the present diverted her attention.

Naturally, the ushers wouldn’t have admitted a girl in here with her features. Martina’s parents were born in Honduras, and she had inherited their straight, black hair. She also had her mother’s pear-green eyes and her father’s large ears, which she kept hidden under her tresses.

Could she have imagined the man now in this same way? And where were her classmates? Martina was starting to suspect they were pranking her. They had told her to be here at two in the morning. She had snuck out of her house, jogged to the downtown area, and arrived promptly. The others had informed her they would be in a van together. They claimed they lived on the other side of town—translation: the rich side. Her own family wasn’t poor, but they struggled to remain middle class. Money was one of the reasons the Ramirezs had packed up and left for Pennsylvania before Martina’s last year of high school. Her accountant father’s gran promoción as he called it.

An engine purred in the distance. Martina turned toward the noise, hoping the vehicle carried her classmates. Through the darkness at the end of the roadway, she spotted a blue SUV emerging from the drifting flurries, headlights shining two spotlight eyes on her. The vehicle sped down the street and caught her in its beams, pinning her against the wall. She raised her arm to cover her eyes as the van swept past and turned into an alley next to the building.

The others were here. Tonight’s job wasn’t a prank. Martina rubbed her hands together. Would it have been so bad if it were? Deep down, she’d hoped they wouldn’t show up.

Hurrying to the mouth of the alley, she skidded to a stop in the snow. Doors opened, and she quickly counted six heads inside. The back hatch of the SUV raised itself while a few passengers exited. At first, the six figures were nothing but shadows, not real people at all, but creatures of the night stalking toward Martina. She blinked a few times, and they solidified. She identified them as people she had met over the last few months at Jimmy’s High.

However, she didn’t recognize the driver. His deep baritone cut through the darkness. “Hey, dumbass! Don’t you know how to be a lookout? You avoid headlights, not stand in them.”

A different passenger approached, hand out. The girl’s red, puffy jacket added to the bulk of her figure, and Martina’s pulsating nerves relaxed a trifle. She could count on Theresa Kraczinski even if she didn’t trust the others. Theresa had asked her to come tonight. “Leave her alone, Geoff. She knew it was us.”

Geoff’s pale complexion turned red at the retort. He rubbed a blond, pencil-thin mustache with his index finger. As he gathered his jacket closer to ward off the cold, his muscles bulged against the leather. Geoff didn’t attend Jimmy’s High with the rest of them. Theresa had told her he’d graduated two years earlier.

Geoff swung around the rear of the van. “Everyone, grab something. Even you, new girl.”

Martina stiffened when he called her out. She wanted them all to think she was a team player. One of them. Yet they never said she had to do the dirty work. “I’m the lookout.”

A slighter boy cut off Geoff. “We promised her she wouldn't have to go inside. I’ll carry extra tools.”

The boy’s response hadn’t surprised Martina. Hazel-eyed soccer champion Liam Crosswell carried the other girls’ books down the hallways. Liam—who held the door for her when she had her hands full. Six degrees of Kevin Bacon? Everyone at Jimmy’s High wanted to be within one degree of Liam. Theresa had told her Liam’s older brother was Geoff. Were these two really related?

Geoff scowled and slapped his brother’s head, mussing his swooping blond hair. “Whadja make that promise for, bro?” Geoff asked. “She’s so tall she could dunk a basketball. She might come in handy.”

Martina blushed at the reference to her height, often a source of teasing and never an advantage with her classmates.

Ned Bellows, a Black boy in a letter jacket, brushed a stray snowflake off the “J” letter emblazoned on his chest. He touched the letter reverently as a war veteran might tap an Army Cross medal. “I’m nearly her height. We don’t need her inside with us.” He hefted the sledgehammer he was carrying.

Though Martina was the subject of his dismissive words, Ned refused to meet her eyes. She could tell he had no use for her. Before this night, she wasn’t sure he knew she existed, though they were in Algebra 3 together.

Geoff reached in and then handed a crowbar to Liam. “Well, she better be worth her share.”

“All she has to do is watch out for anyone.” Theresa received a backpack from Geoff. “No one’s around here this time of night.”

“Right.” Another girl emerged from the van. Joyna Rajakonar, or Joy, could pass for a teenage model with her shiny, dark hair and piercing dark-brown eyes. No pimple would dare take residence on her sepia-brown complexion. The captain of the volleyball team, she was the take-charge sort. She grabbed a flashlight. “Welcome to Druggie Central, our city’s finest neighborhood.”

Martina blinked at the statement. She hadn’t considered what would happen if someone looking for trouble wandered into view. Should she call out? Would the witness later tell the police what he saw? If she asked, they might think she was dumb. She would consult Theresa later.

The last passenger to slide out of the car was a girl who, from the back, might have passed for a tween. She stood a full head shorter than Joy, even with her spiky, nutmeg-brown hair. Displaying caked-on mascara over a pink complexion and wearing a T-shirt boasting the word Badass in script, the girl uttered a single word to Joy’s observation. “Yeah.” She was Kaylee McMasters, Joy’s lapdog, constantly by the other girl’s side.

The seven of them emerged from the alleyway onto the street. Martina quickly categorized them. Friendly Theresa, nice-guy Liam, jock Ned, snooty Joy, toady Kaylee, and domineering Geoff—the organizer of tonight’s activities. What would their description of her be? She hoped “quiet Martina,” but she suspected they wouldn't be so kind.

Liam gazed up at the empty marquee. “It’s really too bad. I happen to like old movies.”

Wisps of heated air emerged from Geoff’s mouth as he spoke. “The guy who contacted me said lots of copper wiring was left in this dump. The city pulled it out of the walls and it’s ready for the taking. The dude wanted us to also make holes to be certain we got it all. If we find more, we’ll snip it with this.” He raised a hedge clipper.

Liam reared back. “Wait a minute. How do we know electricity isn’t running through the wires?”

His brother used his index finger to tap on Liam’s temple. “Hello? Anyone in there? Electricity hasn’t run in this building for years. Look at it. This trash heap’s falling apart.”

Martina again surveyed the Olde Gem Majestic’s brick and stone exterior. Nothing hung from its marquee, and the “j” in “Majestic” resembled a “g” due to the top curling over on itself, but the structure still looked sturdy. Liam’s question wasn’t idiotic at all.

Liam pointed at Geoff. “You cut the wires, then.”

Geoff tilted his head to the gate. “Come on. Let’s remove these chains.”

The group approached the entrance with Martina in the rear, their footsteps quiet in the thin layer of snow. They gathered at a security gate blocking a set of four doors.

Joy touched the metallic barricade. “How do we get past this?”

“We might have to pop it off its track.” Geoff ran a hand through his crewcut.

Ned shrugged. “Seems pretty solid.”

“Why the hell do you think you’re here, asshat?” Geoff snorted.

Geoff handed the bolt cutters to his brother and reached for the gate. He slipped his fingers into the break where the two sections of the gate came together above the keyhole in the center of a square panel. “If we can get leverage, we should be able to—”

The barrier separated in the middle after Geoff exerted some effort. The rusty metal scraped against the track with a squeal. Geoff stepped back, surprised. “Huh. Whadja know? The damn thing wasn’t locked.”

He parted the gate and then pulled on the chains. “Hey, beanstalk, keep an eye out for anyone.”

Trying! Deserted street. Check. No homeless sailor. Double check.

Straining with effort, Geoff grunted, and the bolt cutters snapped the chains. They fell to the ground with a clatter, reminding Martina of shows where a night security guard’s keys jangled when he was making the rounds.

The cutting of the chain committed the seven of them to the job. No backing out now.

Geoff separated the gates further, widening the opening. Then, reaching to one of the doors beyond, he shoved it open. The door squealed in protest, but gave way. Clicking on a flashlight, Geoff swung it around the room.

From the windy sidewalk, Martina peered past the gate into the once-opulent lobby. The tattered carpet, present in patches and reminding her of lily pads on a lake, indicated a once-luxurious, lime-colored covering with gold speckles. To the left was a concession stand running along one wall, collapsed in the middle. The display cases without glass now only offered cobwebs and thick dust. On the opposite side, empty frames once proclaimed coming attractions.

Doors across the room in the left and right corners led into the viewing area. Compared to the rest of the decorated chamber, these doors were utilitarian. In Martina’s imagination, attendants stood at the portals leading to the auditorium, ready to take tickets and push open the doors. Calliope music and the scent of buttery, concession popcorn accompanied the scuffling noises of theatergoers forming lines.

Joy snapped her fingers. “Easy. Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get out of the cold.”

She and Kaylee entered together, and Geoff followed them. Brushing Martina aside, Ned strolled in behind them. Liam regarded her. “You’re going to be fine out here.”

Was that a question or a command? She clasped her hands. “Yes.”

Liam locked eyes with Theresa and then entered the Majestic. Theresa put her hand on Martina’s arm. “Text us if you see anyone. Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen. Easy in. Easy out.”

Martina’s body released a little tension at Theresa’s reassuring touch. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Don’t abandon us,” said Theresa. “We’ll be right back.”

Martina responded with a curt nod.

Theresa then entered the theater after the others, turning on her light. Nobody had thought to supply Martina with a flashlight. After all, it might attract attention. Her classmates, now dark figures, shined their circles of illumination while they crossed the grand lobby.

“Any wiring in here?” Liam said while he directed his light toward the concession stand.

“Nah. It’s in the theater,” his brother replied.

“This is the theater, jerkoff,” snapped Joy. “You mean the wiring is where they show the picture.” Her voice faded as she walked farther inside.

Geoff called Joy a name, but the scraping of the sledgehammer across the floor drowned out his response.

The six soon-to-be burglars walked to open doors leading to the seating area, and Martina spun on her heel. She released a long, unsteady breath. Her job should be the easiest. Watch. Don’t panic. Alert them if something happened. She could do this. She had spent most of her time at school being as invisible as possible.

She stepped into the shadows and checked her phone: 2:20. A forceful wind blew down the road, pushing an empty beer bottle along a gutter. The nails of a tiny animal clicked from the alley. Martina bit her tongue, hoping the creature wouldn’t dart around the corner.

Again, the wind blew her hair. She lowered her head, reaffirming her mission. Martina wouldn’t abandon them if a car’s headlights exposed her lurking in the shadows. She had come here to gain their trust and acceptance.

Unlocking her phone, she scrolled to Theresa’s phone number. If someone came and she had to warn them, the theater must have a back exit they could escape through. Would they let her in the van if they had to leave quickly? She doubted it.

Martina again checked the time on her phone. Three minutes had passed. How long would this take? Why hadn’t she asked? She crossed her arms. Why not just pick up the wiring from the floor and bring it out? They must know leaving with a portion of the copper would be better than having the police catch them trying to find traces of it in the walls.

Bang.

Martina put her hand over her mouth, believing at first that someone had fired a gun inside, but the sound was from the sledgehammer hitting concrete. She swallowed down her urge to rush in and ask them to stop. Her family had books on famous buildings: museums, cathedrals, mansions. She had spent hours poring through them. The lines of the buildings came together at perfect ninety-degree angles. The masonry at the edges and the harmony between the structure and the surrounding environment fascinated her. Why must they damage the walls of the Majestic? Then again, the city was going to tear it down eventually. So what if her companions made a few holes?

Still, Martina knew their actions made a difference. They shouldn’t be destroying the walls of this grand relic. She touched the bricks and whispered, “I suppose you don’t like this, do you?”

God, Martina, now you’re talking to buildings. Could you be any weirder?

She huffed at herself and rubbed her arms. Had the temperature dropped ten degrees since she’d arrived? The cold bit at her—a savage animal ready to tear her open. She wanted this night over. Now.

Then, a door across the lobby opened, and footsteps echoed throughout the lofty entrance. Martina emerged from the shadows and peeked in through the doors. Theresa walked toward her, holding the flashlight against her chest and illuminating her upper torso and face.

Theresa stopped at the gate. “Hey, dove. They want you back there.”

Though she appreciated the term of affection, Martina hugged herself tighter. “What? Why?”

“Liam spotted a hole in the wall far above us,” Theresa explained. “Geoff lifted Joy onto his shoulders, but she’s still too short. You’re tall enough.”

“But Ned—”

“Geoff can’t lift Ned.”

Martina nodded toward the street. “But what about my being the lookout?”

Theresa raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I doubt anything will come along for a couple of minutes.”

Biting her lip, Martina counted. One. Two. Three. A sense of peace came with each number. The familiar pattern helped to combat the anxiety lurking near the surface of Lake Martina.

Theresa interrupted her count. “Liam spotted something glittering in the hole.”

Shuffling her feet, Martina mumbled. “I don’t know.”

“Come on. We want to make sure it’s not more copper. Maybe it’s valuable. Something we can keep and not tell the guy who sent us here.”

Ugh! Admittedly, a small part of her wanted to explore what was inside. To come all this way and never view the interior would be a shame.

She stepped through the gate’s opening and followed Theresa across the lobby. The heavyset girl kept the flashlight beam on the floor and avoided broken glass. “Watch out here.”

Martina deftly avoided the glass shards and other obstacles on the floor, stomping off the excess slush from her shoes. Though the wind was no longer a factor, the chamber chilled her. She rubbed her arms, hurrying after Theresa until they reached the auditorium door. The door moved without a squeak, and Martina followed Theresa into the inner sanctum.

The room was immense and emptier than Martina expected. Instead of rows of plush seats, a scattering of chairs sat at the front of the space. Fragments of velvet wallpaper drooped down, exposing large portions of the cement underneath. A few empty sconces hung on the walls. Someone had piled building debris in the middle of the sloping floor.

Amazingly, the screen was still intact. Like a horizontal window to a white world, it stretched the length of the wall. Martina’s emotions trilled at the sight of the material where countless movies had entertained people. Dorothy and her companions skipped across this screen to call on the Wizard of Oz, tanks advanced while firing on an enemy army, and lightsaber duels flashed and sparked upon this canvas.

Theresa led the way to the others.

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Geoff, his question directed at Theresa.

Theresa blinked. “I fetched Martina like you asked.”

Geoff rolled his shoulders. “You were supposed to replace her, shit-for-brains.”

“She needed a flashlight to cross the room and—”

“Just shut up.” Geoff pointed at Martina. “Giraffe-girl, get over here. I’ll give you a boost.”

Martina followed his instruction, and the group’s leader cupped his hands. She put her hands on his shoulders and placed her foot in his makeshift cradle. He lifted her with a grunt. “Not too light, are you?”

Martina ignored the insult, reaching up to grab the edge of the hole indicated. “I need to stand on your shoulders.”

“Go ahead.”

She stepped on Geoff’s shoulders and peered into the hole, a small, square inset that proceeded deep into the wall. Cobwebs squatted inside. “Nothing’s here.”

Geoff grabbed her ankles and shifted his weight. “Put your hand in there.”

Martina gulped. Who knew what nasty thing might be living in those wispy strands? Nonetheless, the others were counting on her. She thrust her arm in and felt around. Besides the cobwebs, her fingers touched nothing. “Empty.”

“Come down then,” said Geoff. “And return outside.”

Martina descended with Liam helping her. When her feet hit the ground, relief spread through her. She could now go back to her post.

Suddenly, the flashlights all winked out, plunging the auditorium into darkness. Martina had noticed the same behavior everywhere a power outage struck. A moment of silence always preceded the outburst of groans or gasps, and the same was true here. For a few seconds, the theater was as silent as a mausoleum. Then, Geoff and Ned both cussed at the same time.

“What the—?” Joy’s voice.

Before anyone responded, a beam of light shone from the back of the hall and projected onto the screen.

The Theater

The theater’s canvas displayed a turbulent sea, huge black-and-white waves cascading before their eyes, while a rushing tidal sound filled the auditorium. The water rose and soon crashed down. The darkness of the scene contrasted with a few whitecaps on the waves. To Martina, the whitecaps resembled shark’s teeth.

She retreated to the wall and placed her palms behind her, flat against it. Heart pounding, she gripped the ridges of the cinderblocks, and then music suddenly cut across the building. The soundtrack played an organ note deep and loud enough to vibrate the ground. Martina sucked in a breath and held it in her lungs, frozen in place.

Then the movie found its voice. Raspy, disquieting narration filled the chamber.

“Most grizzled sailors know to avoid Perdition Sea.”

Though the flashlights weren’t working, the movie now illuminated the large auditorium. A pale Geoff cursed and added, “Someone’s here. Head out the back. They’ll be waiting for us at the front.”

“Way ahead of you,” Ned called out near the rear of the building as the movie voice filled in the gaps between the shouting in the theater.

Images of the thrashing water loomed large. The voice from the film continued. “...host of the Rapids of Anguish and the Eternal Vortex. If you find yourself in these treacherous waters...”

Sneakers squeaked against the floor, rushing across the hall to the back exit. Ned yelled, “Not this way. Someone walled it up.”

Geoff pushed Joy and Kaylee aside on his way to Ned. “I saw a door earlier.”

The narration droned on. “...piercing the darkness. This solitary light will lead...”

Still terrified, Martina swiveled toward the sound of Geoff slamming his hand against the wall with a resounding thud. A volley of four-letter words followed. All the would-be thieves except Martina huddled together. After a few seconds, Liam stepped aside and stared at the screen.

Turning, Martina examined the doors into the auditorium where they’d entered. If she darted for that exit, would the others believe she was deserting them? Or—

Hands shoved her, pushing her aside, and Martina stumbled. Joy advanced toward the lobby, her jaw set in determination. Kaylee, in true lapdog fashion, followed behind her. When Geoff spotted them, he shouted. “Not that direction, idiots. The lobby is where the cops will be.”

“...the legendary lost vessels and ghost ships...”

Joy ignored Geoff’s warning and sprinted to the exit. She pushed on the handles. Instead of the doors opening, her forward momentum slammed her body into the barrier. “What the—?”

“...graveyard of bones that have seen more darkness than...”

Kaylee gave the doors a shove. “They’re stuck.”

Theresa ran to join Joy and Kaylee. Transfixed, Liam gaped at the screen while a panning shot rolled from a dock to a nearby graveyard. Geoff continued running his hand over the bricks.

Her eyes on the furthest door to the lobby, Martina started in that direction. She leaped over piles of debris. Perhaps they had only locked one of the doors to funnel her and her classmates into a single choke point. She might emerge into a group of police officers with their lights trained on her. She would freeze in the glare of the flashlights, and the others would later blame her for not warning them.

Would their being caught be her fault? They told her to abandon her post and come into the theater! But the facts didn’t matter because they would tell everyone she’d screwed up. They would make her the villain tomorrow at school. The glares and scowls of her fellow students awaited her when they returned to Jimmy’s High.

“...the Anchors Aweigh Tavern at the top of the hill...”

Her classmates pounding on the doors to the lobby echoed around her. Geoff had admitted defeat at finding a rear exit and was marching up the sloping floor of the theater. He ignored his brother, who stood still, watching the screen. Behind Martina, footsteps padded across the room. She wanted to make it to her destination first. If she was first and held it open, they might forgive her for being a terrible lookout. But Ned raced past her, running at full speed toward the other exit.

“...it pays to be punctual. For if you aren’t, you...”

Martina squinted at her destination across the low-lit chamber. An unilluminated sign—the “i” was missing in the word “exit”—perched above the other potential way out. In the place where a door should’ve existed, a wall blocked their egress. Martina could have sworn there was a door there a few moments earlier.

Ned rushed at the bricks as a football player would advance to tackle a practice dummy, but the barrier held firm. Seconds later, Martina stepped beside him and pushed on the bricks with all her strength. She might as well have shoved against the side of a cliff.

“...savage waters of the one and only...Forlorn Harbor!”

Trapped! Who had locked the doors and why?

“I can’t find a weak point anywhere.” Ned slid his fingers along the mortar between the bricks. “Everything else in this damn place is falling down except these crappy walls.”

Martina backpedaled and glanced at Theresa and Kaylee, who were now calling for help. She pivoted, noticing Liam continuing to stare at the screen. Following his eyes, she viewed the unspooling motion picture. The film displayed the interior of a crowded tavern, perhaps a century in the past. A rumpled man in a blue coat with brass buttons and a captain’s hat sat on a wooden stool. Around him gathered several unsavory characters—fanged vampires, pointy-hat witches, and horned devils.

The central figure was speaking, but no dialog emerged from the theater’s speakers—only the sustained deep note of an organ. The man turned and gazed at the viewer, and then the screen went blank. Martina and her classmates were plunged into darkness once again.

Martina held her breath. This couldn’t be! The captain in the film was the same person who had observed her from the opposite side of the street before her classmates arrived. The same man who had then disappeared.

Was she mistaken? True, the print was scratchy and grainy. The images had been recorded during some bygone era. Was the man in the film the same as the drifter on the sidewalk opposite? Was he real or reel?

Calm down, she told herself. Maybe the man on the street was an actor who lived around here. He knew the Majestic showed his movie on occasion. Perhaps the film wasn’t old, but had aged in this crumbling building.

Joy tapped on a phone in her hand. “Dammit. My phone’s dead. I can’t bring up my flashlight.”

Martina pulled out her phone. She had left it plugged in all night before she’d left her house, only checking it a couple of times while waiting outside. When Martina thumbed the button to make the lock screen appear, her cell didn’t respond. She knitted her eyebrows and hit the button again when Ned interrupted her.

“Does yours work?”

Jumping at his acknowledgment of her existence, Martina shook her head and mumbled, “No.”

“Weird. I swear I had eighty percent earlier.”

The rest of them confirmed their phones didn’t have a charge.

“Don’t worry about that now.” Geoff pointed at the projector room. “Someone’s here, and we gotta leave.”

Liam shrugged. “Where are we going to go?”

“How do I know, numbnuts? But somebody must’ve called the cops. Now we’re trapped in here.”

Then, all the flashlights turned on again at the same time.

The trespassers had dropped most of the tools they had brought inside, including the high-beam lights. Those were shining on the cement, dust, and debris. Theresa still had her light in her hand, and she yelped when it came on, releasing it. The plastic casing absorbed the blow to the ground as the flashlight rolled back and forth, shining in an arc.

Again, Martina counted numbers, attempting to grasp her new situation. The steady pattern helped to calm her in nerve-wracking situations. Like when she was younger and had to go into the basement of her school to fetch supplies, or at the top of the rope she climbed in gym class, or when she waited for the bus and the grizzled man waiting there, too, eyed her. She whispered, “One. Two. Three.”

Joy scooped up her flashlight. In her usual pompous tone, she asked, “What the hell is going on? Which of you are in on this?”

Ned walked toward Joy. “In on what?”

“Four. Five.”

“In on this prank, dumbass.” Joy narrowed her eyes. “Obviously, this is a joke. Who’s on the other side holding the doors shut? Kevin? Lamont? I’m not going to be quiet if the jerk outside isn’t the police but some dipshit from school.”

Kaylee glared at the rest of them, in complete alignment with Joy. Geoff stepped up to her as the rest of her classmates gathered around them. “Only I knew about this job. It’s no prank.”

The return to regular chatter stopped Martina from pronouncing “seven.” She lowered her tense shoulders.

“You’re trying to scare us, Geoff.” Joy tossed her hair. “Jackass.”

“I’m telling you. It’s a job.” Geoff’s nostrils flared.

Joy turned around and shaded her eyes, peering up at the projection booth. “Who’s up there? You won’t find this funny after I get through with you.”

Liam crossed his arms. “This is not a prank.”

Joy stepped away, but didn’t say anything, and Kaylee followed suit.

Martina crossed the theater. She retrieved Kaylee’s flashlight as she made her way around the litter. The others exchanged looks. No one had acknowledged Martina when she’d hovered outside of their huddle.

Then, Joy yelled and shook her fist at the projection booth. “Whoever is behind this better let us out. My parents are lawyers, and they’ll have your ass in jail for years. Open the door!”

Her screaming echoed off the walls. Theresa hunched her shoulders, and Liam hung his head. The other four observed the booth.

Silence answered her threat, and Joy kicked a piece of wood, once part of a doorframe. The debris missed Martina by inches and skittered across the floor.

“I’m not going to be on the ass-end of a prank,” Joy said.

Liam walked away from the group toward the door. His shoes scraped along the ground, and his flashlight picked a path ahead.

“This is no prank.” Geoff gritted his teeth. “Maybe someone else is here. Someone dangerous.”

Ned wiped his knuckles across the letter on his jacket. “Maybe you know something the rest of us don’t, man. Spill it.”

Geoff curled his lip. “I told you everything the guy who gave me this job said. He could’ve farmed it out to others as well. We just happened to arrive first.” His eyes rose to the projection booth. “Maybe they’re up there now with guns.”

Theresa whimpered, and Kaylee, usually huddled next to Joy, took three steps away from everyone else. Ned crouched low, making himself less of a target. Joy, however, flashed her beam at the small window. “You better show yourself!”

Liam fumbled around in the dark near the exit. His hands touched the barrier where Joy and Theresa had searched before.

“Turn off the flashlights,” commanded Geoff.

Joy shook her head. “I’m not sitting in this place in darkness.”

Ned turned off his flashlight, and Geoff melted into the pitch black. “Suit yourself.”

Martina debated Geoff’s theory. Outrageous. Why would anyone lock them in here and pick them off with a gun? Then again, why did students bring guns into schools and shoot other students? She turned off her light.

Joy glared at the rest of them. “I’m leaving mine on. I still think this is a prank. And I think, Geoff, you’re using the darkness to cop a feel.”

Geoff snorted. “You wish.”

“I don’t think leaving your light on or off matters.”

Liam’s voice cut through the auditorium as a foghorn warns ships on a treacherous night. His declaration caused his classmates and his brother to stop bickering. Joy directed her light at him.

Liam held up a hand. “Good. Flash it over here at the wall.”

He stepped out of the way to reveal the place where they had entered. Her illuminated circle disclosed a stone wall—bricks and mortar—but no trace of a door, as if the exits to the lobby had never existed.

“The hell?” cursed Joy.

Ned grunted. “That’s not possible. What happened?”

Martina’s jaw dropped. Where had the door gone? Perhaps this was a dream. Doors only vanished in dreams.

Geoff grunted and picked up the sledgehammer. He marched over to where the door once stood and swung the tool like a baseball bat. “This ends right now.”

Geoff swung back the sledgehammer and slammed it against the wall. Again and again, he pummeled the gray concrete with the tool, and the blows rang across the theater. After hitting the barrier five times, Geoff lowered the massive mallet. “Shine the light on this spot,” he demanded.

Liam obliged, and Martina gasped. Not a dent.

Geoff put his hand on the point he had struck with his tool. “What. The. Hell?”

Joy shook her head. Ned joined the other boys while Theresa clasped her phone and scrambled onto a debris pile. She lifted it high. “Got to get out. Got to get out.”

Martina observed the unblemished obstruction. This night was a dream. It must be. A dream, or a nightmare. Only in nightmares did natural rules no longer apply.

But this seemed real. Martina stomped her foot on the concrete to make sure. Solid. In her dreams, Martina often transformed into different creatures. If she were a fly, she could escape this place. She would be bobbing along in the air. Everything would be fine. What a pretty pattern ahead. Shiny, welcoming. Martina-fly would explore it, and then she would touch the spiderweb—

Ned grabbed the sledgehammer from Geoff’s hand. He strained as he lifted and brought it down. Over and over, the tool pounded the wall like a boxer striking a punching bag. Everyone else trained their flashlights on the wall. After several blows, Liam called to him.

“I think it’s hopeless.”

“It’s not!” Ned thrust out his jaw. “The wall is strong, but everything eventually gives.”

“It’s brick,” countered Liam. “And you aren’t making a dent in it.”

Ned reached out and touched the bricks. “Impossible.”

Turning, the athlete brushed past Liam, heading toward the other location that he and Martina had checked earlier. “Gotta be a way.”

Geoff nodded, but didn’t join him. “He’s right. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Liam shone his flashlight up on his own face as if they were all in summer camp. “Maybe it does. I might know something.”

Geoff grabbed his brother’s arm. “Out with it, or when I’m through with you, you’ll be eating dinner through a straw for a week.”

Flashing his brother a withering look, Liam shook his head. He ignored Geoff’s threat, paused, eyes unfocused. Theresa, Martina, and Joy stared back. Ned continued to the other side of the room, dragging the sledgehammer behind him. Liam took a deep breath.

“The film playing was called Forlorn Harbor. Forlorn Harbor was a serial made in the nineteen-forties. Like episodes of a streaming series. The series showed a different story each week. You’d pay on the weekends to watch another episode. At the end, a trailer previewed the next week’s show.”

“So what?” asked Joy. “So, they showed an old movie. Who cares?”

Liam rocked on his heels. “In one of those episodes, someone traps people in a movie theater...”

Martina held her breath. One. Two. Three.

“...just like us.”

The Serial

Geoff grabbed his brother and shook him. “What the hell do you mean? Just like us?”

Liam cowered away from Geoff while Joy stormed up the inclined floor toward them. “Leave him alone and let him talk.” She regarded the younger brother. “What the hell, Liam?”

Geoff tightened his grip instead of releasing it. “I’m starting to believe your theory, Joy. Maybe this is all a prank. And maybe my idiot brother is in on it.”

Separated from the rest of them, Ned shouted his opinion. “He’s full of it. We only have one way out of here.”

The athlete launched again into striking the wall with the sledgehammer. As before, the noise reverberated across the auditorium, sounding like gunshots exploding at a firing range.

Liam licked his lips, explaining over the racket. “A serial is a movie that shows a part of the story each week, and people have to return to view the next segment. Before television, Hollywood made serials like Forlorn Harbor, but this one was different because each episode was new and stood alone. Forlorn Harbor was the first to have the same opening for each segment.”

Martina hung on every word of Liam’s for a logical explanation. She counted the bizarre events that had occurred—an old movie with a similar plot to the circumstance they found themselves in, an actor who resembled the man across the street, exits vanishing before their eyes. Her world had flipped to the dark side in minutes.

Geoff shoved Liam on the shoulder, pushing him forward. “Forget the history lesson, jerk. What did you mean by an episode where someone traps people in a theater?”

“Just what I said.” Liam jutted out his chin. “They made eighteen episodes. In one of them, a djinn tells two teenagers if they enter a movie theater and make a wish, he’ll grant them what they want. After they enter, they find themselves trapped, walls replacing the doors.”

Wiping sweat from his brow, Ned put his hand against the wall. “He’s making this up.”

Liam raised his hands in a mock “I surrender” pose. “Why would I lie about this?”

Grimacing, Joy leaned toward Liam. “Well, how do they escape?”

“I don’t know because I never saw the ending to this segment. I only watched as they each made a wish, and the wishes turned out for the worst.”

Joy snorted. “Great! I don’t think a fairy tale will free us tonight!”

Liam pointed at the screen. “They played the introduction to the serial, and now we’re trapped like the characters in the episode. We all saw the doors into this place. Hell, we entered through them. Tell me, where did they go? Why won’t the sledgehammer break through the stone? Geoff, you said this building has no electricity. What’s running the projector, then? And who’s in the projector room?”

Martina’s questions exactly. She didn’t want to know the answers, however. The answers might lead to some frightening theories of what would happen next. Martina avoided watching horror movies if given a choice. They never ended pleasantly.

Turning, Geoff shined his light on the canvas. “I don’t believe it. A wish won’t get us the hell out of here.”

“I just made one,” confessed Theresa. “It didn’t work.”

“I did, too,” whispered a wide-eyed Kaylee.

Theresa tapped Liam’s shoulder. “Did any of them die? In the show?”

“I don’t know because I didn’t see the ending. In the other segments I watched, yeah. People died. They often did.”

Everyone grew silent for several seconds until Joy spoke. “What has this to do with anything going on? For all we know, this Forlorn Harbor was a film collecting dust in the projection room. Someone found it and is now trying to scare us by showing it. Why are we even talking about it?”

“Don’t know.” Geoff squared his shoulders. “Don’t care. No one listens to little Liam at home. Not sure why we’re doing it here.”

Liam ran a hand through his wheat-colored hair. “But we’re trapped here, the same as the Forlorn Harbor characters. Then the introduction plays on the screen. That can’t be a coincidence. It’s all connected—”

Joy made the stop sign with her right hand. “Listen. You want to talk about old movies all night. I want to leave. Which is more important?”

“Let him talk.”

The words had escaped Martina’s mouth before she could reconsider them, and now all her classmates except Liam were staring at her as if a ghost had just winked into existence. How dare she speak, let alone rebuff them? At first, they ignored her until Joy threw back her head and laughed. “Of course, you would come to his rescue. We all know you have a crush on him.”

What? She had a crush on him? No! Other kids at Jimmy’s High had a crush on Liam, not her. He was insanely popular, but Martina thought of him only as a friend. Her eyes pleaded with Liam to come to her defense. For his part, he examined his shoes in embarrassment.

Cackling, Joy shone her flashlight in Martina’s eyes. “Trust me, girl. You aren’t even on Liam’s radar. As far as beauty, brains, and charm, you’re zero for three.”

Martina crossed her arms. They should be bonding as they were all trapped together, but Joy acted as if they were still in Jimmy’s High. How could she redirect the conversation back to the topic of escaping?

“Hey! Leave my friend alone,” said Theresa. “You’re not three for three either, Joy.”

“True, I’m four for three.” Joy swished her hair over her shoulder. “A double for beauty.”

Theresa placed a hand on Martina’s arm. “Martina’s right. We should listen to Liam.”

“Being stuck here feels like the theater Forlorn Harbor episode.” Liam pointed at the projection room. “They played the introduction, for God’s sake.”

Joy crossed her arms and eyed Liam. Geoff cracked his knuckles. “Okay. You had your say. But if you tell us a bunch of bullshit because you’re in on the joke, I’ll redefine the word ‘pain’ for you.”

Ned pounded the sledgehammer in the background as the rest of the group turned their full attention to Liam. Two flashlights caught him in their crossbeams. Liam took a deep breath and eyed Geoff. “Our sister Beth took a Film Studies elective in college, and she knows I’m interested in old shows. We found popular movies, but Beth wanted something out of the ordinary to impress the professor. When I found Forlorn Harbor, she was intrigued.”

“How so?” asked Theresa.

“In the nineteen forties, Hollywood didn’t create anthology films. While they released this as a serial, Forlorn Harbor was different. Beth thought this serial was strange enough to catch her professor’s attention.”

Geoff leaned forward. “Yeah, I remember. You two idiots stayed up late huddled around her computer. And Mom and Dad barged in and told you both to go to sleep, right?”

Liam nodded. “We found the episodes uploaded on a web page and watched several. After finishing the first one, Beth started a couple more of them. We lost track of time, and Dad came in and yelled at us right near the end of the wishes one.”

The sledgehammer again beat on the stone wall. The intervals between each strike were decreasing. Whether Ned was listening or exhausted, Martina couldn’t say.

“The next day, we went on vacation, and I forgot about Forlorn Harbor.” Color blossomed on Liam’s cheeks. “I think a few months passed before I thought of it again. I had bookmarked it and went to the web page, but the serial was gone.”

Liam paused, and Martina quirked an eyebrow. Joy sniggered. “Ooh! Break out the s’mores and tell us another one, Liam.”

Kaylee giggled at Joy’s taunts. Joy flashed her light around the rest of the group. “Come on, people! Are we listening to this all night or finding a way out?”

Liam raised his voice. “Understanding that old show may be the way out.”

“A bunch of ghost stories is our key to escaping?”

“They weren’t ghost stories.” Liam scratched his cheek. “I remember a few of them. In one, creepy school kids had voodoo dolls of their teachers. Another episode involved a dangerous animal that stopped if you stared directly at it. Another had a scarecrow in a wheat field holding a sign. Something invisible was in the wheat.”

“That sounds like a ghost story,” said Kaylee.

“Maybe so. Eighteen stories. Beth noticed the last two weren’t available. They were the ‘lost episodes.’” Liam made air quotes over the last two words.

“And the theater one? What was it about?” pressed Martina.

“From reading about Forlorn Harbor, the wish show was the only episode the harbormaster—the guy in the introduction—starred in. From what I remember, two teenagers in a soda shop argue about how to make money. The harbormaster invites them to the movie theater across the street and tells them he can grant their wishes. They’re allowed to view the results of their wishes play out on screen. They disappear from the theater and star in their episode. The wishes didn’t turn out well for them.”

Liam bit his lip and stopped. His sketchy information didn’t answer any of Martina’s questions. Notably, how could they make this nightmare end?

Grunting, Geoff turned toward Ned and raised his voice. “How’s it coming? Any progress?”

Their broad-shouldered companion leaned back and swung again. Crunch. “There will be!”

Geoff turned his light on the theater walls. “Good. I don’t know how they’ve reinforced the walls, but if you swing a sledgehammer long enough, it should break through. And when it does, I’ll find the asshole who set us up. I’ll kill him.”

Liam leaned away from his brother. “You mean you’ll just hurt him, right?”

Geoff glared at Liam. “You think?”

The sledgehammer again struck the wall. Ned’s pounding was starting to give Martina a headache. She put her hand to her forehead right before her flashlight winked out. At once, everyone else’s flashlight also went dark.

Theresa whimpered, and Geoff cursed. Joy said, “Great. Again.”

As before, a beam of light from the projection room pierced the auditorium and spread its illumination onto the movie screen. Martina blinked at the tumultuous waves on an open sea. She recognized the same introductory scenes to Forlorn Harbor, playing once more. This time, the narrator’s voice came as no surprise.

“Most grizzled sailors know to avoid Perdition Sea, host of the Rapids of Anguish and the Eternal Vortex.”

Before, everyone except Liam had scrambled around the spacious chamber. Nobody had paid attention to the film. Now, everyone, including Ned, stood transfixed. The camera panned along stormy waters at night while the narration continued. The scene shifted to a lighthouse and a dock, and the camera zoomed in, “walking” the audience to the island. The film carried the viewer along the pier while the narrator spoke of lost vessels and ghost ships. Next, it floated through a graveyard on a hill, taking a twisty path to a rundown yet spacious inn at the top. A fork of lightning lit up a sign—“Anchors Aweigh.”

The camera ushered the audience into the wooden interior of the inn. An assortment of monsters sat in a circle around a weatherbeaten man in a captain’s jacket.

“Hey, I didn’t see this guy the first time.” Geoff pointed at the captain. “That’s the dude who told me about the wiring.”

Wait a minute! The sailor on the street, the actor in the film’s introduction, and the guy who wanted the copper wiring were one and the same? This man, the harbormaster Liam had called him, had orchestrated the entire night. Perhaps to trap them, but she had been a last-minute addition. Martina wasn’t supposed to be here.

As the camera moved in for a close-up of the harbormaster, the narration concluded. “...it pays to be punctual. For if you aren’t, you may miss a tale of the creature-infested grounds and savage waters of the one and only...Forlorn Harbor.”

The theater plunged into darkness again, but the flashlights didn’t turn back on as they had before. Something clattered to the ground across the auditorium, and Martina yelped. What sounded like metal and wood hitting the floor at the same time?

A sledgehammer.

The next scene splayed across the canvas. The film, still in black and white, faded in on a room. Couches, chairs, and a table from the nineteen-forties furnished the tight quarters. The room was a set, but lacking even a picture hanging on a wall. A man in a tweed suit and a bowler hat stood centered in the frame. He turned around, holding out his hands and examining his arms.

Martina gasped, recognizing the actor. No, not an actor.

Ned.

A Sunny Day in Willowton

Ned Bellows examined the scratchy, tweed suit coat on his body, flipping his palms face up and down. One second, he had been stuck in that awful theater, swinging a sledgehammer to punch a hole through a wall. The next second, the tool had disappeared from his clutches, and the room had gone dark. Not theater dark. Dark as if he had stepped into a void—as if he were floating on air. His family had a trampoline in their backyard that he used to limber up and exercise. This void brought to mind the moment of suspension between rising in the air and falling to the tarp.

And then he found himself here. Now what? Liam had been spouting nonsense while the others were listening to him as if he were a preacher yelling on Sunday morning. Nobody was going to fool Ned. Instantly appearing walls and creepy-ass old movies? Come on! The only thing that mattered was breaking through the wall—a wall someone had slid into place while the movie distracted them. Yeah, no one thought to check whether the floor had grooves.

Or so he thought.

The Majestic had now vanished. In its place was a room resembling a set from a play. Furniture his grandma might have used to decorate her house surrounded him. No, not his grandma. His great-great-grandma. If old-fashioned furniture wasn’t trippy enough, somebody had replaced the jersey and jeans he had been wearing. He was dressed in an old dude’s tweed suit with black patent leather shoes. Where were his Adidas?

Ned never dressed in suits unless attending funerals or weddings, and when he did, he wore black or white, baby. He was fine-looking in solid colors, but in tweed, he resembled his Uncle Chester going to services!

Nonplussed, Ned blinked multiple times. Not only had his surroundings changed, but something weird had happened to his eyes. He dropped his arms and scrutinized his new quarters.

Everything was black and white. Not a drop of red, blue, or green could be found anywhere. Only white, black, and gray. The carpet was white, the chair in the corner was black, and the walls were gray. The sunlight coming through the window was a lighter gray. Even his skin, a perfect hue of ebony, was a lighter shade. Was he colorblind, too?

No, his eyesight was perfect. What the hell was going on?

Turning, Ned expected the auditorium of the Majestic to be behind him. Nope. He stood between four solid walls that had three doors and a single window. He took an inventory of each item in the room: two chairs, a couch, a coffee table, and a basket with a stack of newspapers. A table with a lamp sat next to the couch. A grandfather clock stood against a wall, its pendulum swinging back and forth. No wall-mounted television, no paintings, no light fixtures.

Ned clenched his teeth. This was too much.

Someone was showering in an adjacent room, but Ned hadn’t paid attention to the sounds until now. The bather sang a lively tune. He would deal with that person later.

Ned regarded his clothes again and yanked the hat off his head. As he did, the lamp on the table winked on and off. Ned ignored it, instead running his fingers through the old-fashioned hat’s brim. He would do better to remain still and not touch anything until he figured out what had happened.

In history class, his teacher had shown them videos of people dressed in this style. She had called the item in his hand a bowler hat. A tweed suit and a bowler hat? Bizarre.

Ned clenched the hat. Someone was playing a trick on him, and they would pay for this. Liam, with his stories of movies coming to life, was the most likely culprit. Well, mousy Liam didn’t know everything. Ned’s body was in perfect shape, and the first person he met—maybe the person in the shower—would be spitting out teeth after he finished with them.

Ned bounced on the balls of his feet. When the person finished their shower, they had some explaining to do. He would rush them, leading with his shoulder as Coach always taught him. When the dude in the shower connected with Ned’s two-hundred-ten pounds of pure muscle, he would crumple like all the others on the field.

A high-pitched voice had crescendoed and dropped off. The singer, then, was likely a woman. Soon after, the water stopped.

Interesting. Ned wouldn’t start with his fists. His mother had raised him right. You don’t hit women. Though tempted, he would give this person a chance to explain.

The bather shuffled across the other room, and Ned tossed his hat on the couch and straightened up. The knob turned, and again, the light winked on and off as if the bulb was struggling to stay alive. Who cared about a failing light right now? With an eagle eye focus, Ned stared at the doorway, awaiting the singer.

When his eyes locked on her, he lost his breath.

He knew her. Well, he didn’t know her personally, but he had seen her before many times. She was an old-time movie star—Lolla Tunnels. His mother was an avid fan. He hadn’t watched many twentieth-century movies, but he knew popular Black actresses from that time, Lena Horne, Dorothy Dandridge, and Lolla Tunnels. Beautiful, proud, saucy, Tunnels epitomized what an actress should be. What was she doing here?

Wrapped in a white towel, Lolla regarded him as she crossed the room. “Hi, Papa Bear.”

Papa Bear?

Lolla leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. Ned replied with a squeak. Lolla Tunnels—the Lolla Tunnels—had just kissed him.

Lolla tapped his chin. “You better shut your jaw, or a bird will make a nest in it.”

Ned uttered a sound, a cross between a gasp and a whimper. He fumbled his words like a football tossed slightly out of reach. “You...er...Lolla Tunnels.”

Lolla set her fist on her hip. “Who’s she? Are you seeing someone on the side?”

“No. You’re Lolla.”

Patting his cheek, Lolla said, “Papa Bear, I told you to put an ice pack on your head this morning after you bumped it. Poor dear. Now say it with me. Trixie Rascombe, and then tell me, ‘Trixie, you’re the most beautiful woman who ever lived.’”

Ned stood tongue-tied. His jaw moved up and down, but nothing came out.

Lolla—or Trixie—squinted at him. “Ned Bellows, what’s the matter with you?”

“I honestly don’t know.” And he didn’t.

Again, the light on the table winked on and off. This time, Ned tore his eyes from the gorgeous actress and looked toward the table lamp. Once it had his attention, the wall beyond the table disintegrated, leaving the other three walls in place. The fourth wall opened to the ruined Majestic chamber. The auditorium lay less than a quarter of a football field away.

His six accomplices stood in a straight line. Theresa was waving her arm, but the others were motionless, staring at him. They were small and distant, as if standing across a chasm.

Ned stepped toward them. “Hey, what’re you guys doing?”

Joy gripped Kaylee’s shoulder. “He sees us! Ned?”

Liam pointed at a corner of the fourth wall near Ned’s feet. “What is that?”

Ned didn’t know what Liam was pointing at. He was relieved to be talking with people he knew. “Hey, how do I get out of here?”

Ned moved past the chair to where the wall had been and put his hands up. His fingers collided with an invisible force, preventing him from going further. Though he pushed on it, the barrier didn’t give an inch.

Theresa followed Liam’s line of sight. “The clock in the corner of the screen is counting down. Maybe we only have a limited time.”

Kaylee asked, “How did you end up there?”

“How would I know? One minute, I was with you all. The next thing I know I’m in this crazy suit here. You think they drugged us?”

Geoff scrunched his eyes as if Ned had said the dumbest thing ever. “Drugged us? What are you talking about? The movie changed scenes, and suddenly you’re in it.”

“What? I’m in this Forlorn Harbor place?”

“The episodes didn’t occur in Forlorn Harbor, but in the real world.” Liam used air quotes around “real.” “They all start normal, but then something weird happens.”

“Like what?”

Liam shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We only have forty-five seconds, Ned. A clock is counting down in the corner.”

Ned pushed against the transparent wall. “What clock? What are you guys talking about?”

Geoff and Joy spoke at the same time. Liam waved the others off, insisting on taking the floor. “Listen, you’re in an episode of Forlorn Harbor. Understand? I think you must act in it to the end to return.”

Ned wrinkled his brow. “Act in the episode? Liam, what the—?”

Joy shouted, “Shut the hell up, Ned!”

Liam spoke over the end of Joy’s exclamation. “...called ‘A Sunny Day in Willowton.’ I remember it. You and Trixie go on a walk through town and—”

“Trixie? Did you see Lolla Tunnels? Am I the luckiest guy ever? Lolla.”

Ned turned around to acknowledge the actress, but she stood frozen. Even the grandfather clock’s pendulum hung stuck to one side. What did they call it in the movies? A freeze-frame shot?

A chorus of people in the theater shouted at him together, including the lanky, quiet girl. Joy’s exclamation rang above the others. “Shut up!”

Ned held up his hands. “Okay. What is it you want to tell me?”

Liam stepped forward. “Ned, listen to me. Do not go on a walk with Trixie. Do you understand me? Do not—!”

The fourth wall reappeared as quickly as it had vanished. Ned touched it again, and the drywall was as solid as ever.

Alright then. Ned was in a big-time movie. The star of the show with Lolla...uh, Trixie. How freaking dope was this? But what had Liam said? ‘Don’t go on a walk’?

Why the hell not?

Liam was intelligent, but he didn’t know everything. Ned hadn’t been paying much attention to his lecture in the theater, but he had overheard Liam explain about Forlorn Harbor. Maybe he’d follow Liam’s advice at first and let this play out.

Ned rotated as Trixie called his name. “Ned? How’d you jump over there?” She blinked. “One moment, you’re here. The next, you moved over there.”

He flashed her an easy grin and approached her. “Hey, Lo...Trixie. I scooted around you when you weren’t looking.”

She reached out and grabbed his right hand. “Have I told you yet today how much I love you?”

Ned’s breath caught in his lungs. He had to think up a response and fast. Ned had only watched Lolla Tunnels in movies when she was older. Here, she was his age, in her late teens. Perhaps she was acting as the character of Trixie. No, she would’ve come clean when Ned had said her name. Her expression was full of anticipation and admiration. She was Trixie Rascombe, and Trixie was in love with Ned Bellows.

If Ned forgot about the theater and Liam’s warning, this was a dream come true. Small-time high school student. Big-time actress. Ooh-la-la.

Trixie quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t you love me, too?”

“Who loves you?” With his free hand, Ned jerked his thumb back at himself. “This guy.”

“Oh, you big lug.” Trixie moved her lips closer to his. “You make me tingle all over.”

Trixie had the same effect on Ned, too. When their lips came together, Ned experienced the giddy rush of scoring a game-winning touchdown. He, Ned Bellows, was kissing one of the most celebrated actresses in Hollywood. Mind. Blown. Wait until all the guys on the team heard about this!

Trixie parted from him too soon, and though she pulled away, she didn’t drop his hand. “I better get dressed. You promised me a picnic by the Shaylamin River. Or did the bump on your head knock out your memory, too?”

A picnic sounded safe. “Where are my car keys?”

Trixie chuckled. “Oh, you’re such a kidder. We’ll stroll through town as we always do. The river is just past Main Street, silly.”

Ned stiffened, recalling Liam’s warning. “Why not take the car? It’ll be faster, right?”

Tilting her chin, Trixie asked, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Driving the car would take longer. It’s a simple walk down the street, Ned. Peek outside. Such a perfect day for a picnic.”

“But we could stay inside. Just you and—”

Trixie put a finger on his lips, interrupting him. “I need to slip into my dress, while you forget about everything but the picnic. Put your hat on. I want us to look respectable.”

Trixie pulled away, still holding his hand and keeping her focus on him. Transfixed, Ned found arguing with her impossible. Her eyes absorbed him the way kids gape at the ceiling of a planetarium. Ned was her everything. Rightly so.

Trixie released his hand and sashayed to the other room, humming a dainty tune. Turning around, she gripped the door’s edge. She raised and lowered her eyebrows twice and flashed a wide grin at him before shutting the door.

Ned let out the breath he had been holding in. Yes, Liam had cautioned him to avoid going on the walk, but this was Lolla Tunnels, man. Lolla wanted to go with him. He’d be strutting through town with one of the hottest actresses in history, and Liam wanted him to stay put. No, ain’t gonna happen.

Ned stepped up to the window. He was on a third floor overlooking a busy lane. Vintage Ford and General Motors vehicles sat parked along the road. Cars from nearly a century ago, he figured. The brilliant sunshine of the middle of summer had replaced the light snow of November. Nice.

The town was decorated with flowers. Ornate, old-fashioned lampposts stood at intervals along the street. The grocer had a stand of his produce outside his store, while a young boy nearby with a checkered cap yelled about today’s news. Gold lettering with black outlines sprawled across store windows: barbershop, grocery, and bookstore. What was the word he had learned in English class that described this scene? Idyllic. Yeah, this town was that and more.

Near a three-story building on a corner, a sign proclaimed he was in Willowton. Willowton—a perfect name for this little town. Liam had told them the name of this episode, “A Sunny Day in Willowton.” What a dumbass title for a scary episode. Shouldn’t it be “A Gloomy, Depressing Day in Willowton,” or “A Massacre at Willowton?” How could anything go wrong out there?

Ned turned around and retrieved his bowler lying on the couch. He had seen a few horror movies. Not many, but he had never been afraid of watching them. Yeah, Get Out had made him tense—maybe the townspeople out there were racists, but then why had Trixie suggested a walk? What kind of spooky tale starts with a walk to a picnic?

The make-believe world of movies didn’t frighten him as much as losing a big game. Losing in football was real. What could happen here? A monster might crawl out from the river? If so, he would run away. Ned was the fastest athlete in his league. His coach had timed him. Nothing caught up with him once he took off. His speed was essential to his position as a wide receiver.

Nothing could catch him. Nothing would ever catch him.

The door opened, and Trixie emerged as willowy as swaying branches at the top of a birch tree. A thin black belt secured a sleeveless, loose-fitting, ivory dress offsetting her mahogany skin. She wore white stockings and low-heeled shoes. A wide-brimmed hat with a floral arrangement covered most of her hair. She twirled around, and the bottom of the mid-calf dress spun with her motion. “How do I look? Ready for a picnic?”

Ned eyed her up and down. “Oh, yeah.”

She approached him, took his bowler from his fingers, and set it on his head. She patted his cheek. “My Ned. Mr. Eloquent.”

Ned grinned and thought about her calling him “my Ned.” She knew his name. Did the original episode have a guy called Ned Bellows, or did it change because he was starring in it? If the character changed to fit him, why shouldn’t what happens change, too?

Filled with confidence, Ned straightened up. Trixie marched to another door in the room. “Let me grab the picnic basket, then we’ll be off.”

She pushed the door open, and Ned glimpsed an old-fashioned kitchen beyond. In seconds, Trixie reemerged, wicker basket in hand. She strode over to him, taking his arm. “Let’s be off, Papa Bear. We have a delightful day out there. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Trixie led him out of the apartment, into the hallway, and down the stairs. When he exited the building, he blinked at the bleached-out colors. Yet, the sounds of cars puttering down the road and the newsboy calling out the latest headline were as vivid as if Ned were in Queensborough. He smelled the delicious scent of bread baking in the store two buildings down, and a slight breeze brushed against his bowler.

Ned squinted in the sunlight. Despite the muted colors, the light was bright, and the temperature was high. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and Ned reached up to wipe it away. Trixie led him down the street.

As they promenaded down the lane, the lamplight ahead flickered on. It turned off and on as the other light had. Ned furrowed his brow. Still moving forward, he glanced over his shoulder, and there was the darkened theater again. The six occupants of the Majestic glared at him.

“Hey!” Ned hailed them.

For its part, Willowton stood as still as a photograph. A speeding car halted in its tracks, and a crumpled newspaper rolling down the sidewalk stopped. A ball hung in the air, a girl reaching out with her baseball mitt to catch it. Beside him, Trixie posed mid-step, her leg hanging in the air.

“Man, that’s sick,” said Ned.

Geoff leaned forward—his face as red as a traffic light. Finally, some color, although Ned could tell Geoff was about to chew him out.

“Are you out of your mind? Liam told you not to go outside.”

“Why, man?” Ned bumped his shoulder against Trixie, who remained steadfast. “I’ve got a date with a dream.”

Kaylee hugged herself while Joy exclaimed, “Idiot! You’re in a horror movie.”

Ned straightened up, throwing back his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about that. Liam, the guy I’m playing. Was his name Ned like mine?”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Liam. “Everything is about to be—”

“It does matter. If his name wasn’t Ned Bellows, maybe I’m changing the episode. Trixie calls me Ned. It’s a change from the original show. Who’s to say this one’s scary anyway?”

Liam pressed his lips together in frustration. He took a deep breath. “I’m sure the character’s name wasn’t Ned because I knew you when I saw the original episode, but the plot is the same. Listen, We’re almost out of time, and—”

Ned grinned. “I think I’ll be okay, guys.”

Joy screamed, “Will you shut up?”

Joy’s raised voice drowned out Liam. Ned only caught the words “tremble and crack open.”

Liam screamed, “Willowton isn’t real, Ned! It’s a—”

They vanished, and Trixie pulled Ned along, finishing her step. She stumbled and giggled. “What are you doing, Ned? Daydreaming while you’re walking?”

Ned scowled and regarded his surroundings. What did Liam mean by Willowton wasn’t real? He was here. The wind brushed against his skin, the car passing him stank of oil, and a warbler above him sang for its mate. Yeah, he was in a movie. Of course, he wasn’t in his world, but this sure seemed real.

Gazing at him, Trixie bit her lip. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Ned answered. “Maybe we shouldn’t have this picnic and ought to head home instead.”

“Oh, Papa Bear, what’s wrong?” asked Trixie. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

She reached up and put her hand on Ned’s forehead, but he jerked away. He gritted his teeth. “Something’s not right. Like it’s third and one, and Coach called the wrong play.”

Trixie stepped back. “You’re talking nonsense.”

“How long have we lived here, Trixie?”

His date blinked. “What an odd question. Don’t you know?”

Ned started to answer when the ground shifted under his feet. A minuscule tremor compared to the quakes Ned had seen on the news. He had almost missed it. “Did you feel something?”

“Yes, Ned.” Trixie steadied herself on a nearby building. “Funny, Willowton isn’t known for earthquakes.”

Ned grabbed Trixie’s arm. “Let’s go back to the apartment.”

“Three stories up with the ground swaying beneath us? No way!”

Ned squeezed her arm. “I don’t think we have time. Let’s go!”

“Ned, you’re hurting me.” Trixie tried to pull away. “If this is an earthquake, the third floor of a building isn’t safe.”

The birds started calling to each other and took to the sky. Ned stepped forward when the entire ground shifted beneath his feet. A crack without zigzags or curves split the road next to him.

What kind of an earthquake made straight lines?

Multiple Willowton residents screamed and ran in all directions. Sensing something amiss, the birds in the sky added to the cacophony with their shrill cries. Yet only the people and animals made sounds. When the earth cracked, the ground itself didn’t make any noise.

Ned followed the fractures on the road to the buildings, again making straight lines. At times, the lines would jut out into a small knob shape. The unnatural cracks extended out of the side of the building across the street into the air itself. The lines split apart the sky. The fissures in the air showed darkness where the atmosphere once existed.

Ned had had enough. He dropped Trixie’s hand and sprinted for the apartment door. Trixie was behind him, yelling. “Ned! Don’t leave me.”

He wasn’t falling for that line. A football star doesn’t stand still when the game is at stake. Ned had to run. Now. Liam had told him to stay inside. He wasn’t sure why, but the dude must know. He had seen the damn episode. Outside wasn’t safe.

Ned almost reached the door to the apartment when everything in motion froze, including him. Birds’ wings flapped down yet they stayed aloft. A woman reached out a window of a wrecked Oldsmobile, and the newsboy pointed his paper at the shattered glass of a building window. Ned, leaning forward, right leg thrust back, was a couple of feet from the doorknob. So close.

Then the world came apart.

The sky separated into giant jigsaw puzzle shapes. The pieces folded over as if someone were yanking them apart. The buildings, too, weren’t collapsing, but coming apart in the same manner. Unable to move, Ned gaped while someone—or something—ripped up the fabric of reality.

Same-sized pieces of Willowton tumbled past him within his field of vision. Half a car, the tail of a bird, the news-kid split down the middle. The kid’s eyes were as round as oranges. Ned spied Trixie, her hands on the side of her face, the ends of her elbows missing. The next piece, when he spotted it, made him want to scream, but no sound escaped his lips. If it had, he would’ve yelled his lungs raw.

Ned’s foot and ankle were on the nub of the jigsaw puzzle, separated from the rest of his body.

Interlude

When the final scene of “A Sunny Day in Willowton'' separated into jigsaw puzzle pieces, Martina shivered. She had been whispering her numbers and lost count when Ned’s foot came apart from his body. Theresa screamed, Liam gasped, and Martina wrapped her arms around herself.

The film provided the sole source of light as the episode played out. The theater occupants had tried their flashlights, but the devices still refused to illuminate. After the final scene, the auditorium was plunged into darkness once more. Martina’s neighbors cursed and whimpered before something hit the ground. The sound was like that of a slab of meat dropped on a table. Then, all at once, their flashlight beams shone again.

Martina chewed the inside of her mouth, and Geoff mumbled something.

A deep-throated plea came from across the room. “Oh, God!”

Ned.

Martina wasn’t surprised when beams of crisscrossed light zeroed in on the seated figure of the football star. Rocking on his butt, Ned extended his arms. His fingers cupped the end of his right leg.

Dressed in his athletic jacket again, Ned hunched into himself. His fingers fumbled with a grown-over stub of his leg just above the ankle. He wailed. “My foot!”

Liam had guessed—or hoped, as he told the others—that Ned would return at the end of the episode, and he had. Sure, Ned had lost his foot in Willowton, but movies aren’t real. Yet this wasn’t a normal movie, was it?

Ned needed help. Martina rushed to him without hesitation. She and Liam reached him simultaneously, with the rest close behind. Martina crouched down and put her hand on Ned to steady him. “Does it hurt?”

Ned shook his head.

Joy directed her light at Ned’s stump. “Is it bleeding?”

Ned didn’t answer her, but Geoff spoke while peeking over Liam’s shoulder. “Idiot, of course not. He would be bleeding all over the floor.”

Liam examined Ned’s leg. “Ned, I was worried you wouldn’t be able to return.”

A tear dripped down Ned’s face. “But not all of me. I’ve lost my goddamn foot, Liam! Do you think I’ll keep my Big Ten Athletic Scholarship now? I don’t have money to go to college without the scholarship, asshole. I’m a football player. I can’t play without a foot.”

Liam bit his lip. “You could get a prosthetic and—”

“I can’t play on a prosthetic, Liam!” shouted Ned.

Joy shone her flashlight in his eyes. “You’re the asshat who wouldn’t listen to Liam. We tried to tell you to stay indoors. If you had stayed in the apartment, you could’ve kept lip-locking with Lolla the entire time!”

Ned’s eyes narrowed. “You should’ve told me.”

Geoff snorted. “You can lead a horse to water, dude.”

“Why did it matter if he left the apartment anyway?” asked Kaylee. “The crossword puzzle would’ve happened to him no matter where he was.”

“You mean jigsaw puzzle.” Liam crouched. “And in the original episode, the illustration on the puzzle was the street. The narration at the end suggested only pockets of this world exist on jigsaw pieces, not everywhere.”

Martina wanted to comfort Ned, but what could she say? He was right, and they were right. Ned should’ve listened to them, but now the episode was over. He would never be the same.

Liam moved his flashlight away from Ned’s stump. “As I said, I’m glad you’re back.”

Ned hung his head. “Not sure I agree with you, man. Maybe returning me here without my foot is this shitty place’s way of punishing me.”

“Don’t say that,” remarked Martina. “You’re more than your foot.”

Ned glared at Martina. “As if you would know. I don’t need your pity.”

Martina hadn’t intended to sound pitying, but correcting him now was a mistake. He needed time to deal with what had happened.

Ned crawled away from the semicircle they made around him. “Just leave me alone.”

“Ned—” started Liam.

“Leave me alone!” He pointed at the screen. “Wait until you go in there. Isn’t that what you said earlier? Something about everyone having a turn? It figures. Black guy gets it first like every film.”

Liam hadn’t mentioned that they would all take a turn, but Ned had voiced Martina’s deepest fear. Theresa rotated and ran to the rear of the auditorium toward the lobby, shrieking as she went. Kaylee ran after her. They arrived at the wall where a door used to be. They beat their fists against it. At the top of their lungs, they screamed to be released. Joy stalked after them, curling her lip.

Geoff looked at Liam and gestured to the back of the theater, away from Ned. “Liam, let’s talk. You, too, beanpole.”

Martina followed the two boys up the sloping floor toward the center of the wall, the furthest point away from the screen. Kaylee and Theresa, off to their left, continued their ruckus, begging for release. Joy had reached them and swung Kaylee around to talk to her.

Geoff addressed Liam. “Someone’s running the film. I think I know who, but I need you to have a look-see.”

Liam knitted his brow. “Who?”

Geoff boxed Liam’s ear. “The harbormaster, dumbass. He’s the shithead who hired us.”

Liam rubbed his ear. “That dude was old in the nineteen-forties. How is he even alive now?”

Martina wondered if she should tell them she had seen the harbormaster outside earlier, but she didn’t want to trigger Geoff’s wrath. She would privately inform Liam later.

Scratching his chin, Geoff answered. “How would I know? Maybe he’s a grandkid. Whoever he is, we need to talk to him. I’m betting he’s the guy up in the projection room.”

Geoff peered at the small square where the films unspooled on the canvas. Liam’s eyes followed Geoff’s gaze. “The opening is like eight feet in the air. How am I supposed to get up there?”

Geoff turned to Martina, and she stiffened.

“This is where me and the beanstalk come in,” said Geoff. “We’re going to help you. I need you to be able to look into the room. If you stand on my shoulders, I’m not sure you’ll reach it. So, I’ll go down on my hands and knees, and the chick will stand on my back. You climb on her shoulders.”

Liam inclined his head toward Martina. “She should stand on my shoulders.”

“I don’t trust her.” Geoff poked Liam on the breastbone. “You, I trust.”

Martina bit her lip. Supporting Liam on her shoulders was a tall order, but if she declined, they would hate her. She wanted to escape as much as everyone else.

Liam regarded the floor, cheeks coloring. “Think you can do it, Martina?”

How funny. He couldn’t look her in the eye. His admission that the task would be difficult buoyed her resolve. “Yeah, I think so.”

Geoff punched his brother on the shoulder. “Good. Let’s do it.”

When they arrived under the projection hole, Geoff dropped to his hands and knees for Martina to climb onto him. Theresa had run out of energy screaming, observing them instead.

Joy and Kaylee broke off talking. Joy pinched her eyebrows as if upset they had left her out of what they were planning.

Martina removed her shoes and stepped up on Geoff’s back, trying hard not to hurt him. She cupped her hands, waiting for Liam to step up. Instead, he pointed at his feet. “Do you want me to remove my shoes?”

He was thoughtful. “No.”

Liam reached up and placed his fingertips in the indentations of the cinder block wall. He set his foot into Martina’s waiting hands. He cleared his throat. “On three. One. Two.”

Martina did her best to propel Liam upward on “three,” but he didn’t go too far. Liam then used his fingertips to scratch his way up the wall and take the pressure off Martina. Geoff grunted with the additional weight.

Liam wobbled, but managed to obtain purchase on the square opening into the projection room. Placing all his fingers onto the small window ledge, he used his forearms to pull himself up, lightening the load. Peering through the opening, he grunted.

“What do you see?” asked Geoff, craning his neck upward.

“Nothing,” Liam announced. “Absolutely nothing.”

Joy advanced toward them. “You mean no one’s there?”

With the strain, Liam shook like a live wire hanging from an electric tower. “No, I mean nothing’s there. No film, no projector, no table. The room’s empty except for a layer of dust.”

“Do you see a door? Or any—?”

All the flashlights winked out again, interrupting Geoff’s questions. Screams erupted from everyone except Geoff and Martina. Martina grabbed Liam’s ankles and kept him aloft as she stepped off Geoff's back. Theresa invoked God’s mercy as Joy hurled one four-letter word after another into the air as rapidly as a juggler tosses pins.

The weight on Martina’s hands lightened and then vanished. The movie must have sucked Liam in. What would they do without his guidance?

The projection shone out of the window, illuminating Liam’s face. A shadow of his giant-sized head blocked a scene of the stormy sea from Forlorn Harbor’s introduction. The narration started.

“Most grizzled sailors know to avoid Perdition Sea, host of the Rapids of Anguish and the Eternal Vortex. If you find yourself in these treacherous waters...”

“Let us out!” screamed Kaylee over Theresa’s whimpers.

Joy glared at the source of the projection. “Leave us alone, you bastard! Why are you doing this to us?”

The movie’s projection lit the room enough for Martina to observe the others. Geoff had raced to where the door to the lobby had been. He turned around, his posterior to the once exit. Kaylee and Joy huddled together, while Theresa covered her eyes.

Martina shifted to the side and called up to Liam. “Go ahead and drop, Liam. We’re out of the way.”

The narration ended when Liam let go and hit the ground on his feet, hard. He stumbled, forgetting the slope of the theater floor. He started to fall over. Martina reached, grabbed his arm, and steadied him. He nodded his gratitude to her and turned to the screen. “Do you think someone will be sucked in again?” he whispered.

“I hope not.” She slipped on her shoes.

The opening segment ended, and darkness surrounded them. Joy’s angry shouts and Kaylee’s shrieks provided all the din in the chamber until a singular keening remained. Martina shivered, recognizing Kaylee’s high-pitched pipes. Joy was no longer yelling. Then Joy’s grating voice resumed, but it came from the theater’s speakers.

In glorious black and white, Joy wrapped her arms around herself in front of them on the silver screen.

A Changeling of Scenery

“Oh, spit.”

Black-and-white living room. “Spit on a stick!”

Spit on a stick? Joy hadn’t said “spit.”

Two couches. End table. White-brick fireplace and a bay window. Spit on both ends of the stick!

Joy’s nonplussed reaction was to remain still. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a door on her left. Maybe it was a portal to the theater?

Doubtful.

Joy’s hands gripped the back of the couch. She had to find an exit.

She had stopped screaming when she found herself floating in a void. Nothing had surrounded her. When the room had materialized around her, she had used a word prohibited in this age. Goodbye, theater. Hello, hell in black and white.

Sunlight struggled to make it through the bay window—filtering through the panes of crystal-clean glass—yet it was the middle of the day. Outside, a wrap-around, enclosed porch shaded the window, but allowed enough natural illumination. Inside, chairs and a long table populated the space. On the table was a closed photo album entitled The Enclosure.

The sunshine had a calming effect, allowing her to think straight. The glow promised everything would be fine.

Joy didn’t believe it. Ned’s episode took place during the daytime, and look what happened to him. Being in a dark and unfamiliar place in a horror story would make her situation worse. She was already on the verge of losing it, and when she lost it, she did it in the best possible manner—with anger.

Yeah, so the day was sunny. So what? She had to get the hell out of here. And not the way Ned the jockstrap did.

Joy held out her arms and marveled at their lack of color. Her skin was now an ashen gray. Flipping her hair before her eyes, she examined the black strands. Does black and white make you appear gorgeous? Actresses in old movies were stunning in black and white.

They wore stylish clothes. She was dressed in a buttoned-up blouse and baggy, pleated pants with a high waistline. Gag. The dernier cri of Forlorn Harbor, she supposed. Her hand brushed a zipper on the side of the trousers, and she fiddled with it, unsure of its purpose.

The lamp on a table blinked on and off, and Joy squinted at it. Beyond the light source, the interior wall with a curio cabinet vanished. This entire side of the house became a rectangular screen to the theater. Five of her classmates stood in a line, jaws hanging down. Her best—but uglier—friend Kaylee had her hands on the sides of her face. Only Ned didn’t pay her any attention, rubbing the stump at the end of his leg.

Joy abrogated the pleasantries. She pointed at Liam. “Tell me what happens as fast as possible.”

Liam stuttered. “Just...just saw the title. Um, it’s called...uh.”

Snapping her fingers, Joy stepped toward the barrier. “Faster, Liam. Isn’t there a small clock in the corner?”

Their focus shifted down to the lower right of the screen where the clock had been during Ned’s turn on this spooky stage. Duh. Of course, she had a similar clock. She would be damned if she would die because Liam couldn’t form a sentence.

Liam swallowed. “Yeah. Your episode’s called ‘A Changeling of Scenery.’ The most important part is to avoid your mom. She’s a changeling. They are slower than humans, but if they catch you, they’ll suck out your vitality and assume your form.”

Joy bit her lip. What did “suck out your vitality” mean? And how close did they have to be to do such a thing? She had to keep Liam talking. She made a circling motion with her hand.

“The trick is you have a sick sister upstairs.” Liam pointed up as if he was in the house with her. “The two of you are daughters of park rangers, but your parents guard a forest full of supernatural creatures. I wouldn’t go into the woods.”

No woods. Check.

“The episode finishes when your real mother returns,” said Liam. “Your real movie mother. She’ll know what to do with the changeling.”

Liam was going off topic. Joy had to course correct. “So, Mom chases me for twenty-five minutes? And she’s slower?”

“No. You must guard your sister as well. If you don’t pro—”

The curio cabinet and the wall behind it reappeared and cut off Liam. Joy cursed once more. She needed more information. What was so special about her sister anyway?

Joy examined the fireplace stand and spotted a poker. Perfect. She rounded the couch to the stand and grabbed the iron tool. The poker had a pointed end to shift the ashes, but she could use it as a baseball bat. She had perfected her volleyball spike. Was swinging a weapon much different?

While retrieving the poker, Joy spotted a foyer with an ascending staircase. Beyond the foyer was a parlor with another bay window. No one occupied the other rooms. Good! It was time to explore them and find the creature before it found her.

With a firm grip on the poker, she crossed the room to the swinging door. It must lead to the rear of the house. Joy thrust out her foot and karate-kicked open the portal. As the door swung, she spied an unoccupied dining room. It contained an oblong dining table and service cart. Nothing unusual.

The door closed again. Joy used her hip to push the door and jump inside. The dining room was wide open to a kitchen to her right. She assumed the room was enclosed. Spit, she needed to be more careful. Turning, she stiffened at the sight of someone moving near a refrigerator. A statuesque, long-haired woman wearing a gray shirt and black trousers—a park ranger uniform—stood behind a kitchen island. She eyed the fireplace utensil. “What are you doing, Joy?”

Joy swung the poker, warding her off. “I didn’t see you there.”

The park ranger shook her head. “If you weren’t my daughter, I’d wonder about you. Maybe they switched you at the hospital?”

The other occupant was taller than Martina. Her pale skin and pug-nose indicated Anglo-Saxon origins similar to most actresses in this period. If she were Joy’s mother, Joy would willingly dress in plaid to school. No way. Yet, the woman in the kitchen recognized Joy as Lolla Tunnels had Ned. This lady didn’t resemble her at all, but in Forlorn Harbor, Joy was her daughter. Therefore, she was in danger.

Joy waved the fireplace tool. “Don’t come near me.”

The woman put her hand on her hip. “Now, Joy Rajakonar. I’m your mother. Put down that silly poker and hug me.”

The ranger opened her arms, waiting to receive the hug while licking her lips. The words hung in the air like hornets waiting to sting her.

Tensing her shoulders, Joy remained still. If she threatened the changeling, would her actions put it on alert? Better to play along with the monster without going anywhere near it.

“I’m, uh. I’m talking to the spider in the corner of this dining room.” She lowered her weapon. “Yeah, I’m probably overreacting. Stupid insect, huh?”

The woman’s forehead wrinkled. “Insect? Joy, you know better than to call an arachnid an insect. You’re a preternatural park ranger’s daughter. We have giant arachnids just past the tree line.”

Goosebumps flooded her body. Definitely not going into the woods. “I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll go lie down.”

“I think I may have a pill for you. Come over here, and I’ll hand it to you.”

The woman extended her arm, and her fingers elongated at her. They grew perhaps an inch, hardly noticeable, but Joy was on high alert. She gulped down her nausea.

“No. No, I’ll be fine.” Joy sidestepped to exit. “You just stay down here, and I’ll go upstairs.” She raised the poker again. “And don’t bother coming up. Just stay down here for at least an hour.”

The woman tilted her head. “If you say so, dear.”

Joy stepped backward through the door and then turned and bolted for the staircase. When Liam said changelings were slower, how much slower did he mean? She wasn’t taking any chances.

Joy exerted all her volleyball athleticism to sprint across the room, round the corner to the stairs, and ascend the steps three at a time. She reached the landing in four leaps and spun around, expecting her faux mother behind her. To her surprise, nobody stood at the bottom of the stairs. Somehow, not knowing the whereabouts of the creature was worse. What if a second staircase led up this level?

Joy surveyed the first bedroom she encountered. It was typical of this era. Could she barricade it and defend it for another twenty minutes? Maybe, but Liam had mentioned a sister. She should find her film sibling.

Having two younger brothers, Joy didn’t know anything about sisters. She ignored her brothers, and it worked out fine. Yet, Liam was clear the younger movie family member was somehow important.

As Joy marched down the hallway, she peeked into more rooms for her missing sister. Ned had a second chance to talk to her friends in the theater. Not as much time as the first occurrence, but she wouldn’t waste it if she had the same opportunity.

The sister’s bedroom was at the end of the hallway. A few years younger than Joy, the girl had blonde curls and freckles. She lay on a poster bed with a drooping canopy.  A light, pills, ointments, and talcum powder littered a nearby side table. Joy flinched when she spied the canes and braces beside the girl’s bed.

Joy rushed in and shut the door, leaning against it. The girl’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong, Joy?”

Ignoring the girl, Joy focused on a nearby dresser. Joy could push it in a semicircle and barricade the room’s single door. She bit her lip and grabbed the dresser. With all her strength, she moved the side of the dresser to swing it out. Pushing on its back, she wedged it against the door under the knob.

“Joy!” screamed the girl.

Joy turned around and snapped her fingers. “Uh...what’s your name?”

“Becky!”

“Yeah, right. Becky. Shut up!”

Becky winced. “Joy, what’s going on?”

Joy braced the dresser, hoping it would keep out the changeling. Her only option was to keep the monster from entering. The screen sister couldn’t stand, let alone move.

“A changeling is outside,” she said.

Becky put a hand over her mouth. “How did one escape?”

Joy rubbed the side of her face. “I don’t know. We must stay away from her.”

Dropping her hand, Becky placed it at the base of her throat. “When Mom comes home, she’ll capture it. She’s good at her job.”

“The changeling looks like Mom.” Joy leaned against the dresser. “Don’t let her in. No matter what she tells you.”

“It’s not as if I can stop her, Joy.” Becky patted her legs.

“We’ll stay here until Mom comes home. Yeah. We’ll wait it out.”

Joy scratched her ear, convincing herself of her plan. Stupid teenage girls in horror movies always do the wrong thing. They wandered into pitch-black basements or entered empty cabins with dead cell phones. Not her. She had about eighteen minutes to wait, and she would stand steadfast while guarding the door.

The light winked on and off, the second conversation with her friends. This interruption would freeze the changeling in place and allow her to run her plan by Liam. No doubt he would agree with her.

When the wall dissipated, Joy cleared her throat. “Liam, I—”

“You need to continue to barricade Becky’s room,” interrupted Liam. “Leaving your sister behind is how the original character died.”

“How did she die? You weren’t clear before.”

“She wedged a chair under the door handle, but forgot about the other entrance. Instead, the original ranger’s daughter went out on the roof. She put a note on the front door for her mother to read when she came home.”

Escaping to the roof was a good idea. Joy’s character wasn’t so dumb.

Liam rattled off an explanation. “But when she returned, she found Becky dead. The character went to her to examine her, but as she was leaning down, she caught sight of the attic access. The attic access was partially open.”

Joy wrinkled her brow. “What happened next?”

“The mother comes in and finds her eldest daughter standing over Becky. She assumes your character is the changeling and shoots her. The end. The lesson learned in the final narration is that the family destroys each other. You, by leaving Becky. Her, by shooting you. You must keep Becky alive.”

Joy glanced at the attic. “How do you know I can change the episode?”

“Because you altered the beginning.” Liam set his jaw. “Originally, the monster didn’t keep its distance. You kept it away with the poker.”

Joy crossed her arms. “Maybe I should just go? Run out of the house away from the forest?”

“And leave Becky?” Theresa’s voice was high and whiny.

Liam scowled. “You may have to fend the creature off if she breaks through the door or moves the attic access. Whatever you do, protect Becky’s room. Don’t let it touch you.”

Joy shivered. Her brief conversation with the freakazoid downstairs was enough to unsettle her. God knows where she was hiding. Even if Joy spotted her at a safe distance, the monster might be faster than Liam thought.

“Remember, if she enters the bedroom, you die,” said Liam. “Soon, the changeling will enter the attic.”

Joy’s breath caught in her lungs as the wall solidified before her once more. She decided against peeking into the upper hallway, picturing the creepy mom standing outside. How could she help a cripple—sorry, a person with disabilities—avoid this thing? She had to think. If only she had a—

Joy turned to Becky. “Does Mom have a cell phone?”

Becky blinked. “A what?”

Of course not. Nobody had invented cell phones yet. “Do we have any way to communicate with her in her car?”

“A phone in a car?” Becky furrowed her brow. “Are you ill, Joy?”

Not ill—frustrated. She would knock Becky on the head with her poker for being annoying. Joy had to send a message to her mother before the episode’s conclusion. Wait! Her original character had written a note. What if she did the same, but added a sentence to explain she was not a changeling? As in the original story, she’d have to go out onto the roof.

Joy rushed to the window. “Will we be able to call to Mom from here?”

“Behind the house? Nuh-uh.” Becky pointed away from the window. “She parks in the front and enters through the front door.”

Joy examined the wrap-around porch’s roof under Becky’s window. The porch must extend from the front to the rear. She could exit on it and make her way to the front door, but what about Becky? If she left Becky, the changeling would kill her. Then again, who cares? The main point was Joy wasn’t the monster. Joy would have to sacrifice Becky.

No. Liam had explained what would happen if Becky died, and though Joy was strong, carrying her screen sister onto the roof was impossible. She could still leave a message, right? Joy could drop a letter on the ground outside of the entrance. Then, she would return to keep Becky safe.

The plan was simple. Exit to the roof. Round the corner to the front. Drop the note. Retrace her steps to Becky. Do it all in less than a couple of minutes. Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy.

Joy turned to Becky. “I’ll leave Mom a note. Do you have any paper and pens?”

Becky flashed her a thumbs-up sign. “In my table drawer. I have tape.”

Picking up the paper and pen, Joy wrote abbreviated sentences. “A changeling’s in the house. It looks like you. I’m me. Don’t shoot me. Joy.”

Becky craned her neck to read Joy’s writing. “What about me?”

Joy wanted to say she could care less about her, but held her tongue. She ripped off a piece of tape and stuck it to her wrist. “I’m going. I’ll be right back.”

Becky’s attention went to the door. “What if the changeling comes?” Her voice tremored.

“This barricade wedged the door shut.” Joy pulled on the door for emphasis.

Then again, what if the changeling entered, killed Becky, and moved the dresser against the door to make it look as if nothing had happened?  She plucked off another piece of tape and strung it between the door and the doorjamb, high enough to be out of sight. Next, Joy examined the attic access. A square board fitted the frame. When she returned, how would she discern if the intruder had entered?

She selected the bottle of talcum powder and removed its lid. Joy smirked as she spread the white powder on the shelf under the access and over the floor outside the closet. If the creature managed to enter the room from the attic, it would leave its footprints. She would then stay outside.

Joy tossed the empty bottle of talcum powder away. “That thing won’t come in here now. Not without me knowing it.”

After crossing Becky’s room, Joy put one leg out the window. Becky’s eyes filled with tears. “Are you leaving me here?”

“I won’t be long,” Joy assured her. She stepped onto the roof.

With a strong wind blowing Joy’s hair, she crouched and stepped along the tiles. Good thing the porch wasn’t eaves. She wouldn’t have enough space to maneuver.

Joy shuffled around one side of the house toward the front. She would’ve preferred to wait out the changeling—strength in numbers and all that nonsense, but if Joy taped the note to the door, it wouldn’t matter if Becky was killed or not. Her mother would believe she wasn’t the changeling. Becky wasn’t real. These program thingies were like a video game where the player character was the only one who mattered. Everyone else was expendable.

She scooted down on her butt to the edge of the front porch. Ripping the tape off her wrist, she affixed it to the paper, leaving the other end in the air. She lay flat on her stomach and thanked her parents for her long arms. They made her a volleyball star. Today, they would save her life. Carefully, Joy attached the paper to the top pane of the porch’s door. Success!

Gritting her teeth, Joy debated her next move. Out here on the roof, she felt safe. Waiting out the rest of the episode here was a powerful draw. She could defend this little patch of roof and jump down if needed, but what if the creature killed Becky? Would the program repeat the ending Liam had described?

“Spit sandwich!”

She sighed, resolving to return.

She retraced her route, scrambling along the roof to Becky’s room. She peered inside. Becky was lying in her bed, gripping her sheets in terror. Good, she wasn’t hurt.

Before entering, Joy examined the talcum powder. The scene reminded her of a blanket of new-fallen snow on the closet’s shelf and ground. Even better. The tape on the doorway and the dresser were still in place. The changeling hadn’t even attempted to break in.

Joy shivered, thinking about what might be inside. She stepped in through the window opening. “I’m back.”

Becky croaked, “I was worried, Joy. I can’t believe you left me.”

Joy avoided the talcum on the floor. “Don’t be a baby. You were fine.”

“I heard it downstairs, Joy. It sounded angry.”

Joy grinned. “Because I outsmarted it.”

She had survived. Like Ned, she should be returned in a few minutes.

From a distance, a car motor’s hum broke the silence. To Joy, its rattling vibration sounded like a joyful blast of a trumpet announcing the cavalry rushing to the rescue. She had made it to the episode’s conclusion. All she had to do was survive for another two minutes at most.

Then, something tapped the tip of her shoe.

Joy looked down as a wrinkly digit retracted under the bed skirt. She stepped back with a squeal. “What is under your bed, Becky?”

Becky’s round eyes softened. “Oh, you found Herman, my gerbil.”

The tube-like object was no gerbil! She used the poker to lift the skirt.

Noticing what she was doing, Becky said, “You’ll scare him. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The words paraded through her head. Dumb girls enter unlit cellars, enter abandoned houses, and make fun of ghosts in a graveyard.

Dumb girls look under beds.

But Joy couldn’t stop herself. The tendril was no damn gerbil, and it couldn’t be the changeling because she had sealed the entrances to the room. What new thing had Forlorn Harbor introduced?

Joy had to peek.

She lifted the skirting and peered at a withered countenance and a shriveled body. A bony, purple finger pointed at her. Its lips parted and gasped a strangled cry with no sound. Despite the aged features, Joy knew who it was.

Becky.

Joy froze in terror as the figure on Becky’s bed transformed. The contours of its face flattened, and its eyes rolled up into its head out of view. Its hair pulled in with lightning speed, leaving behind a glabrous skull, blank-slate features, and eye socket holes. Its skin was unblemished, the clothes part of its disguise. The changeling was a thing of terror and beauty—perfectly sculpted nothingness.

Before she placed the fireplace tool between her and the horror on the bed, its hands reached for her face. Its fingers were blistering hot, and agony raced through Joy. Though in pain, Joy’s body went limp. She no longer controlled her limbs. The poker thudded when it hit the floor.

The Becky replacement’s fingers stopped hurting, but it reached deep inside Joy’s skin. The sensation twisted her organs and tugged at them. Joy was becoming an inside-out girl.

Mercifully, everything went dark.

The Lobby

“One.”

Martina whisper-counted when the changeling placed its fingers on Joy’s face, and Joy went limp. Why wasn’t she swinging the poker or resisting in some way? The film hadn’t shown the creature transforming Becky. When the monster had entered Becky’s bedroom, the young girl had been terrified. She didn’t scream. The changeling had slunk toward her, and the movie had cut away to Joy on the roof while sounding a deep, vibrating organ note.

“Two.”

Almost choking on the word, Martina gagged as the thing’s fingers elongated, encircling Joy’s head. A bulge formed in its hand and moved under its skin up its arm. Reminding her of an enormous insect burrowing under the soil, it rolled wavelike from the shoulder to the neck. The changeling’s neck then expanded proportionally, and the blank head bloated.

“God!” screamed Theresa. She covered her eyes, but Martina kept watching.

“Three.”

The face remolded itself into Joy’s features: pert nose, blemish-free skin, full lips flashing a wicked grin. Hair sprouted from its top—Joy’s black hair—and grew to cascade down its shoulders. The changeling winked at the camera.

“Four!”

The scene went black, and their flashlights winked on. Shivering, Martina turned away from the screen. Theresa’s tears were spilling over her hands. The girls embraced while Liam stood still, white as a marble column on a Romanesque building. Ned recovered first, flashing his light around the theater.

“There she is.”

Geoff rushed up to Joy and flashed his light on the girl seated on the ground. The latest victim of Forlorn Harbor recoiled from the glare of the beam, turning her head. However, the movement only amplified the trauma she had been through. Her ratty hair was full-moon white and hung in clumps. Wrinkles on her face caused it to sag. Martina’s grandmother had wrinkles, but Joy’s skin resembled melting wax. The lone eye in the flashlight’s glare, too, had a milky sheen.

The changeling had exsiccated her.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” asked Joy, her voice unchanged.

Martina, Kaylee, Geoff, and Liam gathered around her while Ned and Theresa hung back. Geoff pointed his flashlight at her. “You’re ugly.”

Joy reached up to her face. Her fingers caressed the wrinkles the same way a blind woman runs her fingers over a page of braille. The girl grabbed her hair and pulled it in front of her eyes. She trembled, and then she wailed. Her voice echoed through the cavernous chamber.

Kneeling before her, Kaylee grabbed Joy’s arm and squeezed it. “Oh, Joy! We’ll fix this. I swear!”

Martina and Liam crouched down on either side of her. Martina examined the creases. Joy covered her face with her hands and began to rock her body. She wept while Martina noticed her arms and hands had retained their normal appearance. Martina gulped. “The changes are limited to your head.”

Joy shrieked as she removed her hands. The sound—born of rage, not anguish—reverberated against the walls. She formed a word. “Mirror.”

“Joy,” said Kaylee. “I don’t think you—”

“Mirror! Now!”

Kaylee recoiled at the command, but reached into a pocket in her jeans. She pulled out a compact mirror and held it up. Joy snatched it from her hands. Liam stood and positioned his flashlight down instead of at Joy to allow her a better view. Joy examined herself, touching the folds in her face and running a hand through clumps of her hair. “I don’t feel different.”

“I don’t think you are.” Liam moved his flashlight closer to Joy. “I think you’ve transformed only on the outside.”

Joy recoiled from her reflection. “I look worse than Frieda Summers, and her face looks like a butt.”

“Maybe it will restore on its own,” suggested Martina.

Running her fingers over the ridges in her skin, Joy snorted. “Sure! Thousands of people become beautiful every year.”

“I thought because your bone structure is the same...” Martina faltered when Joy’s baleful, white eye landed on her.

Kaylee curled her lip. “Shut up, Martina. You’re not helping.”

“You’re not either.” Joy’s words were as sharp as weapons hurled at Kaylee.

Kaylee reared back. “What did I do?”

“You still look pretty. That’s what you did!” repined Joy. “You think you understand how this feels, but you don’t, Kaylee!”

Kaylee grimaced and stepped away.

“Well, you got what you deserve,” said Geoff. “If you had listened to Liam, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Joy threw the compact at Kaylee. Her friend fumbled, but eventually caught it. Joy focused on Geoff and growled—an exact mimicry of a tiger. She took a deep breath. “I did listen to Liam. I didn’t talk over him like Ned.” She shifted her attention to Liam. “Did you even see this episode?”

Liam nodded.

Geoff pointed his flashlight at the screen. “You were supposed to have eyes on your sister. Staying in the room was my brother’s plan. Instead, you crawled around on the roof and gazed off in the distance.”

Joy’s lip curled at Geoff’s reminder of her fractious behavior.

Liam’s voice was a shade above a whisper. “What were you doing when you sat on the roof anyway?”

Joy didn’t answer.

“I’ll tell you what she was doing. She was deciding whether to run away or stay there for the rest of the show.” Geoff sneered. “Coward.”

Joy bared her teeth, all stained yellow. “I’m not a coward. You go in one of these and see how well you do.”

Geoff shrugged. “Like you? You left a little girl behind for a monster to get her.”

Joy pointed to Liam. “How did it enter Becky's room? You said it came through the attic. Does it teleport or fly? I spread talcum powder over the ground. Why didn’t you tell me it doesn’t leave tracks?”

Liam thrust out his chin. “No, it doesn’t fly! You exiting to the roof gave it the same idea. It climbed on a windowsill on the opposite side of the house while you made your way to the front. The changeling was on the other side of the steeple of the house. While you were at the front door, it went to the rear and entered Becky’s room.”

Joy knitted her gray brows. “How do you know this happened?”

“Because the camera wasn’t always on you, glam girl,” snapped Geoff. “Which is why you shoulda listened to us. The movie kept bouncing between you and that freaky thing.”

Joy grabbed her hair. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Kaylee kept her voice low and calm as if talking to a child. “Joy, I’ll give you a makeover. I could buy wrinkle remover, hair dye, and—”

Joy interrupted her. “And eye fixer? All of you—go away.” She hung her head. “Stop staring at me!”

Joy’s last plea rose in volume, tinged with an undertone of hysteria. Martina wanted to lean forward and rest her hand on her shoulder, but she knew the volleyball player would shrug off the gesture. She would snap at her, call her a name, or become violent. Joy was inconsolable in her state, and Martina thought it best to leave her alone.

Geoff jerked his thumb toward Ned, and the group followed him across the theater. Kaylee lingered behind, clearly wondering whether to remain with Joy or listen to her command to leave her alone. Sighing, she turned and followed them to where the first Forlorn Harbor survivor sat. They made a semicircle around Ned with their backs to Joy. Geoff scratched his ear and nudged his brother. “Now what?”

Ned answered the question. “Two down. Five to go.”

Martina didn’t ask him what he meant. She had thought the same thing while hoping it wouldn’t come true. They would each take a turn standing in front of the funhouse mirror—in this case, a movie—of Forlorn Harbor. Unlike Ned and Joy, if she were teleported to Horrorland, she would listen to Liam and follow his directions.

When no one responded, Ned snorted. “Good luck.”

Liam licked his lips. “Low. Even for you.”

“Once you all take a turn, I can leave. Isn’t that what you said happens in the episode with the magic theater?”

“I told you I never saw the ending,” countered Liam. “They make a wish, they go into the movie, and then they come back out.”

“Sounds familiar, minus the wishes part.” Theresa huddled in on herself.

Liam rubbed his chin. “They returned, but not changed.”

Ned commented, “It’s still the same.”

“Maybe you’ll take a second turn.” Geoff directed his light to Ned’s foot. “Might lose more than a limb next time.”

Ned swallowed loud enough for them to hear it, and Geoff grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Liam, I want to talk with you. Nobody follows us.”

Geoff and Liam marched off to a far corner while Ned rubbed the end of his leg. Theresa put out her hand to Martina. “Can we talk, too?”

Split up? At a time like this? Sulking alone, Kaylee resembled a pet whose owner had scolded it.

Theresa's pleading eyes widened to an anime character's exaggerated size. “Please?”

Martina nodded, and she and Theresa walked to the rear wall, beyond the earshot of the others.

Theresa clasped and rubbed Martina’s hand. Theresa’s eyes welled with tears, and her mouth trembled. She kept her voice low. “Liam said that the wishes turned out bad for the evil people in the theater episode.”

What was she getting at? “So, we have to make three wishes?”

“No, the characters in that show were transported onto film, too. Don’t you understand? The movie is punishing the bad ones.” Theresa shifted her attention to Joy for a second. “You and I are good people. We’ll be spared.”

Martina gaped at her, fumbling for words.

“You can’t believe Geoff is a good person,” Theresa said. “He beats on Liam and is nasty to the rest of us. Kaylee’s parents abandoned her, so she leeches onto Joy. Kaylee insults girls not in their clique.”

“But Liam’s a good person.”

Theresa bit her lower lip. “He’ll be spared, too. The three of us aren’t cruel or act better than others. In every horror movie, the good people live. After the other two take their turn, I believe the doors will open.”

“Theresa,” Martina cautioned. “I don’t know.”

“You and I are different. We attend church, we’re nice, and we’re good friends. We’re friends, right?”

Their conversation was screwy. Before tonight, Martina would’ve preferred Ned’s company to Joy’s. Ned ignored her, and Joy hated her. She wouldn’t have labeled Ned as a bad person.

However, the worry lines on Theresa’s forehead told her story as clearly as sentences in a book. Theresa needed her support now, not her opinion. She craved reassurance, not debate. Theresa wasn’t athletic, a challenge in the changeling episode. Martina’s friend feared the episodes and needed to believe something would keep her from being sucked into one. Theresa hoped for a lifeboat while holding onto driftwood in the ocean, and she wanted Martina to be the rescuing vessel and confirm her theory.

Martina squeezed Theresa’s hand. “Of course, we’re friends. And I’ll do anything I can to keep you here.”

“Only four will go in.” Theresa tilted her head in the direction of Liam and his brother. “I wouldn’t want to be Geoff.”

The brothers appeared to be deep in conversation. Geoff was gesturing to the screen and making a motion as if he were pulling on something. Liam stood with his arms crossed.

While looking, Martina noticed Kaylee. The elf of a girl had stepped toward Joy and then stopped. She wrung her hands, throwing short glances at Martina and Theresa.

Martina petitioned Theresa. “Let’s ask Kaylee to join us.”

The flashlights turned off again before Theresa voiced her response. Theresa still held Martina’s hand. She pressed it harder as if holding on for dear life. Her friend moaned across from her. So much for her belief that she was safe.

Martina directed her attention to the screen, expecting the rollicking waves of the procellous sea once more, but instead, the canvas displayed a line drawing. A black-and-white cartoon of a box of popcorn and a tall cup of soda sprouted legs and arms. Black dots for eyes and smiling mouths popped into existence in the center of the animated figures.

“What the shit?” yelled Geoff.

The box of popcorn gestured to the back of the auditorium. “Hello! My buddy and I wanted to interrupt your intermission to let you know we have plenty of goodies at the concession stand.”

The soda cup flashed a thumbs-up. “Right you are, Cornie. Mouth-watering snacks. Hot, buttery popcorn and a delicious, refreshing soft drink await our patrons in this theater’s lobby.”

The popcorn pointed at the audience. “Let’s find out what special offers are available today!”

Everything went dark. What was this now? No Forlorn Harbor? Good, but was this a trick?

A new image of the lobby flickered to life on the giant screen. Though the color remained black and white, the entryway was in the same condition they had all passed through earlier. Broken tile, spiderwebbed counters, and holes in the plaster walls reminded Martina of an earlier time when all she was worried about was the police. If the police arrived and found a way inside, she would welcome them now.

For a second, Martina wondered if the movie would teleport one of them into this commercial. Then, they could escape and bring help, but the camera panned and revealed a difference in the outer room. In the center of the lobby, someone had placed a scarecrow on a pole. A sign hung from its neck with one word: Danger.

“What’s dangerous about a scarecrow?” asked Ned.

The shot zoomed in on the scarecrow. Liam’s voice wavered in response. “The scarecrow is from another episode. Everyone died in it.”

Wheat grew around the scarecrow, swaying as if calling them over, and then a shadow spread across the wall. An amorphous silhouette that had a human shape, but too many arms. At least eight of them. It shook its hands, and sharp points emerged from the end of its fingers.

What was the dark creature? Was it connected to the scarecrow? They were all still here in the theater and not in the movie. What was Forlorn Harbor trying to say?

Martina mumbled a petition of deliverance from being sucked into this commercial. If she went into the film, she would run outside, but the monster’s shadow was enormous. No. If the commercial pulled her into the lobby, Martina would be helpless.

The scene changed to the familiar sight of the agitated water. Again, the narrator intoned the introduction to Forlorn Harbor as Martina’s insides squirmed. She had never truly believed the transference into the film world would stop with two of her classmates, though Martina recalled her abba’s wisdom. A lie you tell yourself may carry you through tough times.

When the introduction ended, the scene shifted to the inside of a room with rough wooden walls, a square wooden table, and a gas lamp hanging from exposed rafters. The setting was out of an old Western.

Three people sat at the table, holding playing cards. The first man had a drooping mustache, and his leather boots were on the table. He wore the dungarees and plaid shirt of a cowboy. The second, in a dark pillbox hat, held his cards to his leather vest. The third wore a standard Stetson hat, his elbows resting on the table, his cards lying face down before him. While the first two were at ease, the third glanced around the room as if he fell asleep in one location and woke up in another. Martina put her hand on her heart.

The third person was Geoff.

Quit Hanging Around

Geoff leaped to his feet, pushed back his chair, and toppled it. The seat landed on the wooden floor with a loud bang. Alarmed, the card player with his feet on the table swung them to the floor, and the pillbox-hatted man reached for his hip. Geoff stepped backward until he encountered a wall. Sweating, he surveyed the room.

The room resembled a set of an old, black-and-white cowboy movie. Two lanterns, not light fixtures, hung on the beams, lighting the entire scene. Unadorned walls, logs doubling as rafters under a pitched roof, and planks in place of flooring all screamed the Wild West. Two shuttered windows with small cracks allowed the evening air to seep through. A cabbage and tobacco—Eau de Desperados—scent hung in the enclosed area.

Once Geoff took in his new location, he noticed the scratchiness of his clothes. The corduroy shirt and stiff pants irritated his skin. Encircled around his waist was a leather belt with a holster. Good. No gun, though. This holster sheathed a sharp, six-inch knife.

“What in tarnation is the matter with you, Geoff?” asked the card player with his hand on his hip. “You trying to cheat?”

Even though he was off-balance, Geoff wouldn’t allow these men to have him at a disadvantage. He had to wait for Liam to guide him through this episode. He licked his lips.

“No.”

A seated, bulky man batted at his drooping mustache as a cat bats a string. “He probably saw a spider, Alfie. You know how jumpy our boy is around them.” He nodded across the room at three mattresses. “Freaked out when one crawled on him last night.”

Alfie brought his index finger down on the table near Geoff’s seat. “Sit down, waddie. We’ve had a long night, and I don’t need your tomfoolery to top it off.”

Geoff glanced at the single open door out of this room. Resisting the urge to run for it, he returned to the table, righted the chair, and plopped down.

He had to wait for his stupid younger brother. Once the scene froze, Geoff and Liam could try Geoff’s idea. Maybe it would get him out of this place instead of staying in cowboy hell.

“Pick up yer cards, Geoff.” Alfie fingered a match. “I’m about to call.”

Geoff reached for the playing cards and picked them up. Worn at the edges and yellow-stained, they didn’t resemble the cards he had at home. The images were far less detailed, and the printed letters were drawn on the weathered paper.

Alfie turned to his partner. “Show your hand, Big Stan. I call.”

Big Stan slapped his cards down on the table. “Kings! And der son, Jack.”

The black-hatted player laid down his cards. “Dash it all! You cheated.”

Big Stan fingered his mustache. “How’d I cheat? You da biggest cheat, boss. How’d I pull one over on ya?”

Alfie rapped the surface in front of Geoff. “Wake up. Whatcha got, kid?”

Hands shaking, Geoff lay down his pair of queens and eights with a spurious two-of-hearts. Alfie examined his hand. “Calamity Jane and her friend. Nothin’, in other words.”

Chuckling, Big Stan scooped the pile of spent matchsticks on the table into a smaller pile in front of him. “This oughta set me up fer a while. Every ten sticks are worth a quirlie you boys owe me. And none of those sissy sticks, either.”

“Another round, and I’ll win ‘em all back.”

With this statement, Alfie’s sour cherry breath reached Geoff’s nostrils. The transported boy forced himself not to breathe.

“Sez you,” replied Big Stan. “First, I gotta make a deposit in the shed.” He clicked his tongue.

Geoff gulped. “You what?”

“What da heck is the matter with you, boy?” Alfie adjusted his hat. “You off your chump or somethin’?”

Geoff had no answer. Instead, he jerked his chin at Big Stan. “What’s he doing?”

Big Stan first knitted his eyebrows at Geoff, and then he snorted. “A joke. Ha! I’m going ta do my business in the outhouse. That’s what you wanted to hear?”

Alfie cackled as Big Stan strolled to the exit.

Geoff scowled and blushed. What the hell was going on? And how long before he was allowed to communicate with Liam? Westerns were dumb, and he never understood the slang. Worse, the sun was falling to the ground like a dead body. The entire setup put him on edge. It should. He was in a horror, not a cowboy, movie.

Alfie gathered the cards and shuffled them. “Hey, I know ya wasn’t happy with tonight’s job, but it needed doing. Lenny didn’t do hisself any favors, coming to us and asking us to turn ourselves in. The widder woman got what she deserved, and we got what we deserved when we scared her hoss off’n the cliff.”

Geoff’s brain swirled. Who was Lenny? What widow woman?

The cards snapped as they folded into each other. Alfie cut the deck again. “Too bad Lenny saw us scare Widow Evans. Almost too bad for us if’n he went to the sheriff, but he didn’t. The stars were on our side tonight. Gert will find him in the morning strung up near Snake Gulch. Nobody will ever guess we done it.”

Geoff rubbed his hands across the rough surface of the table. “We killed him.”

“Had to be done, son.”

Alfie dealt five cards to Geoff and five to the missing Big Stan. Geoff focused on his predicament instead of the game. Horror movies were merciless to those who preyed on the weak. Geoff’s character had taken part in killing an innocent person. Forlorn Harbor would surely punish him for it.

When did the part come where Liam showed up?

Geoff picked up his hand, but spilled them on the floor when someone screamed from outside. For a moment, Geoff and Alfie stared at each other. The yell must have been Big Stan. They leaped to their feet and pounded across the room to the doorway. After Alfie unhooked a lantern from the rafters, they raced outside.

A looming sun touched the horizon line, spread across a vista of grass and hills. Geoff didn’t stop to take in the view. Instead, he followed on Alfie’s heels. Once he rounded the corner of the house, Geoff slowed down. He might be making the fatal mistake of all characters in horror movies. He had followed a plea for help. The first rule is never to intercede or run toward danger.

On the other hand, he was with Alfie. Good thing, too. He spied the form of Big Stan floating off the ground. No, not floating. Dangling. Drifting side to side. His eyes traced the body up to a tree limb extended above Big Stan’s head. Someone had tied a rope to the sturdy bough above the cowboy. The other end wrapped around his neck.

Alfie unholstered his gun and lifted the lantern. “Whoever did this, come on down out of the tree. I know you’re there.”

The lantern’s beam moved up, down, and across the branches. Geoff retreated, expecting something to leap out of the massive, leafless tree, like a changeling in Joy’s episode, but nothing was there. His attention returned to Big Stan. “What about him?”

The body hung, still and quiet. Alfie growled, “Big Stan didn’t call out to us. We’d a been able to save him if’n he did.” Louder, he continued to call out. “You hain’t getting away with this. I’ll fill you full of lead. I only need to find you.”

The lantern faltered and extinguished for less than a second. It lit again, then blinked once more. Geoff eyed the light source, but Alfie ignored the flickering. As Geoff waited for the lantern to go dark again, the scene before him changed from an open prairie to a darkened theater. Four of his accomplices tonight—Ned and Joy missing—stood at attention, gazing at him.

As with the prior two scenarios, Alfie and the swaying corpse froze in place. Geoff put his hands out and walked up to the group in the Majestic. His fingers encountered resistance after taking two steps. The barrier was spongy and rough.

Geoff pushed his hand against it. He had to shove the canvas of the screen, ripping it open. Then, he could return safely to the theater.

Geoff rapped on the invisible barricade. “Hey, Liam. Come here. Like we talked.”

Liam hurried up to the other side of the boundary. “Listen, Geoff. I know this show.”

The episode? Who cares? Why couldn’t his brother follow instructions? “Do it! Before I run out of time.”

Liam paled and raised his hands. Because Geoff was projected and enlarged, his brother was the size of a toy poodle, and Liam’s eyes reflected the blind obedience of a dog. His brother’s fingertips encountered resistance six inches from Geoff’s fingers. Though he pushed, his hand couldn’t extend further. “I feel the screen, Geoff. I can’t break through and grab your hand.”

“Dash it all!” growled Geoff. Dash it all? Where had that phrase come from? He couldn’t reach his brother or curse. As with an overflowing pot of water, his anger spilled out of him, and he punched the barricade with a blow strong enough to break someone’s nose. “Gol-darnit!”

Liam craned his neck upward to absorb Geoff’s giant-sized proportion. “The original show opens with this Lenny guy strung to a tree. Then, the three of you return to your bunkhouse along with Lenny’s ghost. He hangs each of you, starting with Big Stan. You’re the last to die.”

“How do I escape?”

“At one point, you and Alfie talk about going to town. Maybe confessing would finish this segment.”

Joy called across the auditorium. Her voice was as grating as an amateur playing a violin. “Geoff confess to something? That’ll be the day.”

Geoff banged his fist against the invisible wall. “To get out of here? No problem. What should I do next?”

Liam’s attention shifted to what Geoff knew was the clock counting down in the corner of his screen. He took a deep breath. “Don’t go into the—”

They were gone. The prairie replaced them. Frustrated, Geoff punched where the boundary had been between the episodic and the real world. However, the thin line between the two had become intangible, and his swing swished through the air.

“What in tarnation you doin’, boy?” Alfie asked from behind. “Fighting fireflies?”

Geoff faced Alfie once again. He swallowed his answer, choosing to examine the corpse instead. Big Stan hung on a branch—a gruesome ornament on a Christmas tree.

“What should we do with him?”

Alfie pointed the gun at the branch. “I could shoot him down, but it’s a waste of a good bullet. Leave him.”

“Up there?”

“When we find the scallywag who done this, we’ll take him here.” Alfie scuffed his boot. “This’ll be the last thing he ever sees. Come on.”

Alfie hurried toward the small cabin. Geoff followed, glancing over his shoulder. He drew his knife and walked backward, surveying the area for Lenny’s ghost. Creatures always snuck up on people from the rear.

When they reached the doorway, Alfie halted and asked, “What dan-gung thing are you a’doing?”

Geoff muttered, “A ghost killed Stan. And I’m watching our backs.”

“P’shaw. You’re off your nut if’n you think a ghost is hereabout. Someone strung him up, is all. Let’s go inside, find you a cannon, and we’ll mosey on out.”

Geoff smirked. “A cannon?”

Alfie’s foul breath and spittle sprayed Geoff. “A gun, Geoff. You bumfuzzled or something?”

Alfie marched into the house with Geoff behind him. If Alfie offered a gun, Geoff was all for it. He had shot a friend’s 9mm at rats in a junkyard. He was familiar with handling one. But a ghost? He had never known bullets to wound a ghost. If he questioned Alfie, however, the gunslinger may start to wonder about him. Ghost or not, a revolver in his hand would make him feel safe.

Alfie crossed the room to the chest while giving Geoff an order. “You stand guard. Make sure nobody tries to sneak in.”

Who was this guy to give him orders? Geoff was smarter than this idiot. He knew what was happening. If anything, Geoff should be telling Alfie what to do. For now, he’d let it pass as he needed information.

“Hey, Alfie. Which way is town?”

“Never good with directions in the dark, were ya?” Alfie opened the chest. “Look to the horizon and foller the lights. Lead you straight there.”

No one was outside, and Geoff’s skin crawled at the exposure of standing in the doorway. He backed into the house. “Maybe we should go to town and tell people about Big Stan’s death. It would be better with more people on our side.”

Alfie rummaged inside the large box. “Though the law thinks us dirtbags, they hain’t been able to prove nothing. Sheriff’s as straight as an arrow. He might help, but he also might’ve heard about Lenny and be asking us questions.”

Geoff swayed from foot to foot. “We’ll deny we had anything to do with Lenny.”

“Maybe. Here it is.” Alfie pulled out a small revolver.

With his back to Alfie, Geoff focused on the door. The snap of the cylinder opening and the click, click, click of Alfie inserting bullets relieved Geoff’s anxiety. The weapon was useless against spirits, but Geoff itched to escape this building. If he convinced the older man to let him go to town alone and confess, he might be able to end this nightmare.

“Hey boy,” said Alfie. “I’m short a piece of lead. Got ammo in your belt?”

Geoff’s fingers went to his belt as he turned around, but then he froze. “Watch out!”

From the rafters, a cord of rope uncoiled as a cobra elongates to strike its victim. A noose hung from the end of the line a few inches above and behind Alfie’s hat. The lasso poised to strike, not as if a cowboy was manipulating it, but as if it had a mind of its own.

Alfie scowled. “Now what’s troubling you, boy? I swear, something’s...ulp!”

Geoff ran forward to push Alfie out of the way, but he was too late. The noose slipped around Alfie’s hat and head with the speed of a mongoose. Alfie dropped both guns and reached up to grab the braided cord, but his fingers fumbled against the tight loop encircling his neck.

Pulling to a stop, Geoff removed his blade from his belt. Too late. The living rope had already pulled Alfie off the ground, his boots kicking the air in a madcap dance of frenzy. Geoff screamed as the lariat lifted the killer to the ceiling, attempting with the last of his strength to pull away the hemp around his neck. The struggle was over in seconds. Geoff choked back vomit as Alfie’s body stopped struggling and went still.

“Shee-yoot!” Geoff exclaimed.

He turned, ready to exit, but stopped dead in his tracks. Other ropes were emerging from the rafters between him and the door. They were forming nooses at their ends and moving whip fast. What had Liam said? “Don’t go into the—”

Bunkhouse.

Geoff crouched down. He wouldn’t die this way. He raised his knife above his head and swung it around as he charged for the doorway.

The ropes tried to drop down and string him up, but Geoff dodged and moved sideways like a crab to avoid them. If he had proceeded straight for the door, one of them would have lassoed and hung him. Strands brushed against his neck hairs near the opening. Ducking, he managed to slip under and out of it before it snagged him. Tucking his head, he somersaulted out the exit onto the hard ground outside.

Geoff stood and spun on his heel. Inside the bunkhouse, dozens of nooses swayed like a pendulum. They motioned for him to return. Forget that! Alfie hung at the rear of the cabin, his life extinguished. Death is what comes from returning to the house.

Now, he was alone. He didn’t think much of Alfie, but at least the guy was a companion.  He might have liked Alfie if he had met him in the real world. The dude was the hardened and ruthless sort of guy he’d hang out with.

Geoff turned and started running, then came up short, avoiding trees or anything else made of wood hanging above him. Daylight was gone, and the horizon was a thin, orange line. He scanned it, searching for lights. Heat lightning flared on the horizon, flashing on and off.

Rain, too? “Shee-yoot!” he cursed.

The heat lightning flashed again, and Geoff realized what it meant. The lightning didn’t portend rain, but his second chance at a Q&A. He blinked, and his friends stood in front of him once again.

Martina realized first the barrier was down. “Are you okay?”

What a dumb question. Geoff was alive. But then, he understood what she meant. How was he holding up? Or did the experience in the bunkhouse knock all sense out of him? Martina was stupid, but he had to admit he welcomed her question. “Yeah.”

Liam spoke, the words flying out of him as bees from a disturbed beehive. “Listen. Run for the town and confess, but first, remove your knife and put it to your throat.”

“You idiot! At my throat? The ghost can push it and slice me open!” Geoff’s eyes flared.

Liam pointed to the clock to indicate they were running out of time. “Crouch down. Blade outward. Dull side to your throat. This way, if a noose slips over your head, you may cut through it.”

Geoff wrinkled his nose at Liam. He hated his younger brother telling him what to do. He was always in charge. Yet, Liam’s idea made sense. While Geoff shivered at the proximity of the weapon to his Adam’s apple, the blade would be ready to slice through anything encircling his neck.

“The nooses only form out of wood, according to the original episode. Your counterpart goes back to Lenny’s corpse. Stay away because that tree is where he dies.”

“Where Lenny dies? You hain’t making sense.” Geoff hadn’t said hain’t, but it came out on its own.

“Where you die. Go to town.”

Again, the view into the theater vanished, and instead the scrub and grassland stretched before him. He had lost contact with them—the second and final chance to talk. He had wanted more time to discuss the fate of his character. No luck, there. At least, the second interruption meant he was near the end of this nightmare once and for all.

Grabbing the knife, Geoff put it to his throat with the sharp blade facing the prairie. He rotated in a complete circle. Where was the town?

Geoff spotted a tiny dot far in the distance. Civilization. Not wanting to run too fast for fear of cutting himself, he jogged toward the nebulous destination, hoping his confession would remove him from this nightmare.

He advanced to town, giving a wide berth to the trees. Every tree he passed, a lower branch would sprout a rope with a hangman’s noose and slither down. Creepy, and on top of it, the cords reminded him of snakes.

He took a roundabout path to steer away from the animated fetters to approach the collection of buildings. A sign proclaimed the establishment’s name, Sunshine Point. Ironic, him arriving in a place called Sunshine Point in the middle of the night. Hanging lanterns provided a single source of light. Geoff rounded a corner to view the main thoroughfare: cobbler, goods store, saloon, a jail, and a livery. All but the prison was wooden. The jail was rock-hard stone. Additional buildings extended down the street, but Geoff couldn’t read their signs.

As he marched forward, Geoff passed a four-foot-tall stage. He peered at it while moving toward the prison. Not a stage. A gallows. Gol-darnit! Would this theme of death-by-hanging never end?

But wait. The platform, pole, and crossbeam were black. It was metal, not wood. Better yet, nothing hung from the top bar. Liam had told him to avoid wood. Fantastic! The safest place for him was the very place they hung people.

Geoff lowered the knife, but kept it handy, ready to replace it near his neck if he sensed trouble. Peering down the road, he spied a group of people carrying torches and lassoes. A lanky stranger in a leather jacket had his back to him, shouting for calm. A woman to his left, with withered skin like a walnut, pointed at Geoff. “There he is, Geoff Crosswell!”

A group of burly men advanced down the road, holding not lassoes but nooses! What the hell? Why had Liam led him into this nightmare?

The leather jacket person closest to Geoff turned around and spotted him, holding up his hands. “I’ll take care of this. You all stay here.”

Geoff was about to dart away, but he caught sight of a flash of tin on the tall man’s jacket. The badge was star-shaped—the sheriff. At least, he had quickly found him. While the lawman strode toward Geoff, the crowd behind him mumbled their discontent.

“Evening, Geoff.” The man hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “The Norwalds are upset about their kin, Lenny. You happen to know anything about it?”

Geoff peered past the sheriff. The crowd had started to shuffle forward, a little bit at a time. All of them, even the woman, held a noose. He tensed at the sight of the oval shape.

Turning his attention to his companion, Geoff cleared his throat. Truth or lie? If he told the truth, the mob might go berserk and kill him. If he lied, well...even he knew what happened to liars in horror movies. “I’ll talk to you in the prison.”

The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “The prison? Why there?”

“I’d feel safest there.”

The crowd behind the lawman moved closer. Geoff counted seven of them and noticed the family resemblance. Square jaw, hair the color of a burlap bag, broad shoulders. Except for the woman, they were taller, heavier, and sported bodybuilder muscles.

The sheriff moved his head a quarter turn. “If any of you takes another step, I’ll arrest you as sure as my name is Oswald Donaldson. Hear?”

The family halted. They were still too close for Geoff’s comfort.

Oswald regarded Geoff. “Do you know what happened to Lenny?”

The truth would motivate the nutjobs to rush forward as sure as they were all in black and white. Even if it wasn’t a supernatural force, they would still hang him. How ironic.

His companion repeated his question. “We found Lenny strung up earlier. Were you there when it happened?”

Time for a half-truth. Sure, Geoff’s character was there, but he wasn’t. “No.”

The woman curled her fingers and clawed at him. “He’s lying, sheriff. I had a dream, and you know how ‘curate my dreams are.”

Oswald raised his voice. “Gert, I’m talking to him. Now—”

“Too much talking!” shouted a brother of the family. “Who’s up for a lynching bee?”

Drawing his gun, Oswald raised it. He discharged a bullet. “Andrews. I need help.”

The bullet stopped the charge of the Norwald family long enough for a man in a broad-brimmed cowboy hat to stumble out of the saloon, guns drawn. The newcomer was closer to Geoff than the mob, and he ran to intercept them.

Oswald nodded to a position on the street. “Andrews, defend the right side of the gallows. I’ll take the left. Shoot anyone who comes near. Geoff, climb up.”

Geoff regarded the raised platform. “No way. Just bring me to jail.”

The sheriff cocked his pistol. “We’d have to make it through them to go there. Climb on up the gallows, and Andrews and I will defend it while I talk some sense into the Norwalds. Now, git!”

Oswald’s “git” was clear Geoff had no choice. He climbed the stairs, relieved the platform was metallic. He waved his knife, but remained ready to jump off if he spotted any hint of a noose.

Standing before the gallows, Oswald pointed his gun at the Norwalds. “Halt, or I will shoot.”

Geoff stepped onto the platform and was about to cross to the center when he noticed the trapdoor. His foot hovered over it before he returned it to its original position. Sure. Step on the trapdoor, the lever gives, and Geoff plunges. What’s down there? A Norwald family member, ready to kill him.

They wouldn’t kill him that way.

Eyes on the trapdoor, Geoff avoided the square indentation. He kept his feet away from the trap. The Norwalds glowered at him, but Geoff had beat them. All he needed now was for the program to run out of time.

Gert pointed at Geoff. “He killed my son.”

“Nobody had admitted to anythin’, Gert,” replied the sheriff. “If Geoff’s done something wrong, I’ll see he gets his, but until then, you’ll abide by the law.”

Yeah. Geoff lifted his chin and let it bob up and down. Shove it, you yahoos. He would beat them at their game, and they couldn’t do anything about it.

“I dreamed it, Sheriff Donaldson,” said Gert. “He, Alfie, and Big Stan all did it together. Three rotters, they are.”

Geoff straightened up. “Dreams hain’t proof, lady.”

A family member threw a rock at him. Geoff dodged it and sidestepped the trapdoor again. His attention shifted to the base of the gallows. He had to remember to keep his footing.

A hulking member of the Norwalds grinned a toothless mouth at him. “Good thing the Widder Evans allowed us to cut down her cypress tree to make the new beam. We gonna test it, tonight!”

What did that mean?

Gert raised the noose and shook it at him. Then her gaze stole upward and widened. Without warning, a thick coil fell around Geoff’s head and constricted his throat.

Where did the rope come from? Liam had said the nooses only came from wood. This gallows was metal!

The noose tightened before Geoff positioned his dagger between his skin and the twine. Instead, he placed the teeth of his weapon on the outside of the threads to cut through it. As his blade sawed closer to his throat, the line became taut and lifted Geoff into the air. Rolling his eyes upward, he spied markings on the crossbeam.

Knotholes, lines, widow Evans’ cypress! The crossbeam was painted black. He had mistaken it for metal like the rest of the gallows.

Geoff kicked the air, but the rope pulled him higher. He tried to cut himself free. Instead, his hand trembled and sliced open a wound on his cheek. He ignored the flash of pain, focusing on his need to breathe.

Shouldn’t the sheriff or the other guy shoot the rope strangling him? What were they waiting for? This deadly necktie cut off all his air. He couldn’t die this way. He had followed the rules.

The Norwalds cheered, and they crowded past the two shocked lawmen.

Hurry. Someone help him!

He had to take a breath.

He had to take—

He had—

One More

The rope pulled Geoff higher to a roar of approval from the crowd surrounding the platform. Geoff’s legs kicked, attempting to breathe, and then the episode faded to black.

Ned cursed. Theresa uttered a sound between a yip of a dog and a cry of a loon. Having been through this twice before, Martina swung her flashlight around the theater before the device winked on. Someone may have to give Geoff CPR. They needed to find him fast.

The flashlight circles roamed over the ruins of their massive enclosure. The beams crawled over piles of debris, down decaying walls, in and out of the tiny projection window on the rear wall—searching, hunting. They played a hide-and-seek game where life and death hung in the balance.

No Geoff.

“Where is he?” Liam’s voice was higher, near the edge of panic.

Again, the flashlights sought out their missing companion, but Martina began to tremble, betraying her thoughts. Geoff wasn’t returning. He had punched a one-way ticket to Forlorn Harbor—a concept terrifying in its implications.

Oh, Lord. Please. Please return him.

Martina didn’t speak her fears aloud. Joy had the honor.

“Geoff’s dead.”

“No!” Liam’s head swung back and forth like a pendulum. “No, he can’t be.”

Joy had never stood during Geoff’s foray into the black-and-white world, preferring to sit where she had reappeared. She flashed the light on her face, deepening the ridges of her features.

“Did his character die in the episode?”

Liam didn’t answer her. His flashlight beam darted around the theater. The others had given up.

“Liam, he—” started Theresa.

“Shut up!” Liam stopped his circle of illumination in the middle of the auditorium. “He isn’t dead! I can’t have killed my brother.”

Martina’s eyes grew large. “No one’s saying you killed Geoff, Liam. No one’s blaming you.”

But after the words left her mouth, Martina considered her statement. Liam was blaming himself. He had failed to save his brother, and now the other side of the screen had become deadly. Could they trust their guide?

Liam cupped his hands around his mouth. “Geoff? Are you there? If you are, answer me.”

Nobody answered his summons. For a half minute, the chamber was as still as a ghost town far away from civilization. Liam knelt and set down the flashlight. He pounded his fists against the ground and cried.

Ned and Joy hadn’t risen, but everyone else encircled Liam. After he swung his arm around for room, they retreated.

Theresa grabbed Martina’s arm and pulled her away. They strolled across the auditorium to a wall away from the others. Glancing back at Liam, Theresa whispered. “Too bad about Geoff.”

“How do we help Liam?” asked Martina.

“I don’t think we can. Escaping here alive is the best we can do.”

If only. Escaping had become both more urgent and distant.

Theresa pointed her pinky at one of the exits. “I was hoping the doors would open after Geoff went in, but I checked while everyone else was watching his show.”

“So, the number of wishes doesn’t matter,” surmised Martina.

“I think it still does.” Theresa shuffled her feet. “Geoff’s turn doesn’t count because he never returned. After the third person’s turn, perhaps the doors will open.”

Martina bit the inside of her mouth. Could it be?

Theresa raised her index finger. “One more.”

Theresa glared at Kaylee, who approached Joy. When Kaylee asked Joy a question in a low voice, her churlish friend responded with a loud snort. For her part, Kaylee pulled back as if the other girl had slapped her hand. Kaylee shuffled away, chewing on her lip. The petite girl’s attention shifted to Theresa and Martina.

Theresa turned her back on Kaylee. “Pretend we don’t want her here.”

Theresa had closed off eye contact with her classmate. Martina slumped her shoulders. Breaking into small cliques wasn’t right. Kaylee was just as scared as everyone else.

Kaylee moved away from Joy and toward Liam. Liam sat on the ground, legs pulled up to his chest, resting his chin on them. He rocked on his hind end. As she approached him, she hesitated. Glancing at Martina and Theresa again, Kaylee caught Martina’s eye. Martina nodded at her.

Kaylee rotated on her heel, advancing toward them. Theresa acted as if she and Martina were in the middle of a conversation. “Sure. Geoff may have appeared in the lobby.”

Martina’s cheeks flushed. Acting standoffish wasn’t her style, and she’d be damned if she pushed away someone who wanted her company. Despite how the other girl had treated her in school, she wouldn’t ignore Kaylee. They weren’t in school now, and they needed each other.

Martina said, “Join us.”

Kaylee’s face softened as she made her way into their circle. Theresa flared her nostrils at Martina, but then put on a welcoming face for the newcomer.

“We were just discussing whether we thought Geoff was dead or not.”

Martina wasn’t thrilled with Theresa’s fib, but at least she allowed her to stay.

Kaylee played with the untucked hem of her shirt. “It would be awful if he was.”

Martina read the thought balloon above Theresa’s head. Duh! Of course, it would be awful. Yet Martina understood Kaylee was attempting to join the discussion. “Kaylee, we were hoping that only a few of us would have to go into a Forlorn Harbor episode.”

Theresa wrinkled her nose, but Martina didn’t care. Hiding Theresa’s theory wasn’t right either.

Kaylee rubbed the fingers on her left hand with her right. “Why only some of us?”

Martina dodged the question. “There are more of us than in the wishes show. Maybe we’ll be lucky, and the doors will return after the next episode.”

Grabbing Theresa’s arm, Kaylee asked, “You believe—like—if you went next, the rest of us would be free to leave?”

Martina stiffened when Kaylee implied Theresa would be the next to go, and Theresa yanked her arm away from Kaylee. “I believe the movie will pull in only the four bad people.”

Kaylee blinked, processing Theresa’s statement. Her features hardened. “You think I’m one of the four, don’t you?”

“Well, you put the ‘ass’ in suck-ass.”

Kaylee’s mouth opened wide, and Martina stepped between the two. “Stop. We aren’t sure of anything.”

“It makes sense,” snapped Theresa. “Kaylee’s nothing but a mini-Joy. She’s like a wind-up toy that repeats the same sentence. ‘What Joy said.’”

Kaylee bared her teeth. “I am not. How dare you?”

A smug expression stole over Theresa’s features. “Wherever Joy is, you’ll find Kaylee. Everyone at Jimmy’s High knows it.”

Spluttering, Kaylee tried to form words.

“Theresa, you’re not helping.” Martina might have to fib herself to de-escalate the situation. “We’re all hurting because of Geoff. Kaylee’s a good person.”

“Right,” Kaylee agreed. “And you’re not so holy yourself, Theresa.”

Theresa’s smug expression vanished.

Pointing a finger at Theresa, Kaylee sneered. “I know about you and what you did tonight.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Stop it.”

Liam’s voice caused them all to jump. He had walked up behind them, and nobody had noticed because of the argument.

Liam was the bridge between the three. Kaylee respected him as much as Joy, and Theresa practically worshiped him. Martina wanted to count him as a friend, and he had been pleasant to her all evening. Liam could end this fight because he wasn’t Martina—the person no one listened to.

Kaylee shrank back, and Theresa regarded a nearby wall. Liam rubbed a bit of wetness from under his eyes. “Martina’s right. We’re not leaving here without cooperating.”

“You’re not leaving here until you take your turn,” shouted Ned, listening in.

Liam scowled at the athlete and then turned his attention to the girls. Martina noticed it for the first time. After Ned and Joy returned, the others hadn’t included them in the discussion. Naturally, Ned, missing a foot, didn’t move much. In the center of the seating area, Joy lorded over her two square feet of flooring. She had preferred to keep her face in the dark.

Liam sighed. “As you all know, I’ll help you if Forlorn Harbor sucks you in.”

“It won’t choose you.” Theresa pointed at Liam. “You know the plots. They can’t fool you.”

Liam grimaced. “I haven’t watched them all, and I don’t remember a few of them. I had forgotten Joy’s until she was in it.”

Kaylee crossed her arms. “What do you think of Theresa’s theory?”

“What’s her theory?”

“The episodes are punishing bad people,” said Theresa.

“Is that what you thought of my brother?” Liam’s eyes bored into Theresa. “My brother wasn’t a bad person.”

Theresa thrust out her jaw. “He wasn’t very nice to you.”

“Geoff took more than a few beatings for me at home.” Liam nodded at Theresa. “He’ll take the fall for you if he likes you. Not many would.”

Theresa stiffened. “Whatever is doing this to us thought Geoff was a bad guy. Liam, admit it. Geoff’s a bit rough around the edges, and it singled him out and killed him.”

Martina was impressed with how easily Theresa lied. Though she knew Geoff the least, she had thought him horrid. He had been rough with Liam all night. If Geoff had reappeared and caught his breath, what would he have done to Liam? Beat him for leading him to an ending where he almost died, likely as not.

The blood drained from Liam’s face. Wanting to provide some comfort, Martina interrupted. “We have no proof he’s dead. I think Forlorn Harbor will return him.”

Liam considered her suggestion. “The show punishes mean people, but it’s wrong about Geoff. It wouldn’t kill him.”

Maybe. Martina pressed her lips together. She hoped Geoff would return. Unfortunately, her dread outweighed the hope.

Kaylee touched Liam’s arm. “But what about the four-episode theory? Will we be able to go home after the next person’s turn?”

Liam shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

Snorting, Ned called to them. “As I said before, everyone’s going in.”

Liam turned to him again. “You think this is a game or something? We may die.”

Tucking his chin down, Ned rubbed the nub at the end of his leg. “Don’t screw up with bad advice, then.”

Martina and Kaylee grabbed Liam as he fisted his hands. “I didn’t screw up.”

“Not with you,” shouted out Joy from across the room. “You were so in lust with Lolla Tunnels, you wouldn’t listen to him. With me, he messed up big time.”

Theresa pointed at Joy. “You specifically went against his advice, and you tried to waste time on the roof.”

Joy tossed her white hair over her shoulder. “Improvising. But what about Geoff? He followed Liam’s instructions.”

Everyone was quiet. Martina broke the silence. “No, he didn’t.”

“No one wants to hear from you,” scoffed Joy.

“I want to hear her.” Kaylee grabbed Martina’s arm. “What do you mean Geoff didn’t listen to Liam?”

Martina crossed her arms. “Liam told him to confess, but when the sheriff asked him point-blank about the dead guy, Geoff claimed he didn’t know anything about the murder. The ending might have been different if he had confessed then and there.”

Theresa said, “Yeah, the townspeople would’ve killed him if the sheriff hadn’t hung him first.”

Martina huddled in on herself. “Maybe. Maybe not. The sheriff seemed law-abiding, and he was ready to defend Geoff against the family. If Geoff hadn’t lied, the crowd might not have forced him onto the platform. Then he lowered his knife, forgetting what Liam told him about defending himself.” Martina’s eyes shifted to Liam. “If he had listened, he might have survived. Liam did what he could.”

Liam’s tears reappeared, but he sniffed and held them in.

Martina continued, “If more of us go in, we must follow Liam’s instructions. To the letter.”

Liam’s voice cracked. “I’m trying to help. It doesn’t matter if there are four or seven episodes. What matters is that we trust each other.” He swiveled around to include Ned and Joy. “All of us. We are getting out of here alive.” He moved his attention to Martina. “Together.”

The flashlights went off, and Theresa wailed in Martina’s left ear. Martina gulped and then began counting to herself.

The organ swelled with the introduction to Forlorn Harbor. Liam swore as Kaylee moaned. “Please, don’t let it be me. Please.”

The narration started while across the room Joy cackled. “See one of you on the other side.”

“Shut up, Joy,” commanded Liam.

Theresa’s voice cut across the darkness. “I have an idea.”

The film was at the docks. The camera began its ascent to the inn at the top. They were running out of time.

“Grab hands,” instructed Theresa. “Perhaps, if we’re all holding hands, it can’t take one of us.”

It was a desperate plan, but any port in the storm. Any port, that was, except a forlorn one.

The film was at the inn now, close to the end.

Martina reached out to her two neighbors, Theresa and Kaylee. She bumped Theresa’s hand and fumbled against her fingers. Then, their fingers interlocked.

Theresa, on the left.

She wiggled her hand for Kaylee. A warm, sweaty palm clasped around her wrist. Kaylee slid her hand down and intermingled fingers with Martina.

Kaylee, on the right.

Liam’s silhouette stood in front of her. They were in a circle. Maybe Theresa had found a loophole. Perhaps linked together, the program couldn’t transfer them. Or they would all go. Would that be bad? To be in a Forlorn Harbor episode with Liam instructing them every step of the way? It was better than being alone.

The introduction ended on the screen, and Martina clasped her two classmate’s hands harder. She wouldn’t let go! She’d demand this evil force take her with them if they were selected. And if it selected her, her tight grip would hopefully pull all four of them into the story. Break the cycle and leave the theater. It had to work. It had to—

Her right hand slipped from Kaylee’s grasp. Kaylee was gone.

Red Rover

Kaylee had held onto Martina’s cold hand and Liam’s wrist. Martina had a firm grip, and then Kaylee’s fingers curled in on themselves. Had Martina let go? Where had Liam gone? Were they still in the theater?

They may have been, but Kaylee wasn’t. She now floated through a void.

Kaylee wobbled when her feet landed on a floor near a wall, facing a window across a cabin. A fireplace stood tall on her right, and to her left were a couch, a wooden table, and two wingback chairs on a circular rug. The space had three doors, one on the outer wall. Exposed rafters on the ceiling were unstained. Everything had lost its color. No surprise there. The surprise came from being here at all!

Kaylee placed her palm on her chest. Gone was her favorite T-shirt, replaced with a stiff dress with a sweetheart neckline. Tight stockings hugged her legs. Even her shoes had been switched to casual, black flats.

The alterations didn’t stop with her clothes. Her gangly arms and legs had filled out, and her diminutive stature heightened. She was a young woman!

She couldn’t go through with this. She wasn’t strong like Joy or Geoff. Geoff! He died. She might, too.

The thought prompted Kaylee to open her mouth and scream.

After Kaylee’s cry of terror, someone else shouted her name. The end of her shriek blended with another’s voice. Kaylee spied the person speaking to her, a young man with a pencil-thin mustache and black hair parted down the middle.

Kaylee’s mouth shut with the click of her teeth coming together. Farther away, two more people stood in the same room. A bald man held a cap, the kind worn by paperboys in the old movies. He had broad shoulders and a pock-marked countenance. Beside him was a woman with a heart-shaped face and a full head of hair on top. Her brunette locks dangled down to curls on either side of her cheeks. She wore a waitress uniform.

The bald man’s attention swung from Kaylee to the mustache guy. “What in blazes is up with you two?”

“Mustache” ignored the question, instead racing across the quarters to Kaylee. Was he about to attack her? She positioned her arms against her body in defense.

The approaching man didn’t attack. He pulled her sideways to him, her head turned from the window. “Don’t look, darling.”

Darling! Darling? Uh...okay. Very okay!

Kaylee inhaled the man’s cedarwood-scented cologne, his freshly laundered shirt, and another whiff of what she thought was hairspray. His arms folded around her, and she found herself melting into him. Sure, she dreamed about Kurt Higgins at Jimmy’s High. Kurt Higgins was a boy. This guy was a man, and he called her “darling” just for screaming.

“Don’t look out there.”

Truth was, Kaylee hadn’t focused on whatever was on the other side of the pane of glass. She had screamed because Forlorn Harbor had chosen her for the episode. Stupid Theresa and her theories, but Theresa was correct in a way, wasn’t she? She hadn’t been the nicest person tonight.

Screw that! She was good. Misunderstood, but not bad.

Grunting, the bald dude rushed to the window that the mustache dreamboat had abandoned. “What’s outside, Billy?” he asked.

So, the affectionate man was Billy. Kaylee warmed to the name.

Instead of answering, Billy posed a different query. “What did you do, Nick?”

The waitress followed the bald man—Nick. She leaned left and right, attempting to peek out the window.

Nick gasped. “Holy Toledo! What is it?”

Kaylee wanted to put her hands to her ears. She didn’t want to know. Vampires, ghouls, zombies? She had watched Cabin in the Woods and hated every minute of it. She disliked horror movies because they always ended with a final girl. Whenever the final girl was left alone, wandering through a house of corpses, Kaylee’s anxiety spiked. Wandering by herself? Worst experience ever. Kaylee refused to be a final girl.

The woman behind Nick raised on her tiptoes, peeking over his shoulder. “They look like...”

Zombies? Ghouls? Vampires? Mummies? Out with it!

“Children,” finished the lady.

Children? What the hell?

Billy removed an arm from around Kaylee and snapped his fingers at Nick. “I asked you a question, Spades. What did you do? I told you to scare Mellini.”

Nick Spades’ eyes remained glued to the window. “I did scare him. With fire.”

“With what?”

“I set his store on fire.” Nick snapped, mimicking lighting a match. “You asked me to run him out of town. You said one wop was one too many, and soon they’d be setting up Catholic churches on the corners.”

Billy pulled away from Kaylee. Though one hand still gripped her forearm, the feeling of protection evaporated. She studied his face. Chiseled chin and jawbone, some light-colored eyes—who knew what actual color? Dimples. It was good to be the love interest.

Kaylee blinked. She had to pull herself out of this. She had to pay attention and survive.

Billy wrinkled his eyebrows. “I told you Mellini was dangerous. Darn you, Spades.”

“What awr they?” The woman’s accent forced Kaylee to mentally translate “awr” to “are.”

“Just a ring of children, Cath,” answered Nick. “They’re holding hands in front of the cabin. How they found us out in these backwoods, I don’t know.”

Billy released Kaylee. “They aren’t children, you stooge.”

Kaylee leaned closer to the window to better view the children-sized shapes. Maybe they were kids, but she wouldn’t disagree with her newfound love. Billy moved to a switch and flipped it. Light flooded the yard. Observing Kaylee attempting to peer through the darkness, he addressed her. “Darling, don’t!”

Too late. The “children” were wooden, four-foot-tall toy figures without strings. Dowel-thin limbs with a round peg held each joint together.  With painted-on clothes and illustrated smiles, they regarded her with lifeless eyes. They stood in a circle around the house, about three car lengths away. Their hands were linked together, creating a fenced-in barrier.

“Puppets,” said Nick. “The old dude set up puppets outside.”

Billy raced to Kaylee’s window and drew the shade, blocking her view. “Not ordinary puppets. Marionettes. They’re toys from Mellini’s shop. The shop you burned down. Fool. Now those things are after us.”

The woman—Cath or Cathy—and Nick eyed each other and laughed. Nick tapped the windowpane. “What are you talking about? They’re just toys.”

Billy ran a hand through his hair. “I wanted him gone, not angry. When I tried to persuade him to take a powder, he gave me a demonstration of his abilities. I saw him bring a toy bird to life and erupt into flame. The man isn’t normal.” He pointed to the front yard. “As evidenced by the circle around us.”

Nick furrowed his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you say so, neighbor?”

“Because if he received threats from others and did not trace it to me, he may feel unwelcome and leave. Burning down his shop, Nick? What were you thinking?”

Snorting, Nick turned to the window. “I was thinking of getting rid of a wop.”

Kaylee hugged herself. Marionettes, huh? They weren’t zombies, gazillions of bugs, or a life-sucking changeling thingy, and Billy knew what he was talking about. If she played this cool, they might go after this Nick guy. Where were the others? Was she doomed to be the first without Liam’s advice?

A chorus of children’s voices rose from outside above the night’s stridulations. Everyone froze in place and listened to the wheedling words—the sound of the wind brushing against wheat and blessing it with a voice.

“Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Cathy right over.”

Cathy stepped back and shook her head. “Why are they calling my name?”

Kaylee stiffened and took a deep breath. Nick grumbled, “Might be another Cathy. They didn’t say Zinneman.”

Cathy clucked her tongue. Clearly, the toys meant the other female occupant. People in this age were so dumb.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kaylee spied a lamplight wink on and off. Cool. The lamp cued a discussion with her classmates. She released a long breath as the fireplace wall disappeared.

As she suspected, Liam, Theresa, and Martina stood where the wall had once been. Behind them, Joy squinted at her with her hands covering her gruesome features. Kaylee’s eyes locked on Liam. “Tell me.”

“Saw this one,” said Liam. “Your character makes it to the end and doesn’t die. The solution is you must confront the marionettes when you hear your name.”

Kaylee shivered. “What? Are you kidding? I’m not going out there.”

“If you don’t, I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe.” Liam paused. “Or make it out alive.”

Kaylee gritted her teeth.

“When they call your name.” Liam licked his lips. “Nobody else’s. Kaylee, you’ll be fine if you follow this simple rule. Got it?”

Kaylee examined each of them. Liam’s worry lines on his forehead, Theresa’s upper teeth biting her lower lip, and Martina muttering under her breath. Perhaps the word “five?” She took a deep breath. “Yeah. What about the others?”

“They all die.” Liam pointed at her. “You’re called last.”

Last? Oh, God! She’d be alone in this house with those little demons outside?

Liam continued, “Your character figures out to leave when they call her. You can make it past them if they use your name. All this happens before you catch on fire.”

“I catch on what?”

“Could she save the others?” asked Martina. “Tell them?”

Kaylee wanted Martina to shut up. This conversation was about her, and Kaylee guessed she was running low on time. She leaned forward. “Who cares about them? What’s this about me catching on fire?”

“Not before you catch on fire, sorry,” Liam said. “You figure it out before the fire catches you!”

The wall returned with a snap of a finger. Kaylee ran to the fireplace hearth and struck it with her fists. “I don’t understand. Come back.”

Billy ran to her and took her arm. “What is it? What did you see?”

Billy held her as a dancer about to dip her—a classic movie pose. His eyes comforted her. Concern showed in those probably brown eyes. “I survive.”

Billy lowered his shoulders. “Of course, you’ll survive. We’ll all survive, but we must keep our noodles intact.”

From the yard rang the sibylline phrase again. “Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Cathy right over.”

The waitress beat her palm on the wall next to the window. “Why do they keep calling my name?” Her voice rose an octave. “And what’s this Red Rover?”

Nick scratched his ear. “Haven’t you ever played it, dummy? Kids line up on either side of a field and hold hands. They call ‘Red Rover’ and then a name. The kid whose name they choose has to run and break the chain. You’re supposed to run through the linked hands.”

Cathy tensed her shoulders. “They want me to go awt there?”

Awt? Oh, out.

“If you believe they’re talking to you, yes.” Nick shook his head. “But I believe someone has one of them tape recorders. They’re playing it to spook us.”

“How do you know?” Cathy asked.

Tapping his temple, Nick explained. “Mouths are painted on and not moving, you goose. This Mellini guy isn’t full of magic, but something else a whole lot smellier, and I’m going out there to prove it.”

Nick rolled his shoulders and marched toward the door. He shoved his cap on his head as he reached for the knob. Billy moved over to the door and placed his hand on it, holding it shut. “Wait a minute. Let’s discuss this.”

“What’s there to say? I’ll find that punk Mellini and give him what-for.”

Outside, the children sang their high-pitched summons once more. “Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Cathy right over.”

Cathy rubbed her arms. “I hate them tawking to me, Nick. Do something.”

Nick’s eyes shifted to Billy’s hand. “You heard the lady, Billy. I’ll take care of it.”

Kaylee stood as still as a sculpture, observing everyone. Should she intervene? Liam said they had all died but her, and then stupid Martina had asked whether Kaylee could change the ending so the others would live. But these people weren’t real, right? And if she changed it, what if she changed her destiny? The others had changed their episodes, and they had suffered as a result. She had the chance to leave hers unharmed. If she altered what happened, would she end up dead like Geoff?

Billy removed his hand, stepped away, and Nick opened the door. He adjusted his hat while peering out into the yard. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Ladies, don’t watch. This won’t be pretty.”

Oh, please. Billy’s warning wouldn’t stop Kaylee. She moved to the window as Nick strode across the porch to the grass-covered, expansive front yard. In the driveway beyond the marionettes, Kaylee spied an old green car with a rectangular body and rounded top. Everything on its exterior was metal except the tires with their inner white circle of lining. An escape! She pressed her fingertips to the window as if to touch the vehicle. Perhaps reaching the car would finish the episode.

Nick continued straight for the marionettes. They swayed like the wind ripples through the grass. Creepy. Certainly, this was the end of Nick—not that she cared.

Again, the verse rang out. “Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Cathy right over.”

Maybe Kaylee should’ve revealed the puppets were calling specific people and explained what Liam had told her, although she was also curious about what would happen to Nick. He wasn’t the hero. He was...what were they called? The extra. Or the villain? After all, he had burned down the toy shop.

Nick stopped short of the toy children and cupped his hands to shout. “Mellini. Where are you, you lily-livered scoundrel?” He cracked his knuckles. “I’ve got something for you.”

No answer. The expressionless marionettes, inches away, stared forward. Never blinking, watching eyes. Kaylee trembled.

Nick straightened his jacket. “Never mind. I’ll find you myself.”

The bald man grabbed the arms of two marionettes in front of him and tried to separate them, but they wouldn’t come apart. Shrugging, Nick advanced and pushed them backward. The puppets started to slide and turn sideways to face each other as he made a bulge, but the link held firm. Instead, the pint-sized golems on either side of him folded around his body. The toys pressed against him, impeding his progress and slowing Nick’s pervicacious advance. Then the toys grew taller, blocking Kaylee’s view.

“What the—” yelled Nick.

Kaylee lost sight of him. The next moment, Nick screamed, but his cry of terror abruptly died.

The marionettes shrank and returned to their original positions, never unlocking their hands. What they revealed caused Kaylee to choke on her spit. Nick’s skin had turned a darker shade. She would guess the color was bark brown. To confirm her suspicions, she observed lines running up and down Nick’s shirt and a knothole on his neck.

The puppets had transformed him into one of their own.

On examination, Kaylee found she was mistaken. Nick had no pegs for joints nor stick-thin limbs like those eerie puppets. Instead, Nick resembled a wooden statue.

Fingers gripped Kaylee’s shoulders. Billy had moved behind her, and Cathy stared out the other window. They were all watching Nick’s horrifying transformation in shocked silence.

The marionettes again chanted their oft-repeated phrase. This time, however, the words came out deeper, harsher, as if demanding they obey.

“Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Cathy right over.”

As they finished, Nick-the-effigy ignited into flames as if someone had doused it with gasoline and lit a match. The conflagration consumed him at once, and the statue emitted a long, painful wail. No doubt Nick felt the fiery tongues sear his skin!

Kaylee gasped, and then Billy turned her away from the window. He pressed her face into his chest.

“Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Richard right over.”

Who was Richard? Now they were calling people who weren’t there!

Cathy had sat down on a chintz chair and covered her face with her hands. Sobbing, she rocked in the chair, screaming gibberish. Though grateful to be in Billy’s arms, Kaylee remembered Liam’s warning about fire. “Before the fire catches you.” The little devils burned you. She had expected them to tear Nick apart, not burn him to death.

A fiery demise. Would the episode end similarly to the first two? Would she catch on fire near the end and return to the theater with charred flesh? Or would it consume her and kill her?

“I warned him,” Billy said. “Nobody leaves.”

Cathy caught her breath. “And wait for them to come to us? Are you mad?”

“Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Billy right over.”

The hellish toys had moved on. Now, they wanted Billy. Kaylee wanted to tell him he had to confront them. He could live if he went when they called him. He could break through, make it to the car, and bring help. Or maybe Mellini would stop this madness if Billy surrendered? But would she change the ending if she revealed the secret of the names?

What if Billy believed her and left? And what if he made it through the marionettes and drove for help? Cathy would provide no comfort at all. Worse, what if they summoned Cathy again after Billy and the waitress escaped? She’d be alone in this cabin with those terrible creatures. Perhaps they would call other names, like Richard, leaving her trapped here.

By herself. With those deranged toys calling another name all night.

Kaylee hyperventilated at the thought of being alone. Overwhelmed, she bit back the explanation of how to survive the Red Rover encounter. Billy and Cathy would have to figure it out themselves.

Cathy screeched, “I’m leaving awt the back exit.”

She flew toward one of the two doorways leading to the rear of the dwelling, the one farthest away from Kaylee. Kaylee stood near a doorway to a kitchen. Cathy’s doorway led to a hallway, and presumably, a rear exit.

Billy called to her. “Cathy, no! We must fight this together.”

From the hallway, Cathy’s voice shouted. “Those things! They’re in the backyard as well.”

“Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Billy right over.”

At his name, Billy grimaced. “Cathy, come back.”

Hinges squealed as a door opened in the rear of the structure. Cathy screeched her response. “They’re smaller on this side. I’ll leap over their hands.”

“Cathy!” screamed Billy.

Footsteps, not words, responded to Billy’s call. He separated from Kaylee. “Stay here.”

Billy sped toward the hallway, and Kaylee obeyed his order. She never pictured herself as a helpless female sidekick. At school, she and Joy stood at the top of the class, ensuring everyone listened to them. This was different. With Joy, she belonged to Jimmy’s High. Sometimes, she dreamed she and Joy would grow old together, unlike spending her life with the rest of the boys in school. She had dreams of kissing Joy, too, but she never admitted it to her.

Billy made her feel the same way, and while he was a phantasm made of celluloid and light, maybe he also existed in the world. Real people, not actors. Perhaps they’d escape, and she would run into a modern-day Billy.

Kaylee couldn’t allow Billy to die. Hopefully, he would stop Cathy, and they could wait out this episode. The film had its blood sacrifice with Nick. It couldn’t take Billy, too!

“Cathy!” Nick screamed from the back of the cabin.

Kaylee had acted as the helpless starlet so far. No more. She had to make a difference. Was Martina right to suggest changing the episode? Maybe if she saved Billy, he would teleport into the theater with her!

From the backyard, Cathy screamed, and then there was the crackle of flames. One less Cathy lived in the world.

Billy returned to the room, head hanging down. Kaylee rushed over to him and wrapped him in a hug. He replied in turn, and Kaylee relaxed in the embrace. She closed her eyes. With Billy, she was safe. Billy or Joy or whomever, it didn’t matter as long as she had someone else with her.

The children’s voices sang again. “Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Billy right over.”

They hadn’t changed the name! If Billy exited the building, he’d survive and run to his car, returning with help.

Kaylee opened her eyes. But if he went outside now, she’d be left behind.

Alone.

The thought of it nearly strangled Kaylee, and she struggled to take a breath. She wanted to tell him, but held it in. They’d wait it out here. Liam had said her character worked out the name trick. Maybe she stayed inside the entire time?

Kaylee stared into what she hoped were Billy’s chocolate-brown irises. “We’ll stay here. You and me.”

Billy mulled over her suggestion and then nodded. “Likely, it’s for the best. I might be able to leap over them. I’m more athletic than Cathy.”

Kaylee put a hand on his close-shaven cheek. His soft skin sent tingles through her fingers. “No. You can’t escape with those things. Stay here with me.”

“They haven’t come any closer to the cabin,” Billy said. “They keep their distance. If we can stand that annoying phrase, we might succeed.”

Kaylee melted at his reassurance. “Thank you.”

Billy leaned toward her. “This is a terrible time to tell you this, but I love you. I always have, Kaylee. You make me a better person.”

A flash of electricity raced through her body, and she quivered. His lips were hovering above hers, and she realized this was the moment in every horror show where the main characters express their love. She had kissed others before, but they were boys. She was about to kiss a man. She flushed and pursed her lips.

Fizz. Pop.

Before their lips came together, a flash exploded on the ceiling behind Billy’s head. Kaylee spotted it and bared her teeth. Not now! Why was this happening now?

A tongue of flame licked its way across the ceiling.

Noticing she was no longer paying attention to him, Billy turned around. He let her go and grabbed a throw pillow off the couch. Running over to the flame, he swatted at it, but it wouldn’t go out. Billy grabbed a chair, climbed onto the seat, and pressed the pillow against the flame. When he removed it, the fire remained the same size.

Billy examined the pillow. The flames had left a scorch mark on the side he’d pushed against the ceiling. Billy tossed it aside and focused on the burning roof. With a sudden flash, it began to grow and consume the ceiling.

“Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Billy right over.”

Billy hopped off the chair and ran for the kitchen. “I’ll find something to extinguish it.”

The fire zig-zagged across the ceiling. The conflagration spread in fits and bursts. It wasn’t an illusion. It burned holes wherever it fanned out.

Sounds of pans and water running came from the kitchen. Billy’s efforts were in vain. The fire was magic. Its purpose was to move them outside.

Then the wall vanished. Everything in the room froze in place and the theater appeared. This time, however, her classmates weren’t standing in a line before her. They were standing before an open doorway to the lobby.

“Kaylee.” Liam’s voice sounded hollow and distant. “The walls are gone.”

Theresa continued the conversation. “Find a way past the marionettes quickly and come back here. The exit will close soon.”

Martina sneered at her. “If you don’t, you’ll burn to death in there.”

How dare Martina speak to her in that way? Martina-the-broomstick was heartless. Kaylee had the wrong impression of her!

Joy held out her hand. “Come to us.”

Before Kaylee replied, the theater faded. The brief interlude didn’t allow her to ask a question. When did the doors open? Could they really leave? Why had the doors reappeared during her episode?

Theresa’s theory, of course. Four episodes. For whatever reason, this evil theater thought Kaylee was mean, and now they were going to leave without her!

The flames continued to eat through the roof, and pinpoints of moonlight shone through. Billy was in the other room, pulling more pots and pans from cabinets, a hopeless task. This was the guy who would keep her safe?

Liam, Theresa, Joy, and Ned were about to abandon her. She might be stuck in this hellhole of an episode for the rest of her life, even if she made it past the gauntlet! And worse, they were leaving her behind. No, she was part of them. She suffered through this night with them. How could they leave her?

Without another thought, Kaylee took off for the entrance. She flung it open and ignored Billy’s shouts for her to remain with him. Instead, she rushed through the front doorway. A wall of marionettes stood before her, digits intertwined.

“Red Rover. Red Rover. Send Billy right over.”

In her mind, Kaylee cursed them, cursed the creator of this show, and cursed whoever was behind all this. She had to think of a way through them since they hadn’t called her name, but she was more intelligent than they were. Nick had tried to go through, and Cathy had tried to jump over their stick appendages, but the puppets grew on demand. They would expect her to move straight through or over them. She had to do something unexpected.

Kaylee examined their hands. She had at least two feet of clearance to the ground. She could slide underneath them as if playing softball. The grass had a dewy wetness to give her an advantage.

To her left, a porch light flickered, and the yard went dark for a second before lighting up again. For a split second, Kaylee froze. No way she could maneuver past them in the dark. She had to move before the lights went off. Kaylee eyed the line of wooden guards. “I’m coming for you, you little stinkers.”

Stinkers wasn’t the word she used, but she didn’t care. She pumped her arms and ran, eyeing the space above their hands. If they were tracking her eyes, the marionettes would expect her to go high, not low. Keep them thinking high. Make them think she was about to jump as Cathy had.

The marionettes continued their bizarre back-and-forth motion. Kaylee swore. Their painted-on pupils grew large, and their drawn-on grins expanded.

At the last moment, she extended her right leg and slid under their hands. The water on the grass aided her motion, decreasing the friction. The momentum allowed her to slip under their interlocked fingers. The creatures had grown taller. Realizing their mistake, they dropped their arms, but it was too late! Kaylee had made it underneath their wooden digits. She was free.

Rising from her slide, Kaylee jumped up to run away. Before she took a step, something tugged on the hem of her dress. No! She leaned forward, hoping to break free of their slight hold on her. Instead, something jerked her backward. Kaylee’s feet lost purchase on the ground. She fell on her back hard, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Kaylee had to stand up! She couldn’t die like this. Unfair. The others were leaving. Liam had told her to go outside. She had listened to him. Ned and Geoff hadn’t! Why was this happening?

A ring of wooden faces stared down at her. They raised their interlocked fingers, and with a single motion, brought them down with the speed of a cobra striking. They covered her eyes, and Kaylee screamed.

Confessions and Ideas

Martina had cried out Kaylee’s name when the marionettes had surrounded her classmate. Kaylee had come so close to finishing the mini movie the same as the original. Whoever was behind all of this had played a dirty trick and had inserted a scene with the rest of them leaving the theater. A lie. They had shouted at the screen, begging Kaylee not to listen to their evil counterparts, but she had fallen for it. The light hadn’t winked on and off before the false scene had occurred. Then the porch light had turned on and off, indicating they were about to speak to her a second time. Unfortunately, Kaylee hadn’t looked their way.

The film faded to black, and their flashlights turned back on. Martina feared the worst. The episode hadn’t shown her dying—a good omen. Yet, Geoff had disappeared at the end of his program. Would Kaylee return to the theater or not?

Their flashlights circled the enormous room. Theresa shouted Kaylee’s name, and her beam landed toward the back of the auditorium on the small girl. Kaylee shrank into herself, hand shielding her eyes.

Liam, Theresa, and Martina scaled the incline to Kaylee. Joy pushed herself up and followed them, keeping her features in the dark.

Liam reached her first and slid on his knees in front of her. He shone his beam at her. “Kaylee?”

Kaylee blinked to block the light. “Who is that?”

Martina gathered on Liam’s left and Theresa on his right. Liam panned his bright circle over Kaylee’s body. “Are you hurt? No burn marks anywhere I can see.”

Turning her head, Kaylee said, “I’m fine. The last thing I remember are those awful little hands on me.”

Liam held the light under his chin to illuminate his features. “It’s me, Liam.”

Kaylee blinked as if trying to clear something from her eyes. She scowled. “You’re not Liam.”

Liam aimed his flashlight back at her. “Yes, I am.”

“Who are you?”

Theresa and Martina exchanged a glance at each other. Liam, tongue-tied, fumbled for words. Theresa shone her flashlight on her face. “Of course, it’s Liam, Kaylee.”

Kaylee turned her attention to Theresa and shook her head. “And who are you?”

“I’m Theresa. You know me.”

Kaylee scuttled back against a wall. “Theresa is petite and blonde.” She pointed at Liam. “Liam’s tall, muscular, and he has a deeper voice. I don’t know you people.”

“Petite” and “blonde” were the last words Martina would use to describe her friend, and while Liam was athletic, he wasn’t built like a football player. What was wrong with Kaylee?

Theresa was about to interject, but Liam touched her arm. “What about Martina? Do you recognize her?”

Liam turned his beam on Martina, but Kaylee shook her head. “She’s not Martina, either. Martina’s short, fat, and ugly. This girl’s pretty.”

Martina raised her eyebrows. Kaylee calling her pretty was the last thing she expected. Before Martina responded, Joy shoved her aside. “She’ll remember me. Liam, shine your light here.”

Kaylee furrowed her eyebrows. “Who are you?”

“Who am I? I’m Joy!”

“No! You can’t be. Joy looked like a dried-up prune. She was Taiwanese. You’re Indian. Why are you strangers pretending to be my friends?”

Martina set a hand on Kaylee’s leg. “We’re your classmates, Kaylee. Joy, Liam, Theresa, and me, Martina.”

“No!” Kaylee railed against them. “I saw my friends leave. You are a different bunch of people.”

Liam sighed. “No, Kaylee. We never left. The episode tricked you.”

“We wouldn’t abandon you,” added Martina.

Kaylee hugged herself. “I saw them. I heard them. They aren’t you!”

“You and I were biology partners two years ago,” Liam said. “You scribbled a heart with Kurt’s name above it. I never said anything about it. How would I know if I wasn’t Liam?”

“You read minds,” Kaylee replied. “You just said—Liam never knew.” She put a hand to her mouth. “Maybe you’re one of those changeling things!”

Kaylee scrambled sideways, keeping her back to the wall. Picking up a board as she moved, she held it up. “You stay away from me. If any of you come near me, I’ll swing first and ask questions later. My friends left me behind. They’re gone. You all aren’t them!”

Liam’s light followed her, and he aimed it at the ground. “We are who we say we are, Kaylee.”

“Can’t be.” She brandished the board like a sword. “Go away.”

Turning, Kaylee raced for where the auditorium exits previously existed. She cried out and began slapping her hands on the wall. “Help me! Joy? Liam? Help!”

Theresa perked up and jogged to the other exit with the broken sign. Her light illuminated the darkness, revealing nothing had changed on the other side. She pounded her fist against the bricks, screaming. “Not fair. It should only take the bad people.”

Perched atop his pile of debris, Ned called, “So much for your four episodes theory.”

Theresa swung around. “Shut up! What do you know, anyway?”

“I know you’re wrong.”

Liam rose and walked to the front of the theater. He lowered himself into a tattered seat, raising a cloud of dust. Particles drifted around him, but Liam took no notice. Joy and Martina locked eyes. Martina attempted to plead with Joy to help her restore hope to her classmates.

“What are you looking at?” snapped Joy. She swung around and retreated to her dark area in the center.

At Joy’s rebuke, Martina longed for her sister, Juana. Her older sister was more of the “take charge” sort. Martina pictured her and recalled the time when her sister went away to college. Juana had put her hands on Martina’s shoulders. “It’s unfair you’re my height, Tia. They shouldn’t tease you about it.”

Martina had blushed. “I’ll always think of you being taller than me.”

“One day, hermanita, I’ll be looking up to you. I’ll be standing outside a building you designed. It will hold up the sky.”

“I don’t believe I can—”

Juana had squinted. “None of that talk. I’ll graduate, and so will you, but it won’t change us. You will always be in my heart, no matter what I do or where I go.”

Juana had embraced her then, and Martina felt her arms around her again in the theater. If her sister knew she would end up here, what would she say?

Martina swallowed. Juana would say, “Tia, get to work.”

Martina surveyed her surroundings. Everyone was navel-gazing, but keeping to oneself never helped in an emergency. Still, she should consider their points of view. Kaylee needed time to come to the realization they were her classmates. Approaching her right now was a mistake. Joy’s body language screamed, “Leave me alone.” She wasn’t sure what to say to Liam. And Ned? He glared at her. With a deep breath, Martina strolled over to Theresa.

Theresa had given up beating the wall and leaned against it, tears rolling down her face. Martina approached her with her arms open, and Theresa fell into the embrace. Through Theresa’s sobbing, she said, “I thought they’d let us free after four episodes. Why are we still stuck here?”

Martina knew why. Ned was right—they all had to take a turn, but she couldn’t tell Theresa that. “We learn something each time someone goes in.”

Theresa hiccupped and pulled back. “What did we learn from Red Rover, huh? We’re all doomed to fail?”

Eyeing Kaylee across the way, Martina lowered her voice. “Kaylee didn’t follow Liam’s instructions. She was supposed to leave when the puppets called her name, not Billy’s. She’s lucky to be alive.”

Theresa shivered. “So, there’s no hope?”

“I didn’t say that. If we are put in there—” Martina pointed at the screen. “—we should listen to Liam.”

Theresa wiped away her tears. “We knew that after Joy’s episode.”

Martina took a deep breath and spoke in a near whisper. “No, Geoff’s time on screen taught us we must be truthful. We have to be on our best behavior.”

Alighting with hope, Theresa’s eyes widened. She whispered to Martina. “Yeah. Right. But Forlorn Harbor fooled Kaylee. We learned nothing from her.”

“We did.” Was Martina the only one who noticed it? “We learned the program played a trick, but stuck to its rules. When Kaylee viewed us walking away, she should’ve known we wouldn’t abandon her. Yet, she was so scared she believed it. Forlorn Harbor may try something similar for us. We should be on our guard.”

As Martina explained her theory, Theresa’s head bobbed more and more. “She panicked.”

“And we can’t afford to. We also learned Kaylee’s character survived the original episode without harm. Before Kaylee’s, I thought the characters had died or changed in Forlorn Harbor. Perhaps...perhaps we’ll end up in a safe episode, and then we won’t have to alter the events.”

Theresa grabbed Martina’s hand. “You’re right. Let’s ask Liam if Forlorn Harbor’s other stories have characters who survive.”

Squeezing her hand, Martina agreed. “Or any other information on the episodes. Anything we know before our turn benefits us. He won’t have to explain it while a stupid clock counts down onscreen.”

With renewed vigor, the two girls rushed to Liam, sitting with his arms folded. When they came into his view, his attention shifted to them, landing on Martina. His face softened. “I’m sorry. I’ve let everyone down tonight. I can’t do anything right.”

“No, Liam.” Martina crouched down in front of him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We thought of—”

“I let you down, too,” mumbled Liam. “Kaylee’s right about one thing. On our first day of school, when I saw you... You are pretty, Martina.”

Martina faltered. What? Liam, one of the most popular boys in school, thought she was attractive? She didn’t think of herself as pretty.

“But my friends made fun of your height.” Liam crossed his arms tighter. “Karl said you had a long neck like a giraffe. Everyone laughed.”

Liam lowered his head. Martina wasn’t sure what he’d say next, but she understood he needed to make this confession.

Eyes averted, Liam said, “I wanted to defend you, but I didn’t. I was going to ask you to Homecoming, but then those stupid rumors started. A lot of the guys teased me about you liking me.” He looked up. “But I honestly hoped you did.”

His tone begged Martina to forgive him. For her part, Martina had hoped Liam might become a friend. He was a good person, and she needed friends like him, but attracted to him? She wasn’t interested in anyone that way. Sure, most of her classmates were into dating and sex, but not her. She wasn’t sure if it would ever happen to her.

Though her thoughts were jumbled, Martina pushed aside Liam’s confession for the moment. They had more important business. “All is forgiven, Liam.”

Liam’s body relaxed at her words. She changed the subject. “Theresa and I have a theory. If Ned is right, Theresa and I will be sucked into these stories. Please tell us everything about the programs we haven’t seen tonight. Then we won’t have to ask you at the start of ours.”

Liam’s eyes flashed. “Good idea, but Forlorn Harbor had many shows.”

Theresa grabbed a strand of her hair and began twisting it. “Just choose one.”

Martina put her hands together. “Tell us about the monsters in the episodes and how to defeat them.”

Nodding, Liam licked his lips. “I find it hard to remember them until they start. A busboy takes a midnight shift. Everyone he works with is dead. He survives. The show’s creepy, but nothing comes close to harming him. Just be careful on your drive home.”

“Why?” asked Theresa.

Martina waved her down. “Before we ask questions, let Liam tell us as much as he remembers. We’re running out of time before the introduction starts again. Go on, Liam.”

While they were talking, Ned hobbled over and settled into a chair near Liam’s, listening in.

“One has a monster that can’t kill you if you stare at it. If you see the creature then it has to freeze in its tracks. Another has a scarecrow, but it’s a decoy, just like in the lobby. The real threat—”

The theater went dark, and Liam faltered. The Forlorn Harbor narrator started again, but Martina spoke over the swelling organ notes. “Keep going, Liam. Just speak louder. We still have time!”

Liam raised his voice. “A monster lives in a cave. It kidnaps people. To find it—”

As if on cue, the introduction increased in volume. “...for a lighthouse with a beam...”

Ned yelled, “Louder, Liam!”

Liam responded, “It’s a giant worm. It crawls—”

Again, the voice and music of the movie swelled and drowned out Liam. Martina hissed in frustration. They were finally onto something, but the evil presence behind their situation wouldn’t give them even this advantage. She screamed Liam’s name, but her low voice couldn’t compete with the narration.

“Enter the Anchors Aweigh tavern...”

The volume was almost deafening now, and nobody could hear Liam. The situation was hopeless.

“...to be punctual.”

Liam screamed, “Ceiling worm!”

Exultation swelled in Martina’s breast. A minor victory, but the words “ceiling worm” may save their lives. Liam had outsmarted it. When the pause between the introduction and the main program came, he capitalized on the short break to shout. Brilliant. Take that, stupid movie!

The narration continued. “For if you aren’t...”

Martina leaned down and shouted in Liam’s ear. “Speak after the introduction.”

The gap between the end of the prologue and the opening scene was when Forlorn Harbor transported them to movieland. If Liam could give a last clue, it might help the person going into the show.

“...waters of the one and only...Forlorn Harbor!”

The pause came. No more music. No more spoken words.

No more Liam.

Silent Auction

Liam waited for the film to start, but instead, he found himself briefly floating within a void. Before he reacted to his situation, his surroundings melted into a compact, lantern-lit dining area. He was still seated, but now at a small wooden table. Forlorn Harbor had sucked him in.

He had known, at some point, he would have to star in one of these horrific plays. He had hoped he’d be the final selection. When characters have special knowledge in horror movies, they usually die first. Lord knows he had tried to help his friends. Why hadn’t they listened to him? Now, Forlorn Harbor has placed him in his private hell.

But which episode? Liam pressed his lips together, taking in his setting. He sat in a compact wooden dining area with four circular tables. Stairs in a corner led up to a second story. Pewter mugs and glass knick-knacks adorned a mantle above a blazing hearth. On a wall to his right, a cuckoo clock ticked next to paintings of forest scenes. Two windows indicated it was night outside. A large door with a wooden bar, presumably the exit from this building, stood between the windows. Another thinner door was opposite the entrance.

Rough fabric rubbed against his skin. Was he wearing breeches? His socks were gone, brown ankle boots scuffed with mud encased his feet, and his mud-splattered white shirt was as thin as an undershirt. At least a threadbare jacket covered it. Reaching up, he removed a hat. The headgear resembled a Robin Hood cap—narrowed to a point in front.

Okay, points to consider. Liam was in the past, alone, and in Hollywood’s depiction of a European country. Yes, these three were guesses, but his next thought was true.

He couldn’t place the episode.

Liam set his cap on the table and examined its wooden surface. Wait a minute. Something was familiar. He pictured the Forlorn Harbor website, scrolling up and down the page. Wasn’t there a photograph of this room? Yes! The website had images displayed next to the introductory text. The associated image showed a young, blond man sitting at the same table. The studio had filmed the script, but never released it.

Figures. He was in an episode he knew nothing about.

The production had run into money issues. They had never released the last two episodes. Nonetheless, they had stills of what they had shot. The first had the blond man inserting a key to enter a house. In a nearby window, two illuminated eyes floated in the darkness. Another section had three images with explanatory text. One of the images was the final frame of the story, but nobody knew which one. In the first still, a figure dragged the blond man out of the frame. In another, claws from behind the blond actor hovered near his neck. The third had the man kissing a woman about his age. Was this last entry the final scene? A romantic scene wasn’t in the spirit of Forlorn Harbor at all.

The building’s interior door swung open, and a woman entered the room. She was dressed in a long gray skirt with straps that came up and over her arms. A puffy white, short-sleeved blouse topped off her uniform. On her right palm, she carried a platter—a plate of food and a mug. Her short, wavy hair and round face regarded him.

The waitress was the kissing woman from the website.

“And here’s your dinner.” She set the platter in front of Liam. “May I get you anything else?”

Liam asked, “Who are you, and where am I?”

The woman curtsied. “As I told you, my name is Gladys Numère. My, but these mountains turn around many travelers. You are in the small town of Krelston, in the country of Vataria.”

Vataria? Was Vataria a real country? It beat Transylvania.

Gladys turned away. If she was the love interest, she must play a significant part. Liam had to keep her here to find out what happened next. “Would you mind eating with me? Nobody else is here, and I would enjoy the company.”

Gladys eyed the unoccupied chair. “I shouldn’t, but the owner isn’t here. And you seem the nice sort.”

Gladys took a seat. Liam noticed a two-tined fork and dull knife on the platter and grabbed them. He transferred the plate of food, slices of mysterious red meat, and the tankard to his setting. “Thank you.”

Now pump her for information. Anything Liam found out would help him. He waved his fork. “So, tell me. Does Vataria have any legendary monsters I should avoid?” He tried to make his voice sound jovial, but it wavered.

Wrinkling her nose, Gladys responded. “Oh, we have all the legends here. Werewolves, vampires, ghouls, and ghosts. If you believe in that sort of thing.”

“No local creature the people discuss?”

Gladys raised her eyebrows. “Those aren’t frightening enough? You’re a hardy soul. No, the townspeople are a backward sort. They believe in everything I mentioned, as well as demons. Are you afraid of walking to Admiral Peterson’s residence tonight? You said you are lodging there while he’s out of the country, right?”

The Forlorn Harbor image of the blond man unlocking a door with the eyes in the window came to mind. Peterson’s! He wouldn’t sleep in the admiral’s house for a million dollars.

Liam swallowed a bit of the bitter and flat ale. He put down the mug, scrambling for another question until a wall lantern winked on and off. Gladys froze in place, and the clock’s ticking silenced.

Liam turned to the lantern as the wall disappeared. There, Martina, Theresa, and Ned stared back at him. They were as small as elves. Martina couldn’t disguise her nervousness, and Ned frowned when Liam noticed them.

Taking a deep breath, Liam said, “I never saw this episode.”

Martina wrung her hands. “Is there any way to help you?”

Liam struggled to answer her. Joy, jowls drooping, emerged from the darkness behind Theresa. “Of course, there isn’t, stupid. He’s on his own.”

Liam snapped, “Martina’s not stupid.”

Martina shrugged the insult away. “Don’t worry about it, Liam.”

“Will you forgive me, Martina? I still think—” He choked on the words, but forced them out. “You’re the prettiest girl in the class.”

Martina blushed.

Liam took a deep breath. “But it doesn’t matter because I’ll die like my brother, Geoff.”

The color drained from Martina’s embarrassment. “No, you won’t.”

“I know how these programs work, Martina. They punish the guilty. I should’ve stuck up for you, but I didn’t.”

“That’s between you and me and no one else.” Martina thrust out her chin. “I forgave you. It’s over and done, Liam. Now, concentrate. Stay safe. And—” She focused on him. “And be true to yourself. Be a good person, Liam.”

“But I’m not a good person,” countered Liam, but it was too late. He was speaking to a wall.

Gladys cleared her throat. “Who says? Admiral Peterson claimed you were an upstanding gentleman. He wouldn’t accept immoral lodgers.”

What was a good person? A fibber (Geoff)? Someone who abandons a child (Joy) or wouldn’t listen to sound advice (Ned and Kaylee)? Liam could do this. He was a good person.

If only he knew the plot.

When Liam opened his mouth to ask another question, the lights dimmed. What was happening to the lanterns? Why were they extinguishing at the same time? Liam pushed back his chair to stand.

As soon as the chamber went dark, the lamplight returned, illuminating the room like a dimmer switch with all the lanterns working in unison. Gladys was missing. “Gladys?”

The interior door opened, and Gladys strolled in again. “Finally done with dinner? Excellent. I enjoyed our chat.”

Chat? What was she talking about? Then, Liam spotted consumed food and an empty mug before him. He took a deep breath. The world had faded out and in, speeding forward in time. Forlorn Harbor was playing with him as it had played with Kaylee. He wanted information, but the menace behind this would rush him along. Keeping him ignorant.

Gladys walked up to the table and set his mug on the plate. “Will you be wanting anything else before you’re off to Admiral Peterson’s?”

No! Not Peterson’s house. Death awaited him there. “Is there a room in this inn where I may stay?”

Gladys eyed the staircase. “Sorry, but the inn is full tonight. Besides, why pay for a room when you have the admiral’s quarters?”

The waitress pivoted to leave, but Liam touched her on the shoulder. “I have a problem.”

Gladys balanced the plate against her hip. “Sir?”

“Someone is after me. Someone dangerous. If I go to Peterson’s, they’ll kill me.”

Gladys put her free hand over her mouth. “How dreadful.”

“Isn’t there any place in this inn where I may stay overnight?” Liam grabbed the frame of his chair. “I could sleep right here if needed.”

Shaking her head, Gladys said, “The owner wouldn’t allow it unless you paid him. Do you have money?”

Liam thrust his hands into his pockets, but came up empty.

“You told me you had spent the last of your coin on this fine meal if I recall.” Gladys patted a purse, and it jingled. “The innkeeper won’t allow you to stay.”

“But he can’t.” Liam touched the sweat on his brow. Who could he turn to? Gladys. She was the love interest. Their time together continued beyond this inn. “Would you suggest someplace?”

“There’s a missionary a few miles outside of town. I would normally accompany you. Unfortunately, at this late hour, I couldn’t make the journey myself. My little abode is in the opposite direction, I’m afraid.”

Liam rubbed at his face. “May I accompany you home and sleep there?”

Gladys shrank back. “Mr. Crosswell!”

Liam paled. “No, not like that. I’ll sleep on the floor in your bedroom. No, I didn’t mean your bedroom. I meant any other room.”

Gladys raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you take me for, Mr. Crosswell, but I have scruples and my reputation.”

Liam’s fingers tightened on the wood of his chair. “Gladys, please. Hear me out. I need to hide. If you want, I won’t go to sleep at all. I won’t remove a stitch of clothing. I’ll sit by the window. Think of me as a guard dog.”

Gladys grimaced and then softened her expression. “Are you in serious trouble?”

“Life or death.”

Moving her jaw side to side, Gladys tsked. “You have to do as I say. Do you understand me, Mr. Crosswell? No deviations. I must not have the town believing I took a man to my house. What would they think?”

Liam figured the ending would occur far before dawn. “I’ll leave as the sun is coming up. Nobody will know I’m there, I promise.”

Gladys held up a finger. “And you promise to do exactly as I say, Mr. Crosswell?”

“Yes. And call me Liam.”

“Let me put these dishes in the sink to soak, and then we’ll be off. I hope you’re not the death of me, Liam.”

Liam hoped not, too. Gladys exited the dining area of the inn and left him alone. For a second, he allowed himself to relax. He should be safe at Gladys’ house. Despite being a prude, the website showed Gladys kissing the main character. He wasn’t Liam, of course. He may have already altered the sequence of events.

Liam had no time for romance now. He must stay alive. Ned, and to a lesser degree, Kaylee, had paid too much attention to their co-stars. He wouldn’t make the same mistake.

Gladys emerged from the interior room, wrapping a threadbare shawl around her shoulders. “I forgot my coat, but I have this wrap. Let’s go, Liam.”

He stepped to the door, and Gladys offered her arm. Shocked at the gesture, Liam hesitated. Then, he slid his arm through hers and escorted her out of the inn. After they stepped outside, Gladys locked the inn and pocketed the key. “Step lively, and stay in the shadows. I wouldn’t want a nosey neighbor to see us.”

Arm-in-arm, the two pedestrians proceeded onto a stone path intersecting with a wider dirt road. Gladys turned right and pulled Liam along with her. The air was cool, but not chilly. The trees rustled their leaves. Mist hovered a couple of inches above the ground.

Gladys whispered, “I must tell you, Liam. I’ve never felt so daring about anything as this. It’s quite exciting, isn’t it?”

Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight like two salt-encrusted pearls. Liam felt a small thrill of forbidden adventure, too. Gladys was a stranger. Attractive. He squeezed her arm in response to her mischievous confession. Maybe they had to kiss to move along the story? Perhaps a token of affection would avoid whatever fate held in store for his main character. Then, all the trauma of this episode will have been worth it.

What about Geoff? Hadn’t he thought he had it all figured out, too?

Perhaps Martina was right. Maybe Geoff was alive. The dark powers behind this would’ve returned his dead body to the theater if they wanted to scare them. Right?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Gladys’ question broke Liam out of his reverie. “I’m worried about my brother. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead.”

Patting his arm, Gladys marched forward. “Your concerns prove you’re a true gentleman. Aren’t you, Liam?”

The mist cleared, and Liam spied a wrought-iron fence with spear-point finials at the top. Beyond the barrier, the smoky tendrils parted to reveal a rectangular, leaning tombstone. He pressed his lips in a thin line.

Gladys nudged him. “I hope he’s alive for your sake. I’m sure when you’re reunited, he’ll be eager to see you.”

Doubtful. Liam wasn’t about to tell Gladys anything more about Geoff. He was far more concerned about the graveyard to their left. Liam wanted to put distance between himself and the final resting place of mortals. He hurried Gladys along.

Gladys also increased her speed, matching his long strides. “Now, my residence is on the other side of the cemetery, but it will be safer if we cut through.”

Liam stopped. “No way! We go around.”

Gladys also halted, facing him. “Liam, do you honestly think someone would hide in a cemetery to attack you? Why do such an outrageous thing? If we go around it, Miss Benson, the town gossip, will spot us. I’ll never live it down.”

“We’ll stick to the fog.”

“The fog is four inches off the ground, Liam!” exclaimed Gladys. “I mustn’t pass her house. She’ll spread lies about my purity if she spots you!”

Liam dug in his heels. “I am not going in there.”

Gladys snorted. “It figures. Fine. I’ll go alone.” She pointed up the road. “Stay straight on this road, and you’ll find Admiral Peterson’s home at the turn of the bend. His is the solitary cabin at the edge of the bog. Be careful where you step in this weather.”

Unhooking her arm, Gladys marched into the cemetery without a good-bye or a backward glance. Liam’s attention swiveled between her and the road where the mist thickened. The wall of white smoke had almost swallowed Gladys. No, they couldn’t part here. The image of the two of them together hadn’t happened yet.

Liam ran into the cemetery. “Gladys, wait up!”

Gladys flashed him a tight-lipped grin. “I knew you’d come around. Nothing here will hurt you, Liam, as long as you’re with me.” She made a flourishing gesture and pointed her thumb at herself.

In some strange manner, this odd tavern girl calmed Liam’s nerves. Nevertheless, he kept a sharp eye out in the cemetery. The tree trunks were twisted stumps and not straight, rigid wooden columns. The headstones all leaned and were scattered haphazardly. The mist was centimeters higher inside. The moisture in the air settled on his tongue with an electric shock as if he licked the end of a battery.

“We’re almost done, Liam,” said Gladys.

Almost done. Shouldn’t Gladys have said, “We’re almost there?” Well, despite the intense creepiness of his surroundings, nothing was coming out of graves—a positive sign.

The mist dissolved before them to reveal a platform supporting no more than three people. Two steps led to the top of an empty, wooden stage. What was this about?

Gladys tugged on his arm. “Follow me.”

Liam resisted approaching the stage, but his legs ignored his request and followed behind the waitress. Where was he going? “No, I’m not following you.”

While walking, Gladys pressed her index finger to his lips. “Silence.”

Liam wanted to pull back, but his body refused his commands. Trying to voice his objection failed as well. He only had control of his eyes. They were wide with horror. Gladys wasn’t the odd tavern girl he had mistaken her for. She commanded his mobility and his speech. Who, or what, was she?

As a humble dog follows its owner, Liam climbed the stairs after Gladys. She led him to the center of the platform. A wooden podium formed itself from the swirling fog.

Gladys’ orotund voice cut across the cemetery. “He’s under my hex. You may come out now!”

A trapdoor in the soil flopped open, and three slim figures dressed as gentlemen ascended, fangs protruding over their lower lips. From a tree, shadows pulled away from the trunk, hung from branches, and dropped to the ground. Huge, shaggy beast-people with red pupils and elongated jaws crawled on all fours toward the stage. A pile of dirt separated, and three emaciated humanoids, almost skeletal, dragged themselves toward the platform. Off to the side, three shafts of light rose from the mist. Inside of each, a wan corpse floated in their miasma. Arms emerged from the lights, ending in a three-fingered claw, triple the size of a human hand.

Gladys beckoned them. “Come vampires and drink in the sight I have for sale tonight. You ghosts! Warm yourselves in the memories of those who live. Werewolves, approach. I present to you a delicacy of muscle and bone for your consideration. Finally, the ghouls in the rear. Feast your dead eyes on this, our subject of this very auction!”

The four groups of monsters moved closer to the stage, careful not to mingle. Gladys nodded her head in approval. She reached into the air and plucked something invisible out of it as Liam remained motionless. Standing next to him, Gladys swung her fist down, and the sound of a gavel hitting wood echoed through the graveyard.

“Exhibit one—the sole exhibit for tonight—is a fine human specimen, if a bit too trusting. In his prime, Liam Crosswell is a teenage boy and a decent-sized meal for anyone to—” She paused dramatically and peered sideways at Liam. “Sink their teeth into.”

When Gladys threw back her head and laughed, Liam observed her tiny fangs. Gladys was a vampire, too!

“I’ll start the bidding at five murders in the next season. You get all of this.” Gladys ran her hands up and down beside Liam. “For five measly kills in Krelston. What do you say? Do I hear five kills?”

Nobody answered her.

Gladys put a fist on her hip. “Oh, come on. Don’t you ghosts want to suck his spirit from his body? Life’s essence tastes sweetest when dying as he dries to a husk. All I ask is five deaths.”

The column of lights didn’t waver.

Good. Keep the ghosts away.

“You werewolves would enjoy a fresh meal instead of feeding on wildlife. A nice, juicy human, huh? I know you smell his fear. Sweeter than cotton candy, more succulent than the chocolate the emporium in the city sells. Am I right?”

One of the werewolves clawed the dirt.

“I shall give you five,” hissed a vampire. “But no more.”

Gladys pointed at the bloodsucker holding up his hand. “We have five. Do I hear six? Six anyone? Five is the bid, but five is far too small for such a fine creature as Liam.”

If he had to die, perhaps a vampire’s bite would be the least painful.

Gladys pointed at the gamboge ghouls. “You can’t bid four when the bid is five. I’ve told you countless times the bids go up, not down. What? Oh, you haven’t enough fingers? Your bid is six, is it? Six for the ghouls!”

Liam’s eyes hurt from not blinking. Gladys had complete control. He had to stare at the half-human, half-decomposed flesh crawling on the ground, casting off an odor of vomit mixed with rotten cabbage.

Gladys peered at the werewolves. “How about seven? Seven? He’ll easily satisfy you for a night. Only for seven kills.”

Again, the wolves didn’t react. Gladys turned to the ghosts. “And you? No bids from the ghosts as well? What is the matter with you tonight? I bring you a nice juicy snack, and this is how you repay me? I shouldn’t have to bribe you to perform seven kills a season.”

The bidder spoke again, the fangs in his mouth glinting in the moonlight. “The more kills, the more the townspeople hunt us. Murder isn’t slaughter, Grizelda. Taking a life is an art form, not a sport.”

Gladys bared her diminished fangs at the vampire. “Killing is what we do. We have no higher calling, Gustav. Murder is neither art nor sport. Murder is a weaving of a tapestry of terror through the land, midnight screams, and life fading to the void. We live, they suffer.”

The vampire focused on the ground, avoiding her gaze.

Gladys swept her arm to indicate she was talking to the entire gathering. “You’re pathetic. He’s worth at least eight. I have half a mind to take him myself and not sell him to any of you.”

The massive wolf in front spoke in a higher voice. She was a female. Between the growls and drawing out of vowels, Liam thought he heard English. “You would not dare!”

Gladys raised her chin. “Try me!”

The waitress turned to Liam and pressed her finger to his lips. “Tell me, Liam. Should I take you rather than these spineless so-called ‘terrors of the night?’”

Liam found he could speak. “You’ll bite me?”

Gladys emitted an earthy chuckle. “I’m not a vampire.” She opened her mouth and pointed at her bicuspids. “These aren’t vampire fangs. I don’t bite and am not hungry for your flesh, blood, or spirit.”

Gladys set her palm on the side of Liam’s cheek. “No, my dear boy. I’m a succubus. Seductress demon. All I need is a single kiss.”

A kiss? That’s it? “Will it hurt?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Gladys purred, “Quite the contrary. But I must warn you, Liam. A succubus kiss changes everything. You’ll never have a wild romance in college with Laney Driswell. Forget about marrying Edwina Pell and the children that would follow. My token of affection will sweep all future paths away.”

Liam scowled. “If I’m dead, I wouldn’t have this future anyway.”

Gladys put her hands on his shoulders and ran them down his body. “Exactly.”

She scooted closer to him, her lips close to his ear. “What do you say, Liam? Shall we kiss? Think fast, as this is a limited-time offer.” She flashed a coquettish smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, Liam spotted a group of fireflies winking on and off as if one organism. With the insects’ coordinated movement, he discovered he had control over his head again. He faced the fireflies, and the monsters in that area vanished. In its place was the theater with his friends all staring at him.

“What should I do?” His voice was all panic and despair.

Martina pointed to the corner of what he assumed was the screen. “A clock is in the corner. The clock’s been counting down the minutes of the episode. It says one minute and five seconds. If you make it to the end, you’ll be fine. We think.”

A race against the clock. Liam had to detain this madness. “The same strategy hadn’t worked for Joy. What if they figure out I’m drawing out the time, and the clock stops?”

“I don’t believe it will stop.” Martina rubbed her chin. “When you resisted going into the graveyard, I thought it would stop. It didn’t.”

Liam’s eyes shifted to Gladys. “Maybe I should just kiss her and end this? Maybe it’s my best option?”

“I wouldn’t,” said Martina flatly.

Ned pointed his thumb at Martina, the universal “listen to her” sign. Theresa huddled next to them.

“Of course you wouldn’t, Totem Pole.” Joy’s voice echoed from somewhere in the darkness. “You’re smitten with him, but the kiss seems like a bad idea, Liam.”

Liam gulped. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re safe, sitting in the Majestic. I’m the guy up for sale.”

Now unfrozen, Gladys placed her hand on Liam’s cheek and moved his head to look at her again. “Indeed, you are. Will you sell yourself to me?”

Liam’s tongue was heavy in his mouth. Could he delay for an entire minute? A minute is lengthier than people think. How would he extend this scene for so long? What question could he ask her to keep her talking?

Gladys slapped his face, stinging his cheek. “And expired.”

The succubus rotated toward the crowd in the graveyard and reached out, wrapping her fingers around the air. She brought down her invisible tool on the platform. Bang! “Attention. I’m calling it for the ghouls. They’ll fatten themselves on Liam tonight.”

The ghouls? No, not them. Anything but the ghouls. Liam clenched his jaw. How could he escape from this nightmare?

“Six going once,” shouted Gladys. She addressed the ghosts. “Are you sure? Breathe in his panic. It’s delectable.”

The shafts of light brightened and dimmed, and then a spectral appendage held up seven digits.

“Seven!” cheered Gladys. “Not quite eight, but I’ll take it. Seven going once to the phantoms.” She paused, surveying the graveyard. “Seven going twice.”

Gladys raised an invisible gavel. A minute must have elapsed by now. Hold on! Was this similar to the trick played on Kaylee? The clock had fooled his friends to deceive Liam into a gruesome death. The clock was the twist ending!

“Wait!” shouted Liam.

Gladys turned toward him.

Grimacing, Liam dropped his chin to his chest. “I’ll take the kiss.”

The succubus sashayed over to him, arms outstretched. Her hands wrapped around his neck and into his hair. She pulled herself closer and moved his head to hers. “Liam Crosswell, prepare yourself for the time of your life.”

Liam waited for her, and Gladys’ lips pressed against his.

Bliss followed, and flooded his body.

The Commercial

One minute and five seconds earlier.

The action returned on the screen, and life pumped back into Gladys’ eyes as Liam was talking. Martina glanced at the clock, noticing the second hand resume its circular route. She had meant to tell Liam that the timer balanced his chances.

Please, clock. Don’t do something weird!

In a fatalistic story, the clock would stop in the final second, but from what Martina observed, Forlorn Harbor episodes weren’t fatalistic. Nonetheless, the schemer behind this squeezed out the last drop of horror by playing unfairly. These short movies were morality plays. She had studied morality plays for a research paper she had done in English. Forlorn Harbor’s type of stories meted out justice rather harshly on wrong-doers.

But Martina didn’t have time to explain her theory to Liam, and then Joy had confused the issue when she said Martina was attracted to him. Martina bit her lip. According to society, she should be attracted to him. Most girls were, but she wasn’t. Romance was never a goal for her.

“Six going once!” shouted Gladys.

Martina peeked at the clock. Forty-five seconds left. Come on, Liam! He was right. Standing your ground from the safety of the theater was easy, but she would resist if she were on the stage. Joy and Ned would stand their ground, too. They had a resolve similar to hers. Liam had to reject the succubus and her threats. Time would run out.

“Seven!” yelled Gladys at thirty seconds.

No way they could drag him off that stage and kill him in thirty seconds. She still had to make the final offers, and if anyone upped the bid, the time would expire.

From behind her, Joy snorted. “He’s going to crack.”

“No! No, he isn’t.”

Martina’s response wasn’t a rebuttal, but a prayer. Twenty seconds. Liam couldn’t give in now. Not when he was this close. Martina had to save one of her companions, and Liam, their guide, was her best chance. They needed this victory. She wanted him here, with his body and mind intact.

Ten seconds from the end, Liam shouted, “Wait!”

“No!” screamed Martina.

Beside her, Ned shook his head. Theresa choked out a gasp.

Gladys had wrapped herself in Liam’s arms with six seconds left. Martina’s attention darted from the action on the screen to that circular clock in the corner.

Please, oh, please, run out of time. Have Gladys say something and draw the scene out.

“Liam Crosswell, get ready for the kiss of your life.”

Three seconds. Linger, darn it! Hold his attention for a few moments. Just don’t kiss him.

Gladys’ lips touched Liam’s in the final second of the episode, and the film went black. Martina made a sound at the back of her throat, and Joy hmphed from somewhere behind them.

Theresa blinked. “Did he kiss her before the episode ended?”

Martina thought he had, but she held onto Theresa’s thin strand of hope—a half-inflated life preserver in the middle of the ocean. Perhaps he hadn’t. Maybe the film had lingered past the end of its time.

Finding Liam wasn’t a problem as he materialized in the seat he was sitting in when the episode started. Martina and Theresa caught him in their crosshairs when the flashlights came to life. Liam leaned forward and placed his forearms on his legs. He wrapped his hands around his head.

Martina went down on her knees and put her hand on his arm. “Liam, are you okay?”

Using the wood as a crutch, Ned hobbled near Liam’s seat, and Theresa took up his other side. Martina squeezed his arm. “Liam?”

The boy in the chair shook his head.

“Where are you hurt, Liam? Maybe we could help?” asked Theresa, flashing her light over him and searching for injuries.

When Liam looked up, he had tears in his eyes. “Nothing hurts. I just feel different.”

Martina edged nearer to him. “How do you feel, Liam? Tell us.”

The boy’s mouth moved and closed. He cleared his throat. “Hollow. Lost.”

From the shadows behind his chair, Joy snarled. “My face is ruined, and you only feel hollow? Big deal.”

Martina gulped. Liam’s unblinking red eyes told the story of witnessing a thousand rejections and losses. The succubus had altered Liam in an inexplicable way. A part of him was missing. Liam wasn’t Liam anymore.

Martina opened her arms to hug him, but he pulled away. “No. I can’t.”

“Why not, Liam?” Surprisingly, this question came from Ned.

“She wouldn’t like it,” Liam replied. “I must keep her happy.”

Joy emitted a guffaw. “Great. The role of Liam will now be played by Gollum.”

Liam swung around. “No, it’s not like that. I have to be careful.” He swiveled around and addressed Martina. “I wouldn’t be happy with Martina, anyway.”

Within thirty minutes, Liam’s feelings toward Martina had changed. What is it with teenage boys, anyway? Declaring their everlasting love one moment, then acting as if the object of their affection doesn’t exist the next.

Martina closed her eyes. She had never asked for his infatuation anyway. She had only wanted his friendship. Liam had tried to fill a hole in his life with a crush on Martina, but Gladys had dug the hole deeper, had led Liam to its edge, and made him stare down into it. “Hollow,” he had said. Maybe “haunted” would’ve been a better word.

“Go away, everyone.” Liam huddled into himself. “I gave you your space after you returned. I want mine!”

Ned scuttled to his junk pile, and Theresa walked away. Martina patted Liam on the shoulder, a useless gesture, yet she had to do it. Following his orders, she stood and retreated a few steps. Liam’s shoulders heaved, and he cried. Would releasing tears give him comfort? Martina doubted it.

Kaylee had moved from her position to stand behind Joy. She whispered to the other girl. Joy snapped at her. “He is Liam, you idiot. It did happen to him. Get lost until you figure out that we’re all who we say we are.”

Kaylee reared back at the cruel response from Joy. She sniffed. “Joy wouldn’t be mean to me.”

The other girl turned on Kaylee. “In time, you’ll realize we’re telling the truth, but my face, Kaylee, I can’t fix.” Her voice rose to a shriek. “You may reverse what happened to you if you’d only try. I can’t!”

“That’s because you’re not Joy,” spat Kaylee. “I’ve known it all along.”

Kaylee spun on her heel and marched to the rear of the theater where she had been sitting. Joy hung her head and flopped on the floor, keeping her flashlight off as it had been since leaving her episode. Both of them could use encouragement.

Martina heaved a sigh and approached Joy. She knew this was a bad idea, but a tiny flicker of hope that Joy would listen still burned within her. When she reached the other girl, Martina shut off her flashlight. Joy shuffled in the darkness. “What do you want?”

Martina steadied herself. “Perhaps Kaylee can’t help her forgetfulness any more than you can reverse what happened to you. Maybe that’s her punishment.”

Joy lowered her chin. “Maybe.” An awkward pause hung between them, and Joy whispered. “Is that your theory on Liam?”

“Yes. Everyone has lost something when they return. Something they’ve taken for granted.”

“And what will you lose, Martina?” Joy’s head moved in the darkness. “Being perfect?”

Martina tensed her shoulders. “I’m not perfect.”

Joy traced her finger along the floor. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Joy had ended the conversation. Martina considered asking another question, but Joy turned away.

Instead, Martina surveyed the rest of the room. Perhaps Joy was right. All Kaylee needed was a little convincing. She proceeded to the area of the theater where Kaylee sat. Kaylee shone her light on Martina as she approached and warned, “No closer.”

“Kaylee, I’m Martina.”

“You don’t look like her.”

Martina flexed and unflexed her fingers. “Have I been acting like Martina since you returned?”

Kaylee paused and then spoke. “I really didn’t know Martina. She was kind of quiet, and you’re kind of in charge now. So, no. You’re not acting like Martina.”

Martina’s jaw fell. “I’m not in charge. Why would you say that?”

Kaylee raised an eyebrow.

“Kaylee, I’m doing what I must to get us out of here. I can’t sit by quietly while you’re hurting. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because that doesn’t sound like Martina to me,” said Kaylee.

Frustrated, Martina turned around. “Then you’re right. You didn’t know me at all.”

As she marched away, Martina bit her lip in contemplation. It helped that Geoff was gone. He had intimidated Martina. She knew the rest better because they were in her class. She was telling each of them what she thought would help. They were in a dangerous situation, and she wouldn’t stand aside.

Where to next? Ned had been more engaged in Liam’s episode than anyone else’s. His earlier responses may have come from a place of shock. She hurried over to Ned. He was plopped down on the top of a junk pile, examining the end of his limb.

“Hey, Martina.”

“Hi.”

Ned addressed her. “Come to cheer me up? Don’t bother. As bad as losing my foot is, I’m starting to think I was lucky.”

Taking this as a good sign, Martina pressed on. “I’m sorry about your foot.”

“And I’m sorry for what’s going to happen to you.” Ned moved a splintered chair with his remaining foot. “But it’s gotta happen, you know. Who knows who’s behind this? But from my perspective, I’m almost done with tonight.”

Martina’s face fell.

Ned rubbed his chin. “Listen. I know what you’re doing here. I hope you aren’t sucked in if that helps.”

She wasn’t sure if it helped or not. “I just want everything the way before the walls appeared.”

“Glad you’re here, Martina, even if you wish you weren’t.”

A whimper near a rear exit drew Martina’s attention to Theresa. At first, Martina thought she was sitting, but she blinked twice when she noticed Theresa’s silhouette was on its knees. Had she resorted to prayer?

Rushing over to her friend, Martina realized she had made an entire circuit of the theater. Why were they all separate, lost in their own worlds? Even if Kaylee couldn’t recognize them, shouldn’t she seek their company? Though Ned was missing a foot, he could use the board as a crutch.

She stopped in front of Theresa. Theresa rose to her feet and reached out for her. “I think Forlorn Harbor is punishing us for our sins, Martina. I think that’s why we’re going into the movies.”

Martina flinched when Theresa grabbed her. Theresa’s grip crushed her arm as if Martina was her anchor to the theater. She had the panicked look of a cornered feral rodent. They were all terrified, but Theresa’s fear consumed her.

“I can’t leave here, Martina!”

Martina viewed the transference into the film world as dangerous, but excluding Geoff, a two-way trip. If she kept her wits about her, she’d exit at the end of the segment. Theresa acted as if it was a death sentence. Her friend had convinced herself that entering an episode of Forlorn Harbor would be the end of her.

Before Martina spoke, Theresa squeezed her harder. “I started the rumor that you liked Liam, Martina. Forgive me. Maybe, if you do, you and I won’t have to go into an episode.”

The words severed Martina’s belief in Theresa, as a knife cuts an apple in two. “Why would you say I was attracted to Liam?”

“Because I thought you had a crush on Liam. Everyone crushes on him, Martina.”

Well, Kellie Van Deesun didn’t have a crush on Liam. She wore her rainbow colors proudly, but Theresa must have assumed Martina was a member of the gaggle who followed Liam around the hallways. They would giggle after Liam had deigned to speak to them.

Martina clenched her jaw. “I don’t appreciate it.”

From the corner of her eye, Martina spied Liam’s approach. He was listening in. Had he snapped out of the downer of a mood he was in? No. His scowl told her a different story.

“I’m sure you won’t appreciate what else she said about you then.” Liam stepped up next to Martina. “What Theresa told me when we discussed whether to bring you here tonight.”

“Shut up, Liam!” Theresa waved at him as if shooing away a fly. “Leave us alone.”

“If you won’t tell her, I will.” Liam gazed at Theresa.

Theresa pulled inward as if bracing herself while Liam regarded Martina. “She said if the cops caught us, we could blame you,” Liam sneered. “Tell them that breaking in was your idea. Since you’re new to town, the police wouldn’t know you and believe us.”

Liam snorted and rotated on his heel, heading for his seat. Martina turned on Theresa. “Is that true?”

Theresa flinched. “He made it sound worse than what I actually said. I didn’t mean it. Martina, it was the only way to have them agree to bring you along. I thought you’d want to be here on account of Liam.”

Martina crossed her arms. Theresa was lying, but she was more right than she knew. Martina wasn’t here for the money, for Liam, or anyone else. She came here so they would accept her at school. She was tired of being the new girl, having people whisper behind her back, but this was too much. Martina would give Theresa a piece of her mind in front of them all.

Before Martina responded, the flashlights extinguished on their own again. A chill slid down Martina’s spine while she waited for the opening scenes of Forlorn Harbor. Instead, the screen showed a parking lot filled with black vehicles. As was the case for the entire night, the scene was in glorious black and white. The cars were all the same make and station wagon model. As the camera zoomed in, she realized they were all hearses.

Stepping into view was the harbormaster dressed in a plaid jacket and slacks. On his head was a fedora in place of the captain’s hat. He slapped his hands together. “Hey, y’all. Come on down to Honest Harbormaster’s lot of beautiful cars for sale. We have price reductions on earlier models and trust me, you’ll want to drive these fine vehicles before someone drives you in one.”

A commercial. Just when Martina thought she had Forlorn Harbor figured out, the program pulled the rug from beneath her feet, but this commercial didn’t frighten her at all. The lobby scene’s purpose was to make them hesitate before leaving. What was the intention of selling a bunch of hearses?

The harbormaster walked along a line of cars and extended his arm as if presenting each sample. “We have our finest hearses in the widest array of black you’ll find anywhere. Ebony, obsidian, and midnight black are a few of the fine colors you’ll find on Honest Harbormaster’s lot.” The cars all appeared black to Martina, with no variation at all.

“We have a hearse to fit every budget.” The seller ran his hand along the top of the boxy car. “Need a loan? No problem. We’ll extend a line of credit that we’ll ensure you pay off before you’re in need of one of these spectacular beauties.”

What was the harbormaster’s game? What was he really pitching?

The camera moved in on a close-up of the tacky salesman. He broke into a wide grin. “So come on down and talk to us, folks! We’re sure you’ll love our products. And don’t forget our guarantee. At Honest Harbormaster’s, we promise those in the back will never be a backseat driver.”

With that, the salesperson winked. He remained frozen for a second and then dropped the smile. “Do you have questions?”

Martina’s mouth opened in shock. The harbormaster was addressing them. He had taken her off-guard, and she struggled to form an intelligent question.

Joy spoke up first. “Will I still be this way when I leave here?”

The harbormaster regarded Joy. “You’ll be as incorrigible as ever. Another question.”

“That’s not what I meant—” Joy started.

Holding up a hand, the harbormaster said, “A single question per person. We’re civilized here, so you’ll wait.”

Liam shouted, “How do I get out of here?”

“Practice. Practice. Practice. You should’ve seen that coming. Next.”

Ned shook his head. “He’s not going to tell us anything. Asking questions is a waste of time.”

Martina still had hope. She took a deep breath. “We all have learned our lesson and want to leave. If I volunteer to go next, will you let us go?”

The harbormaster’s eyes lit up. “Ah, finally. A question worth answering. Martina, I would’ve considered your request, but you forgot the magic word.”

Martina swallowed. Magic word? Like abracadabra?

The harbormaster rocked on his heels. “‘Please’ is the magic word, young lady. No, your uncouth behavior has made me deny your request.”

“Martina!” shrieked Joy.

Ned called over his shoulder. “He wasn’t going to let us go, Joy.”

Stepping forward, the harbormaster rubbed his hands together. “Now, prepare yourselves as we present another treasure from Forlorn Harbor. Relax, grab some popcorn, and sit back. Well, all of you sit back except one. Let the fun begin.”

The film narrowed into a small circle and then winked out. Martina took a deep breath. Her bargain hadn’t worked, and now they had a new reason to hate her. As she stood in the darkness, the introduction to Forlorn Harbor started again for the seventh time that night. She hated this part most of all.

In the dark across from her, Theresa muttered The Lord’s Prayer. The words sprang from her lips in a jumbled mess, with entire passages missing. She finished it halfway through the introduction as the camera panned out of the docks.

Theresa took a deep breath. “Oh, God. Please, take Martina instead of me. Please take her. I can’t face it.”

Martina turned to her. “Theresa!”

“You wanted to go,” snapped Theresa. “You volunteered for it. God, let her be next. Spare me.”

The introduction finished, and Martina readied herself. She had tempted the harbormaster to go next. Bad idea. Maybe he would put her in an episode where she wouldn’t survive. She braced herself.

Across from her, Theresa screeched, “Oh, God. Oh—”

Silence. The harbormaster hadn’t chosen Martina.

The Tallax

Theresa immediately knew the harbormaster had pulled her into the episode instead of Martina. Before the lights returned, the material on her clothes stiffened, becoming itchy and bothersome. The scent of pine needles and moss replaced the dusty scent of the theater. Her ears picked up a crackling sound as if someone near her was crumpling paper. Theresa fell to her knees and leaned over, placing her hands on the ground. Her fingers touched grass, not cement. She wailed.

“God! Not me!”

A sneering voice interrupted her protest. “Figures ye’d profane the Lord, witch!”

At first, Theresa thought God had answered her. No, the response was too nasty from a grace-filled deity. The retort had originated from another person. At least she wasn’t alone. The words—delivered in an unmerciful inflection—came from someone before her. She lifted her head and peered at the speaker through tear-filled eyes.

In front of her stood a man dressed in a coat of perhaps blue or green, with black buttons, a white shirt, and dark breeches. His black stockings and gray shoes were a foot from her face. He held a torch—the source of the crackling—and glared down his pointed nose at her. A pilgrim, or as she learned in grade school, a Puritan.

Three similarly dressed people gathered around Theresa, illuminated by the torch’s glow and moonlight. The three figures were a woman in a bonnet, a man with an eyepatch, and a tiny girl with black curls holding the torchbearer’s hand. Theresa guessed the girl was younger than twelve.

Theresa sniffed and folded her hands. “Oh, please. Help me.”

“Ye are beyond help,” replied the man. “Ye have been trialed and convicted of witchcraft. But since some question our decision—” The man regarded the woman and scowled. “We shall not hang ye in the gallows or toss ye in the well. Instead, we shall let divine justice decide what to do with ye. Ye shall march on the trail through Kennystone’s territory to the enclave of all cast out from New Manchester. Whether ye live or die is no longer a concern to us.”

Terror consuming her, Theresa had difficulty following the man’s speech. He accused her of witchcraft. A terrible fate awaited her in this period of history. They weren’t going to execute her. Check. But what did he mean by Kennystone and New Manchester?

The man with the eyepatch held up an ax and made slicing motions, grunting. The speaking Puritan pointed behind himself. “And if ye think of returning to our village, we shall cut ye open, and Eloise won’t save ye this time. If ye survive, the gallows fer ye. Ye deserve no better after ensorcelling my little girl.”

The small girl grinned at her, showing missing teeth.

“Ye may be fortunate.” The man peered off beyond her. “Mayhap the stories of the Tallax be false. In either case, we now leave ye to yer fate.”

The man swung around, his coat tails sharp as a knife. The girl spat on her before her father tugged her away. The other two started away, but Theresa reached for the hem of the woman’s wool dress and grabbed it. “I need help. I’m begging you.”

The woman named Eloise hesitated and then lowered herself, allowing the others to leave. “Ye know I can’t. This judgment was your best option, Theresa. I did what I could.”

Tears dripped down Theresa’s face once more. “Please, just answer my questions. I don’t understand what I should do next.”

Eloise removed Theresa’s hand from her dress. “Proceed in the opposite direction. There, ye may find the others, the enlightened who rejected and traveled away from New Manchester. I have heard people in your situation were allowed to join their colony.”

Eloise’s bloodless lips pressed together. What was she not saying? A walk through a forest in the middle of the night terrified Theresa, but the father had mentioned something she didn’t understand. “What’s this Tallax?”

Though in black and white, Eloise’s pallor complexion lost more of its gray tone. “The Tallax is a legend in these parts. ’Tis a beast not known of until setting foot in the new world. ‘Tis as tall as a war horse! Beware its tongue coated with spikes and its crab-like claws. The beast is swift, attacking from the rear. If you spy it, the Tallax must slow down, and if you look directly at it, they say, it must stop. Keep a sharp eye, and halt it in its tracks!”

The man from town bellowed from a distance. “Eloise.”

Eloise stood. “I must depart. May God be yer companion, and the Tallax far away.”

Theresa called to the woman as she hurried away. Eloise didn’t heed her. Theresa rose to her feet and wiped her eyes, staring down the path the Puritans had taken. She could steal back to the village and hide until the end of her Forlorn Harbor trial of terror. Yet, the man with the eyepatch had threatened her with his ax. Her choices were a real man with a sharp weapon or an animal with a weird name. She’d take her chances with this Tallax thing-a-ma-bob.

She willed her legs to function, but she remained frozen in place. The route through the trees was normal enough. Pine, maple, and oaks guarded the boundaries of the twisting trail, and the full moon provided plenty of light.

Go, Theresa. You must go!

She took a step, then another, pushing herself as she never had before. Shivering though the temperature was moderate, she trekked down the leaf-strewn path. She had to make it to this colony Eloise had mentioned. How long would it take? If the journey was days and the episode was thirty minutes, would she be attacked at the beginning?

Theresa stopped in her tracks, breathing heavily. She hadn’t been running, but the air seemed to press in on her, making it difficult to catch her breath. She placed a hand on her breast. A voice spoke inside her head. Not her own, but Martina’s.

Theresa, move. Now.

To one side, two illuminated eyes stared at her, and she gasped. The Tallax! Before she discerned what they were, they dissipated. Swamp gas! A nature show she had watched years ago showed a video of it. Gas was another reason to stay on the trail.

Theresa whispered to herself as she strolled along. “I’m going to make it. It’s a clear night. No mist or fog as in Liam’s episode. This path is only a forest trail. If I hurry, I’ll make it to the other end.”

Unlike Joy, Theresa wasn’t athletic. She could sustain a sprint for about twenty seconds. However, she pushed herself to jog, looking to the left and right as much as possible. A monster that remained still when you spotted it? Kind of ridiculous. This Tallax wouldn’t catch her if she kept looking around.

And keeping her eyes peeled was precisely what she planned to do.

Her lungs begged Theresa to slow down and take a breath, but she ignored them. She would rest back at the Majestic. Theresa told herself she could run the entire route to the other colony, though she knew she wouldn’t be able to. If she kept moving, any dangerous beasties would have to chase her to capture her. In horror movies, killers only slaughtered the moronic people who failed to run away. The film idiots who, when a branch snapped, went investigating. How stupid. She wouldn’t be like—

Tripping over a root, Theresa tumbled to the ground. At the last minute, she braced herself for a fall. Her hands scraped on the dirt. Her knees banged against the rock-hard soil, and a searing pain rushed through her body.

Theresa wanted to lie on the ground and weep. This episode was unfair. She would be much better in Kaylee’s segment where she would’ve listened and gone outside when the puppets called her name and no sooner. Kaylee had sympathetic people surrounding her in her episode. She had a boyfriend, too. Theresa had no one. Why had the harbormaster chosen this episode for her to die in?

To die in.

Theresa shivered as if her bone marrow were ice. Geoff had died on his turn, and so would she. The final girl in horror movies was never big-boned, never emotional. Horror movie girls were always strong and plucky. The larger girls, if there were any, always died.

“I can’t do this.”

But she had to. She lifted herself on her hands and knees, both stinging from the fall. Head lowered, she had a clear view of the path behind her between her legs. Her breath caught. Thirty yards down the way, a pair of insect legs stood on the trail. The appendages ceased rushing at her when she spotted them.

The Tallax.

Theresa rolled over and focused on the direction she had come. While she had lost sight of the creature, she judged it had advanced two yards closer, but now, Theresa was on her butt. Her eyes locked onto the monster previously behind her.

The Tallax was taller than Mr. Newcombe, their science teacher, who had claimed he was seven feet, two inches—but, more importantly, he had said—two-point-one-eight meters tall. The insect legs held up a barrel-shaped torso with smaller appendages ending in enlarged crab claws. The most horrid thing about the broad-shouldered creature was not its body, but its neck and head. They were missing. Where its neck should have been, two antennas wiggled around, and a lengthy, phlegm-covered muscle draped over the side of its body.

Gross! The muscle was its tongue!

The Tallax stood still. Theresa may have mistaken it for a statue if not for Eloise’s warning. Yet, Theresa couldn’t move either. Frozen to the ground, Theresa and the Tallax locked eyes for a long minute. She tried to sort through her options, all jumbled in her mind. Should she scream? No, it might attack. Scream anyway. No, just sit here. Yes. Remain seated and watch it for the entire thirty minutes. She had figured out a way to outsmart it!

Theresa blinked and sucked in a breath. In the split second she had blinked, the thing had crept closer. Maybe an inch, but in a different position. The tongue had also shifted.

She couldn’t remain still because Theresa had to blink, and what if she started crying? Would seeing it through her tears count? Or would the Tallax be free to rush toward her since she’d view it through a veil of water?

Theresa had to move.

Heart pumping, she rose to her feet, willing herself not to blink. Theresa edged backward. One step. Two. What if something else was on the trail? When she had been jogging on it, the pathway had been uneven. Even watching her step, she had fallen. How would she make it walking this way?

The moonlight dimmed, and the shifting of the heavens nearly distracted Theresa. No! She had to focus. She continued to step backward. Every time she blinked, the Tallax would advance, but she managed to put more distance between it and her. Distance was what mattered most. Or so she thought, until she stepped off the trail.

Theresa hadn’t noticed until her back hit the trunk of a tree. Out of the corner of her vision, she spied the trail curved right. Theresa had to follow the road. If she continued walking backward into the trees, the forest would obstruct her view of the creature. If she left the trail, Theresa would eventually lose her line of sight on it.

However, Theresa noticed that in the last few instances she had blinked, the Tallax hadn’t moved toward her. It had shifted to the side. Theresa bit her lip. It was trying to make it into the woods and let the trees block her field of vision. If it made it under the cover of the leaves and trunks of the trees, it might circle and catch up to her.

She blinked once more, during which it stepped closer to the path’s edge. Nothing to do now. She had to run, or it would catch her. Sucking in a deep breath, Theresa turned and sprinted along the cleared route as fast as her legs allowed.

After she rounded the bend, Theresa spun around, expecting to spot the Tallax. No sign of it. Jogging backward, she pivoted her head like a bird wary of a predator and spotted a vague form moving through the trees on her left. She squinted at it, and the being slowed. When she focused on it, it froze.

She kept her gaze on the beast as she sidled along. She turned and moved sideways, not daring to view the ground ahead, still worried she may trip over something. She tentatively placed her foot, keeping the Tallax in her sight.

Out of the corner of Theresa’s eye, a thin shaft of moonlight highlighted the trail she had already traversed. The moonlight flashed on and off as a spotlight would whose operator was testing it. A blinking light. Though she wanted to observe what she knew would be her friends, Theresa didn’t dare take her eyes off the beast in the woods.

“Theresa, keep moving!”

The advisor was Martina. Theresa swallowed. Of all the people to address her, why Martina? Martina would taunt her, saying she deserved her predicament. Theresa wanted Liam’s advice instead. He knew these plots. “Liam is the only one I want to talk to.”

Martina persisted. “Liam says Gladys wouldn’t want him helping you. I tried to get him to talk, but he refused. I know he remembers this episode. He mentioned it at the start of the night.”

Theresa recalled him talking about it, too. A creature that stops when you look at it.

Her voice quavered, “Who will help me, then?”

“I will,” responded Martina. “It’s frozen now because the movie has stopped. Run, Theresa, run!”

Duh! Of course, she had to use this time to stay ahead of it. Theresa rotated and ran with every spark of energy in her body, making sure she circumvented any obstacles on the path. She avoided a tiny dip in the road and kicked a rock as she sped around another corner while contemplating how much time she had before the action started again.

Martina had helped her, even after what Theresa had said in the theater, begging God to take her instead. After her malignant prayer, could Theresa trust Martina? And why was Liam not helping her? If he told her the ending, it might make a difference. Any information would help.

The tree branches started swaying in a gentle breeze, and Theresa whimpered. She was out of time. She was in the worst episode, and nobody could help her. The harbormaster wasn’t fair. Her classmates in the theater had been worse than her. Geoff was a brute. Joy was a prima donna. Theresa had lied a few times. So what?

Head swiveling, she slowed down to avoid falling again. She jolted when she heard Martina speak.

“Oh, no! Where is it?”

Theresa jogged while she spoke. “Martina? Is it you?”

“Theresa? Can you hear me?”

The crickets chirped, and the moonlight shifted.

The scene had continued, but Martina came across loud and clear. “Yes! God, yes! I hear you,” Theresa said.

Martina yipped a joyful sound. “Wonderful! If I’m allowed to continue to talk to you, I will guide you. The camera’s facing you from a distance, Theresa. I can see behind you when you’re facing forward. And a little to the side as well.”

Martina was similar to having another pair of eyes. Thank goodness. She just may—

“Theresa! Left!”

Theresa followed Martina’s instruction, but nothing was there.

“Other way!”

Theresa spun to her right and spied the Tallax five feet away, preparing to emerge from the forest. The nightmarish thing had almost reached her. She examined its chest and spotted markings on it she hadn’t before. Their shapes were oval, resembling knotholes in tree bark. Then, one blinked, and Theresa held her breath.

A half dozen baleful eyes glared at her.

Theresa backed away, staring as she made a wide circle around it. “Why did you tell me left? Tell me the wrong direction?”

“I meant my left,” Martina whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? I almost died.”

Then Theresa heard Ned. “You gotta use something different. Left and right won’t work. Use the directions of a clock. Pilots use o’clock in an airplane.”

Theresa swallowed as she walked backward, further and further from the Tallax. “I don’t understand.”

Ned shouted at her. “Imagine you’re at the center of a clock. Twelve o’clock is straight in front of you. Six o’clock is directly behind you. Three and nine are your sides. Get it?”

“That should work,” breathed Martina. “I’ll use the o’clock.”

Theresa nodded. No matter whose point of view it was, twelve o’clock was always straight ahead. Yeah, this could work, but Martina had almost killed her. Then again, maybe Martina meant to put her in danger. “How do I know this isn’t some trick like the one they pulled on Kaylee? Maybe you’re not Martina and Ned?”

From a distance, Kaylee asked a question. “What does she mean by a trick?”

Martina said, “Theresa, you’ve said some cruel things to me. I don’t know if I can ever trust you again, but right now, I don’t want you to get hurt. I would never want that. If my words don't prove I’m Martina, then listen to someone else.”

Theresa wanted to believe her. She desperately needed Martina in her ear. Her voice alone was boosting her spirits. She stopped, focused on the Tallax, debating what to do next when Ned spoke.

“Come on, Theresa. When Kaylee saw our fake versions, we were all acting weird. Kaylee should’ve figured it out. We’re us.”

Kaylee asked, “What should I have figured out?”

Martina and Ned sounded genuine, and she knew Martina. Martina wouldn’t hurt her, no matter how many lies Theresa spread about her. The voices in her ears had to be them.

Theresa bounced once on the balls of her feet. “I’m going to run and trust you guys. Please, help me.”

Turning and sprinting around a corner, Theresa took off as fast as a party favor pops on New Year’s Eve. Tree branches the Tallax had pushed aside snapped behind her. The way forward twisted back toward the Tallax, and Theresa cursed.

Martina shouted, “Three o’clock.”

Theresa looked to her right, and there was the Tallax. She kept her eyes on it as she advanced. She wouldn’t question Martina again, instead allowing her friend to guide her.

“Go, Theresa!”

She did, running with all her strength. The trail straightened out, but the tree branches covered the path, creating a wooden roof with holes.

“Six! Six o’clock!”

Theresa swung around, and the Tallax was about eight feet from her. Martina must be the Martina she knew and not some Forlorn Harbor version. She had saved her twice. Theresa sped-walked backward.

“Theresa, stop!”

“Why?”

“Stop!” Martina screeched.

Theresa complied, ensuring the Tallax stayed in her purview. “What the heck, Martina?”

“You’re about to trip over a large stone. Take a couple of steps either way, then continue walking.”

Theresa took a deep breath, shuffled two steps, and tested the ground behind her with her foot. Her foot landed flat on the ground.

“You’ve cleared the rock, but the path turns in about ten feet. I’ll tell you when.”

Theresa continued to walk backward while keeping the Tallax frozen in place. She hated when the path turned because she lost her visual of her pursuer, but every step brought her closer to the colony the Puritans had mentioned.

“You’re at the bend,” said Martina. “It will likely approach you from nine o’clock. Keep an eye out that way. Are you ready?”

Theresa bit her lip and bolted forward. As she raced down the trail, she looked everywhere, confident Martina would tell her if the Tallax was sneaking up on her. Sprinting a good distance down the trail, Theresa spied no sign of the monster. Martina hadn’t said anything either. What happened to her?

“Martina?”

She didn’t answer. High alert! What if the evil people who had put her here silenced her friends in the theater to give her false confidence? Maybe she should take a peek over her shoulder? She wouldn’t stop. No matter what, she had to forge ahead.

As Theresa glanced backward, pain flared down her back from her left shoulder blade to her hip. She screamed, staring at the Tallax. It loomed large behind her. One of its pincers positioned to strike and the other pointing down, a scrap of her shirt dangling off its claw. If she hadn’t peeked behind her, the creature would have cut her open. As it was, the tip had made a gash in her back. Theresa’s wound throbbed in agony, and she stumbled.

The Tallax had frozen once Theresa had faced it, but now she pinwheeled her arms to maintain her balance. If she fell, she would lose eye contact. Then, it would pounce on her. Her feet tripped over themselves, and she was sure she was about to fall at one point, but she regained her balance.

The adrenaline of surviving and not breaking eye contact sustained her, but now she and the monster were both frozen. The sharpness of the pain made her cry. How deep was the cut? Was she bleeding? She couldn’t examine her wound without allowing the headless thing to slink closer. Her eyes burned with the pain, but she knew if she even blinked, she would be dead.

“Martina!”

This time, her friend answered. “Theresa! Oh, God! What happened to your back?” A pause and a release of breath. “The Tallax.”

“Where were you?” wailed Theresa.

“The movie cut to an overhead view of the entire woods. I couldn’t warn you, but I learned something.”

Theresa breathed heavily through her mouth. As she did, four balls of light, the swamp gas she had mistaken for the Tallax, illuminated the woods to her right. In unison, they flickered as if they all blinked. The woods around her froze in place, and Theresa grunted, placing a hand on her wound. “How deep is the cut?”

Martina answered, “The cut is bleeding, but you must start running. Now is your chance to stay in front of them.”

Theresa examined the blood on her fingertips. She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can, Martina.”

“Yes, you can! Down this path, then it zigzags. After that, you jog straight to a cottage. Lights are shining in the windows. I forced Liam to confirm this was the end of the episode, Theresa. You’re so close.”

All Theresa wanted to do was drop to the ground. Tired, hurt, and scared, she couldn’t press on. This episode was all too much. She wasn’t cut out to be a hero.

“Go!” commanded Martina.

Martina’s voice prompted her into action. Her friend’s—her best friend’s—instruction was urgent but loving. Theresa turned and shot forward as a bullet blasts from a barrel. When she came to the bend in the trail, the trees began to sway again. “They didn’t give me a long enough break.”

Martina sniffed. “The second time is never long. Just keep going, Theresa. Almost there.”

As Martina had described, the path turned before it angled back in the same direction. A dog leg is what her father had called it when they were hiking on vacation. What an odd name. Don’t let names be distractions. She must go. She was almost at the end.

Almost.

When she turned the corner, she spied a structure in the distance with a lantern in the window. Theresa was horrible at distances, but she guessed it was about the length of the swimming pool at school.

With the end in proximity, she found her stride again and pushed herself to reach the house. She regarded the lantern in the window. The warm glow promised safety. Perhaps someone would help her with the wound. Even better, entering may mean returning to the theater. She was close.

“Theresa! Two o’clock!”

Focused on the cottage, Theresa forgot to be attentive to her surroundings. Martina’s alarm snapped her out of her false security, and she swiveled her attention to the two o’clock position. The Tallax, in mid-stride, had frozen in the woods. When Theresa spotted it, the nightmare-turned-real stopped inches before the trail’s border.

Martina shouted again. “Ten o’clock!”

What? Ten o’clock? The Tallax had approached from the two position. “I don’t understand. The Tallax—”

“Look! Ten o’clock,” Martina screamed.

Theresa shifted her gaze to the ten position without losing sight of the Tallax at two. Nevertheless, the Tallax at two o’clock moved, though slowly. Regretting it, she almost swung her attention to two o’clock until she spotted it. Another Tallax! The second creature rushed at her from the ten position. It slowed down when she caught sight of it.

Theresa shifted her attention to the second Tallax and made it halt. “How are there two Tallaxes?”

“Two o’clock,” warned Martina.

Theresa returned her focus to the first Tallax, and the beast inched forward. It didn’t want to intercept her. Rather, it wanted to maneuver around her and approach from behind.

“It’s not cutting me off,” observed Theresa.

“Ten o’clock! Theresa, ten!”

Theresa had to turn from the Tallax on one side of her to stop its twin on the other. She wouldn’t be able to do this for much longer. “Martina!”

Martina reassured her. “I think they want to position themselves at your three and nine. If they go to four and eight, you may turn around and walk backward to the cottage. They want to move close to you, but at your three and nine, they may attack you on either side.”

Theresa wanted to cry, but kept the tears inside. The last thing she needed was something obscuring her vision. The Tallaxes kept moving toward her, but to her side as Martina had predicted. Theresa wailed, “What do I do?”

Martina released an unsteady breath. “Listen to me closely. You must make your eyes point in different directions. The reverse of crossing them.”

Theresa put her fingers next to her eyes. “It’s impossible to do that to your eyes.”

“Some people can. I’ve seen it online. You can do it if you try.”

Theresa wasn’t as confident, though she tried to position her eyes outward. For a moment, it worked. Both Tallaxes stood motionless. They were about seven feet from her position, but then Theresa relapsed into a singular focus. Again, they were at the corners of her vision.

“It won’t work, Martina.”

“In seconds, they’ll be at three and nine,” hissed Martina. “Try again.”

The Tallaxes moved toward the clock positions on either side of Theresa, closing to six feet. Again, she shifted her eyes to the extreme outside of her field of vision. She spied both Tallaxes a second time. They stopped again.

“You got them,” Martina spoke in a steady tone. “Now walk forward slowly.”

Theresa followed her instructions and stepped forward. The Tallaxes became blurry at the edges of her vision, but matched her movement.

“They don’t want to be behind you, Theresa. They’re hoping you’ll lose your focus on them, but you won’t, will you? You have them locked in. Okay?”

“Okay,” whispered Theresa. She stepped forward, her eyeballs exhausted from the strain.

“How the hell is she doing that?” Ned asked, filled with awe.

“Doesn’t matter. She’s doing it,” replied Martina.

Theresa took another step, tempted to run, but resisting the urge. Tongue flapping at the top of its husk of a body, the Tallaxes snapped their pincers at her a yard from her arms. If she stopped, they would both ambush her. Because she was moving and watching them both, they moved slower. They were in her purview. She and the Tallaxes were at a stalemate.

“Almost there,” said Martina. “Reach out your hand.”

Theresa followed her instruction and touched wood. The door! Despite the longing to adjust her eyes ahead or even blink, she formed a fist and rapped hard on the entrance’s surface.

Someone inside hailed her through the wood. “I saw ye coming through the window. I have them in my view. When I open the door, you enter, and I’ll shut it. I’ve done this before. It will work.”

Theresa nodded, and the door creaked open in front of her. The cottage voice said, “Just walk forward lickety-spit, and I shall slam the door.”

Taking a couple of steps, Theresa stumbled inside, and then the door closed. She collapsed to the floor, blinking her eyes multiple times and then shutting them. The woman gasped, and Theresa assumed she had spotted the cut down her back. “Let me fetch a rag to clean yer wound.”

Tears strained against Theresa’s closed eyelids. “Will they be able to break in here?”

“I have it protected from the likes of them,” the woman replied. “Yer safe with old Nellie.”

Theresa released a heavy sigh and lifted her head. Her hands went to her mouth, and she made a slight sound in her throat.

She couldn’t see straight ahead! Her right eye observed the furniture of the cottage, and her left viewed Nellie grabbing a towel near a tub, but whatever was directly in front of her was invisible. She blinked to adjust her eyes, but her sight refused to focus on the center.

“My eyes!” exclaimed Theresa.

Nellie returned and kneeled in front of her. “Oh, heavens,” she said.

Theresa screamed, “They’re stuck this way!”

Coming Attractions

Theresa reappeared in the center of the theater, close to Joy’s two-square-foot section she lorded over. Martina was the sole person searching for her when her flashlight returned to life. The recently returned girl was seated, her arms hugging her legs. Head bent down, Theresa’s body was shaking. With rage or sorrow? Martina couldn’t tell.

Nervously, Martina raced to her friend, keeping her light trained on her as she approached. Theresa huddled over, and as the tall girl came closer and crouched, Martina realized Theresa was sobbing. Tears escaped from mostly shut eyelids.

“Theresa?”

In response, the other girl shook her head. She didn’t open her eyes, but huddled her legs closer.

Martina held out her hand to touch Theresa’s knee, then decided against it. “Are you okay?”

To this, Theresa lifted her head and opened her eyes. “No. I’m not okay!”

As Martina had suspected, the position of Theresa’s eyes were on the extreme ends of her sockets, the left one on the left, and the right one on the right. The effect gave her welcoming facial features an unnerving expression. Martina wanted to look away, but she didn’t.

“My eyes are stuck like this!” screamed Theresa.

“Just like when we were children,” piped in Joy from the nearby darkness. “Our mothers warned us if we crossed our eyes, they would stick that way.”

Theresa swiveled her head, one eye glaring in the volleyball champion’s direction. “This isn’t funny, Joy. I can’t see straight in front of me. It hurts to focus.”

“Oh, grow up.” Joy’s flashlight turned on and centered itself on Theresa’s face. “All you need is a pair of sunglasses, and no one will know. How am I going to disguise myself?”

Martina needed to diffuse Theresa’s anger. Like...a distraction. “The wound on your back?”

Theresa shut her eyes. “It’s gone. Only my eyes were affected.”

“Same as the original episode.” Liam snorted. “You played your part well, Theresa.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she yelled.

Liam leaned forward in his seat. “What would you have done differently? You would have given up. I did you a favor.”

Theresa needed comfort, not the dismissiveness of Joy or Liam. Martina cleared her throat. “Maybe an operation will fix it?”

Theresa beat her hands on her legs. “I don’t want an operation. I want my normal sight back.”

Crouching down, Martina pointed her flashlight at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” Theresa’s voice dripped with venom. “I blame you for all of this.”

“What?”

Theresa raised her voice. “Do you hear me? My eyes are your fault.”

Waddling back a step, Martina gaped at her former friend. “My fault?”

“Yes, I followed your instructions. You said if you followed the rules and told the truth, you would escape unharmed.”

“Theresa, I—”

“I could’ve retreated and led those things down another path,” Theresa snapped. “Maybe they would have come together on the trail, and I could’ve stared them down, went around them, and then walked backward to the cottage. You told me to do this!” She pointed at the side of her right eye socket.

Would Theresa’s plan have worked? The Forlorn Harbor segment had switched scenes, allowing Martina to view more Tallaxes than Theresa.

Ned called from across the room. “Nah. Martina didn’t tell you about the other Tallaxes because it would’ve scared you. You almost gave up when you thought you were facing one. What if we revealed to you that we spotted four? You woulda freaked.”

Without opening her eyes, Theresa turned in Ned’s direction. “Four?”

“We counted them when the episode switched to the overhead shot.” Martina set her hand on Theresa’s knee. “We saw you, the cottage, and the four Tallaxes roaming through the woods. They were all headed for you.”

The other girl pulled her leg away from Martina’s touch. Even with the new information, Theresa’s body language informed her she didn’t want Martina’s company.

Martina stood up and sighed. The classmates had, once again, retreated to their own little islands on the Majestic’s sea. She marched to the side of the large chamber with the broken exit sign. Only Ned, atop his pile of rubbish, staked a claim on this half of the theater. Martina turned around at the wall, put her back up against it, and slid down until seated on the dusty floor.

Lord knows she had tried. So hard. If Kaylee had listened to her and tried to save the others in Red Rover, she would have revealed to the other characters to go outside only when the puppets called their names. Billy may have restrained Kaylee, saving her. Martina had also been behind Liam’s idea to urge Geoff to confess. Geoff would’ve never taken advice from Martina, but he might from Liam. In Liam’s episode, he hadn’t listened to her advice to stall after Gladys had restored his voice, and now Theresa. With little guidance from Liam, Martina had navigated her former friend through a deadly maze to the best of her abilities, but it hadn’t been enough.

The tears slid down her cheeks. She had tried her best to guide and help them, but everything she had attempted failed. A single success may have brightened their current mood. Yet, nothing had worked. A sadistic movie serial had ruined their best efforts.

Now, it was her turn. She had propped up the others before their episodes had begun, but nobody here would do the same for her. Certainly, when the film rolled again, she would be sucked into it. Worse, no one out here would be there to help her. Liam was now tight-lipped, and who would come to her aid if they decided to reset the Tallax show and have her start anew? She’d be doomed.

If the victims had foreknowledge of the plot or someone assisting, they could survive their episodes. Otherwise, the likelihood of survival was low, and everyone here wasn’t talking to her.

Heaving a sob, Martina didn’t care if they noticed her weeping. She had a right to it. Let them make fun of her. She had to cry or scream, and chose to weep. Crying calmed her.

Then a memory came to her—she and her grandma in the kitchen. Abuela Beatrice lived with them and had been cooking. The weathered old lady had asked her to try the gravy for the night’s meal. Martina had slurped the contents off the spoon and had given her father’s mother a thumbs-up. “Abuela Bea, another winner.”

“Eras demasiado bueno,” she had replied. “Is your homework done?”

“Si. I finished my research paper on culture and ethics, and the connection between the two.”

Bea had fluffed her apron. “Muy buena. You will help me with the cannoli for dessert.”

“Cannoli?” Martina had raised her eyebrows. “What about your sopaipillas or tres leches cakes?”

Furrowing her brow, Bea had wagged a finger at her. “Are you saying because I came from Honduras, I’m only able to cook Mexican dishes? Is this what you think of your old Bea?”

Martina had giggled and had hugged her crotchety old grandma. “No. Of course, not. You’re the best cook I know.”

“Damn right, as you kids say.” Though she had used a stern voice, she had squeezed Martina in the hug. “Enough el afecto. We go to work now.”

They had worked on the cannoli, and the family claimed they were better than the ones they bought at the Italian bakery. Abuela Bea had beamed with pride and jostled Martina’s leg under the table. The friendliest “I told you so” kick she had ever received.

The thought of her stooped and wrinkled grandmother brought the rest of her family to mind. She missed her sister Juana and younger brother. Closing her eyes, Martina wished herself home. Whoever it was behind this...would it spare her? Allow her to go home? Remove the creature in the lobby and let them leave?

Martina hoped with all her might that when she opened her eyes the walls would be gone. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and pointed her flashlight at the doorway with the mangled sign. The beam struck the wall, as solid as ever, and her shoulders slumped. Then, her flashlight died in her hands.

Here it comes.

She set her flashlight down and rose to her feet. The sound of the reel’s whir started in the projection room. Hugging herself, she turned to the canvas where the movie played out and awaited her turn.

Instead of Forlorn Harbor’s introduction, the film displayed a green background with white lettering. The message on the screen was the announcement of a coming attraction. Martina caught a difference, however. Instead of the regular wording of This preview has been approved for appropriate ages, it said, The following preview has been approved for appropriate personnel. What did that mean?

A voice, not the raspy narrator for Forlorn Harbor, announced, “Ned Bellows, star wide receiver of the Chicago Bears, has once again made a miraculous catch and saved his team from defeat at the end of the Bears-Packers game this afternoon. After the game, Ned had these words.”

The scene switched, and someone held a microphone up to Ned, but it wasn’t the James Carter version of the teenager seated in the darkness with them. This was an older Ned, a man in his mid-twenties with broader shoulders and bulging muscles. The interviewer asked, “How does it feel to be recognized by your teammates as the most valuable player again?”

“Team effort,” replied Ned. “I put six points on the board, but the front line held the D long enough for Quenton to complete the pass. Our quarterback did an amazing job, our defense was top-notch, and Coach made the right call. I executed along with the rest of this amazing team.”

While he was talking, they showed a play of a Bears receiver with his helmet’s facemask showing enough of his features to identify Ned. Both feet ran down the sideline, and he reached out and caught a ball ahead of him.

Ned left the frame, and the interviewer turned to the camera. “And there he is again. Da Bears’ new rising star. I can’t wait to see what he’ll do next week.”

Ned stood when the attractions had begun, using the board for leverage. He focused on the screen, soaking in the images.

The setting changed to a volleyball court, and another interviewer shoved a microphone in a pretty woman’s face. The woman was an older version of Joy with wild, tangled curls and silky, smooth skin. “Coach Rajakonar. How does it feel to have an undefeated season?”

The woman squared her shoulders in a confident, but not gloating, manner. “The team worked hard. I have some dedicated, quick-thinking girls. You don’t make it to the championship on skill alone.”

From within the theater, the younger Joy shouted, “Is this me? In the future?”

“Has there been a secret to your success?” asked the interviewer.

“My assistant coaches,” answered the older Joy. “I’ve had the same coaching staff since I started. They’re all spectacular. Kaylee, come here.”

Kaylee stepped into the frame. She smiled for the camera, and Joy set her hand on Kaylee’s shoulder. “This woman has been my bedrock for years and stuck by me,” said Joy. “Loyalty like that isn’t something you buy.”

The light of the projection revealed Kaylee standing near an exit door, her fingers twisting the ends of her hair.

Then, the film displayed a preview of an older Liam sprinting down a hill with a horde of jaguars after him. In his arms, he carried a marble statue of a robed gentleman. A narrator said, “Return to experience the thrills and adventure of the one and only Egyptian Ed. Watch as he uncovers a mysterious treasure that could unlock the very secrets of mankind.”

The next scene showed a man leaping from a mast on a ship to another ship, thirty feet above deck. “Egyptian Ed and his partner Knuckles Nadine will encircle the globe in...”

A title flashed across the screen. The Genesis Crucible.

Liam. An actor. Martina would’ve never guessed, but seeing him on the screen, it made sense.

The advertisement ended, replaced with a live broadcast at a bookstore. A woman sat behind a desk piled with books as rain poured outside a bay window behind her. The prim and proper woman was an older, more attractive version of Theresa. She held up a book to the camera entitled Successes of James Carter High School.

Eyes focused on the camera, Theresa addressed the audience. “What are the odds that Liam Crosswell, Coaches Joyna Rajakonar and Kaylee McMasters, and Ned Bellows all went to James Carter High in the same grade? Even Liam’s agent is his brother, Geoff. I felt the success story had to be shared. I’m proud to say my book has been on the New York Times bestseller list for three months. Not because I dug up the dirt on any of them. No dirt exists. They are the best of people, showing up at the book launch in Los Angeles with me.”

The scene shifted to a stage with older versions of Ned, Joy, Kaylee, Liam, Geoff, and Theresa standing together. The group waved while lights flashed as they took their pictures. The gang put their arms around each other.

The scene flashed back to the bookstore. Theresa gestured to her surroundings. “My wealth has allowed me to open this bookstore in downtown Pittsburgh, and fifty percent of the proceeds go to helping disadvantaged children in the neighborhood. I hope you’ll frequent it.”

The film faded out.

In the darkness, Martina sucked in her breath. Where was she? If this was their fate, what happened to her?

The flashlights still didn’t function. No light, but the voices from the others filled the auditorium. Ned asked, “Is this what becomes of us? Is this our future?”

Kaylee’s voice cut across the darkness. “My friends must have healed up after they left. Joy had changed, but her skin was restored. Wait until I tell her.”

“For the last time, I am Joy,” screeched the girl at the auditorium’s center. “How can you identify us in this coming attraction, but not in real life?”

“Who cares?” Liam put his fisted hands on his hips. “I looked happy, and my brother was alive. Everything was restored. We have to leave.”

“Really, straight-A student? Only now have you come to that conclusion?” Joy huffed. “We still have to wait for Martina’s turn. After she’s done, we’ll leave this nightmare.”

“Yeah, what about Martina?” asked Ned. “Why wasn’t she in the preview?”

Martina didn’t make a move or speak when Ned addressed her.

Liam’s silhouette scanned the room. “I don’t see her. Did it suck her in?”

“I told you all before. Martina left with the others.” Kaylee, of course.

“How I end up with you as my assistant coach is a mystery, beanbag head.” Joy pointed at Martina. “She’s right over there.”

Liam nodded. “I’m sorry, Martina.”

Martina tensed at his attention, and his words were like a cold, clammy hand on her shoulder. “Sorry for what?”

Liam drooped his head. “You’re missing from the coming attractions. That can’t be good.”

Then the introduction to Forlorn Harbor started, and Martina emitted a high-pitched squeal. She hated this damn serial and this damn night. Why was she going to be sacrificed anyway? She had only tried to help.

Halfway through, she began to weep, and her back hit the wall again. Once more, she dropped to the floor. She put her hands over her face, and her chest heaved with overwhelming emotions. Some movie actress she would be. A typical final girl would stand tall, a defiant gleam in her eye. Not her. She was a mess. When it was her turn to enter Forlorn Harbor’s chamber of horrors, Martina was just as scared as everyone else.

As the introduction narration ended, Martina began counting. The numbers were her method to combat the terror. Counting would keep her sanity. “One. Two. Three.”

The opening montage ended at seven, and Martina pressed her lips together hard. This was it. The canvas would open its maw and swallow her whole. She, like Geoff, would never return.

Instead, on the screen, two teenagers sat across from each other in a soda shop. Martina licked her lips and blinked at the scene. The kids weren’t anybody she knew. Glancing around, she counted figures in the theater. The other five were still there.

The movie hadn’t sucked in Martina at all.

Three Wishes

Human beings are such interesting creatures!

The harbormaster strolled into the fountain shop, ringing the bells at the top of the door. The interior had a long, chrome-lined counter and hard, plastic booths with round Formica tables. The picture of an American past—the jukebox warbled a jazzy tune by Perry Como. Smoke and noise filled the space. Dishes clattered, bells rang, and the soda machine whirred. Signs welcomed visitors, detailing the daily specials.

Seated at a booth were two teenagers debating a topic while drinking a soda. Cute-as-a-button Emily McGruber and greasy-haired Fred Prescott. Not girlfriend and boyfriend, but valedictorian and salutatorian of their high school. They admired each other, drawing energy from the other like two suns in close proximity. Yes, the harbormaster was familiar with Ms. McGruber and Mr. Prescott.

Emily and Fred sat on either side of the table, holding their tall metal cups filled with a white, frothy topping. Emily, dressed in a black-and-white polka dot top and white poodle skirt, swirled the remains of her malt. Fred sat across from her, spooning out the whipped cream to his mouth. Neither noticed the harbormaster as he marched to the booth next to theirs and listened in.

Emily lifted her straw and sucked the remains of the beverage. “My father thinks if I offered my services doing taxes for others, they would pay me. Maybe I could create a business out of it.”

“He’s got a screw loose. Why wouldn’t people do their own taxes?” Fred rubbed a crescent birthmark on the side of his cheek. “There are better ways to make money.”

Emily tilted her head, waiting for Fred’s answer. Fred rubbed his thumb against his index and middle finger. “To become rich.”

Emily adjusted her spectacles. “Then what is one of ‘the ways?’”

Fred lifted his malt to his lips, but paused before drinking. “Study Vegas and beat the odds. Not only will you be rich, but you’ll have an endless supply.”

Emily shook her head. “You’re leaving too much to chance, Daddy-O. Say, what if you create a company and fill the ledger with false customers?”

Fred asked, “You mean, set up a legitimate business?”

Emily reared back as if Fred had thrown his drink in her face. “No way. What I mean is to create a product that doesn’t exist and convince a group of investors to buy into it. Ask them to sell the idea to others. The second group then invests in the idea, and the first group uses the second group’s contribution to live.”

“But what happens if a sap who recently invested can’t find someone else to shell out money?” Fred picked up his cup to drink again. “How do you pay the chumps at the bottom?”

“You don’t. You vanish.”

Fred set down his metal container. “How do you enjoy your riches when you’re always looking over your shoulder for the police to come and arrest you? My idea is better.”

“But not a very good idea at all.” Emily ran her hand along the edge of the table. “How do you know you’ll win at Vegas? My method is a sure thing.”

“A sure thing you’ll land in jail.” Fred patted a page of a newspaper folded in his breast pocket. “But with my idea, if I follow the horses, I’ll master the races in a month.”

Emily waved at him dismissively. They fell silent and examined the table. The din in the diner filled the gap in their conversation.

Ah, humans! So eager to accumulate lucre and dig up their pieces of eight, no matter what the consequences. Their dreams always outspend their means. Now, to slip on the guise of one of myth’s mercurial creatures.

The harbormaster stood up and stepped over to their booth. Adjusting his hat, he cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help but overhear you speaking about acquiring riches. I might know another way to become wealthy without working for it. Interested?”

In their eyes, he read skepticism, distrust, but also curiosity. Emily asked, “And who are you?”

He tipped his hat. “Call me the harbormaster. But that is a label only. My real profession is granting wishes. I’m a djinn.”

The teenagers chuckled. Fred wiped a bit of cream from his upper lip. “I think, Harbormaster, you’ve wandered into the wrong building. The pub’s down the road.”

“Ah, a demonstration. Everyone always requires one. Which of you would like to be fifty dollars richer?”

Emily raised her hand. “I’ll take fifty smackers if you’re giving it away.”

The djinn rubbed his whiskers. “You merely have to wish for it.”

“I’m game. I wish I had fifty dollars,” said Emily.

Pointing at the table, the harbormaster raised an eyebrow. “Lift your napkin, my dear.”

Emily lifted the paper napkin to reveal a fifty-dollar bill. She gasped, scooped it up, held it by both ends and snapped it taut. “Wow.”

Fred pointed his chin at the fifty spot. “It’s a trick. You placed the money there beforehand.”

The harbormaster’s expression mirrored a cat's lost interest in a toy. “If you say so.”

Emily shook her head. “When we arrived, the table didn’t have anything on it. I removed the napkins from the dispenser and set them down.”

Snickering, the harbormaster grabbed the lapels on his jacket. “If you desire more money, come to the Majestic Theater in an hour. I’ll meet you there and grant three wishes guaranteed to make you rich. You’ll also be able to watch the results of your desires play out on the movie screen, and then you may decide whether you want your wish to come true. Nothing could be simpler.”

“What’s the catch?” Fred asked. “Nothing’s free.”

“Astute observation. I have a quota to fill, therefore one of you must stand by your wish and not take it back. I must profit tonight, too.”

The teens glanced at each other. The harbormaster raised his index finger. “I’ll leave you to discuss.”

An hour later, Fred and Emily entered the Majestic Theater and the viewing room. The harbormaster eyed them as they approached, attempting to guess what had transpired after he had left. Fred had been reluctant, but Emily had persuaded him. They both approached cautious yet hopeful, glancing around the room. Perhaps they were afraid he had brought someone to ambush and rob them. No, he was the sole occupant of the luxurious building tonight. He was more than enough for the ambush to come.

The harbormaster threw his arms wide. “You’ve made the right decision. Shall it be ladies first, or is our young capitalist a suffragette?”

Emily stepped forward. “I’ll go first. How does this work?”

The djinn waved at the screen behind him. “You say the wish and then watch the outcome unfold on the screen.”

“What if I don’t like what I see? Then what?” Emily rubbed her arms.

“Then the wish isn’t granted. As I said before, I must grant one wish tonight, but perhaps, I’ll be fulfilling two. Two new millionaires.”

Fred examined the projection room. “Who’s running the show?”

“My magic, of course.” The older man slapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Now, Emily, how about it? Speak your deepest desire to make your idea in the diner come alive.”

Scratching her chin, Emily said, “I feel silly, but here goes. I’d like to convince investors to buy into something that doesn’t exist and pay the people on top with the money from the suckers on the bottom.”

The harbormaster snapped his fingers, and the camera started. The scene on the screen was an expansive office with a large desk and bookshelves full of books against the walls. The carpeting, paintings, and even the bookends, dripped with style and careful selection. On one wall was a large window overlooking a skyline. A twenty-something Emily sat alone at the desk, writing in a journal. She looked out at the theater. “Hey, what am I doing in here?”

“You play out your movie.” The harbormaster positioned his hands as if she were in a frame. “Play your part. Don’t worry. The lines will come to you as you speak. You’re a successful businesswoman of a company called QuickDeliver. The company is based on the scheme you described.”

The office door flew open, and a thin-framed man with long whiskers stormed into the room. Behind him, an older woman in an ankle-length dress rushed in. “Ms. McGruber, I told him he must have an appointment, but he didn’t listen.”

The intruder stopped at the other side of the desk, shoving aside a chair. He clenched a top hat too small for his head. “Ms. McGruber, I have a bone to pick with ye.”

Emily studied the man. Frowning, she addressed the older woman. “Send for the police.”

“At once, ma’am.” The other woman retreated from the office.

Emily locked eyes with her visitor. “Leave this office at once or face charges.”

“Me short name is Dairen. Me longer one, you couldn’t pronounce.”

Emily wrinkled her nose at his brogue accent. “Another Irish immigrant. This country is crawling with them. Why don’t you return to where you came from? The famine is over, you know.”

Dairen pointed at her. “Ye are a scoundrel.”

Emily’s mouth twitched at the word “ye.” She folded her hands. “I suppose I can’t persuade you to leave, but I warn you. The police are coming. You have only one choice.”

The man folded his arms. “Only small minds think they have but a single choice.”

Emily ignored the comment. “Find five people and entice them to invest in QuickDeliver. Your profit checks will then start arriving. I’m sure someone explained this to you upfront, and there might be a delay in the initial payment. The best way forward is for you to do the task as outlined to you.”

Snorting, Dairen scuffed his shoe on the floor. “I be the laughing stock of me kind if I tell others. Imagine me falling for such a trick. Nay, McGruber, ye be letting me out of my contract right here and now.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Emily tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She noticed Dairen’s paperwork on her desk. “I have your signature on a contract. I’m within the limits of the law. If you don’t vacate this office immediately, you’ll find yourself in jail. Now vamoose!”

Emily returned to work, but Darien unfolded his arms and placed his palms on her desk. “Man-made laws don’t apply to the likes of me.” After he finished speaking, the door to the office closed on its own.

Emily stood. “How did you close that door?”

The trespasser smiled and hopped up onto Emily’s desk. Startled, Emily stepped back and gasped at the man’s ancient leather boots with large buckles.

Dairen spread his arms. “Ye picked the wrong person to involve in your scheme, me lassie.”

Within seconds, he shrunk until he was about ten inches tall. He bowed.

Emily slapped her hands against her face. “How...how?”

“Daiherendren Caligh Mishonadru, at your service. Leprechaun at large. Our kind has one fault. We cannot turn away an offer of a ‘sure thing.’”

Emily stuttered. “I-I can be reasonable.”

Dairen replied, “Oh, the time for that be over. Ye upset me, McGruber. And I think most o’ the people you conned will be glad if ye disappear.”

“Disappear?”

He nodded and snapped his fingers. Again, in less than a second, Emily was on her desk next to him, now an inch tall. She tried to dart away only to encounter a glass wall. The wall extended around and above her.

The leprechaun leaned down, his face taking up the top side of the glass container. “Ah, me pet. Ye be a fine addition to my collection.”

Emily pounded on the glass as everything faded to black.

Emily reappeared in the theater and turned on her heel. “I’m not sticking around for this nonsense. As if leprechauns were real! Pure poppycock.”

The harbormaster patted his chest. “Said the teenager to the djinn.”

Emily trembled. “Are you saying leprechauns are real and they trap humans?”

“I think you best keep an open mind, me lassie.” The sailor said the last two words with an Irish brogue. “Ye never know what you might find in this wide world of ours.”

Turning, Emily flared her nostrils. “Well then, I’m changing my wish. I may not ask for money after all.”

“For all my troubles, one of you must make at least one wish tonight.” The harbormaster held up his three fingers and lowered his index digit. “I gave you three possible wishes. Two to go.”

“I’d like to make mine,” murmured Fred.

Emily eyed the exit. “It’s a ruse, Fred. Don’t waste your breath.”

Fred fisted his hands and placed them on his hips. “You didn’t do it right. I’ll word mine carefully. You didn’t use details.”

The djinn tapped the side of his nose. “Clever. Fair enough, go ahead.”

Fred nudged Emily. “If I say mine right, you could try again.”

Emily scowled, but didn’t answer.

Staring off into space, Fred cleared his throat and swayed back and forth. “I want to know the odds of everything, even if I purposely chose to ignore them. If I always win at the track, people will become suspicious, but if I know the odds of everything, I may pick and choose when I want to win. Horse races, blackjack, the stock market. And I don’t want to become hurt or die because of my talent. Give me the odds, and then I’ll decide what to do next.”

The older man sniffed when Fred had finished. “I won’t give you an award for brevity, but I will grant your wish. Let’s take a look.”

Another movie started and spread a scene on the large canvas in the front of the theater. Instantly, Fred Prescott disappeared from the trio and reappeared in a small apartment reading a newspaper at a small wooden table. His finger ran down a column as he spoke to himself.

“Lucky Star. Ten-to-one. Nah. More like fifteen-to-one. Bounding Beauty, twenty-five-to-one. But the odds are truly three-to-one.” He tapped the newspaper. “Bounding Beauty’s the horse to bet on today.”

Fred stood and gathered up a suit coat and a hat, throwing them on as he exited. He walked down a hallway and arrived at an elevator, pressing a button. As he waited for the carriage to arrive, Fred rocked on his heels. “Bounding Beauty. She’s most likely to cross the finish line first. Can’t miss.”

Beyond the doors, the cables groaned as it lifted the car to his floor.

Fred stopped swaying and spoke to himself. “This elevator is old. What are the odds something happens when I’m in it?” He put a hand on his forehead. “Four in a hundred?”

After Fred finished speaking to himself, the elevator arrived at his floor. The doors opened, and the elevator operator caught his attention. “Going down?”

“Four chances something’s going to happen to this elevator with me in it?” Fred moved away. “No, I won’t be riding in that ancient thing today. Nuh-uh. I’ll take the stairs.”

The elevator operator grabbed the carriage gate. “Suit yourself.”

Fred ran for the stairs and hoofed down ten flights to the ground floor. When he passed the elevators, he mockingly saluted them. “Not today, you death trap. I’m in charge.”

Fred stepped outside onto a busy city street and whistled. “Taxi? Taxi!”

Waving his hand, Fred hailed a cab. As the car crawled nearer, he lowered his hand. “Taxis crash every day.”

A woman near him, holding a leash for her dog, asked, “Are you talking to me?”

“No, I’m talking to myself. I wondered how many taxis crash per day. The chances of me ending up in a crash in this taxi are two in five hundred.”

The woman wrinkled her brow. “How do you know?”

“I just do,” Fred replied. “I’m not taking the risk. People die in car crashes. Not me.”

He slipped away before the taxi arrived and advanced down the street. Talking to himself, Fred jogged ahead, eyes forward. “I can still arrive there on foot before the race starts. I know a few shortcuts. I can make it.”

Fred rounded the corner as he raced down another lane. This street wasn’t as busy as the first, and Fred eyed the dark road. “Collins Avenue. Not the best place to be, even during the day.”

Gulping, Fred strolled down the avenue. “What is the likelihood of something bad happening to me?” His eyes lit up. “One-in-fifty!”

Halting, Fred rubbed his hands together. “A two percent chance! It’s worse than the cab accident.” He started mumbling to himself. “No, not this way. Maybe I should go home? But a car striking me is one-in-one-thousand, three hundred and four.”

A young mail deliverer exited a nearby building. When he spotted Fred standing on the sidewalk, he glared at him.

Fred shivered and continued to talk to himself in a whisper. “I’ll have to wait. It will be safer when traffic decreases later in the evening. But if I stay here, my odds of being assaulted also go up.”

Fred spied an alley and ran for it. He sprinted down the narrow, dark passage and hid behind a garbage bin, his back to it. He was out of view of the pedestrians on the street, and the alley dead ended.

“But what if more than one person roughs me up?” Fred asked aloud. “Two or more muggers are one in two hundred and sixteen. If I remain here, I’ll be safe. But I have to leave eventually. If someone spots me out of their window, they may call the police—a one in seven hundred and thirty-eight chance. No. I mustn’t remain here, though staying is the best outcome.”

The scene faded to black with white words, One hour later. When the scene formed, Fred sat in the same alley behind the garbage bin. His index finger touched the tips of his other fingers as if calculating to himself. He muttered, “If I follow my instincts, it’s three in three hundred and twenty-nine chances I’ll be mortally wounded. My second option has better odds, but it doesn’t get me all the way home, and the next choice may turn out worse. And my third option...”

The movie ended.

Fred returned to the theater and jutted out his chin. “I was lost in the moment. I wasn’t careful enough with my wording.”

“If only you knew the outcome of everything as you enunciated earlier.” The harbormaster rocked on his heels.

Fred shook his head. “This is malarkey. We’re leaving.”

The teenagers stormed toward the exit and pulled open curtains covering the door they had used to enter. Beyond the curtains was a cement wall. Fred pushed on it. “What is the meaning of this?”

The harbormaster spun around. “As I said earlier, nobody leaves here until I have fulfilled my quota.”

Emily gripped a nearby theater seat. “You can’t keep us here.”

“Can’t I?” The harbormaster examined her as a hawk examines a mouse.

“I’m not making a wish.” Fred leaned away. “They all turn out bad. You’re a trickster.”

Emily brightened. “We could wish to leave.”

The djinn gestured to the exit. “And leaving won’t end in tragedy?” He turned toward the screen. “Shall we see how it turns out?”

Emily bunched a handful of her poodle skirt. “The way tonight is going, a meteorite might fall on our heads when we leave. No thanks.”

“We viewed how the first couple of wishes turned out.” Fred tapped the ends of his fingers together. “If we ask for a third, it may be even worse. Maybe with me or Emily dead. The best choice is to repeat a wish, rewording it so it turns out better.”

Emily pointed at the canvas. “Are you daft? I’m imprisoned, and you end up crazy. Which option do you prefer?”

“Neither, but what choice do we have? Yours is easier to change and still be successful. Refund the sprite’s money, and you continue being rich. Happy ending.”

“Maybe not. How do I know it will work for me? And he was a leprechaun, not a sprite.”

“Whatever it is, apologize and get us out of here!” yelled Fred.

Straightening her shoulders, Emily glared at her friend. “Okay, I’ll make the third wish.”

Fred grinned after winning the argument. Emily tossed her hair as she turned toward the harbormaster. “I wish Fred’s wish comes true.”

Fred started. “What? What did you say?”

The djinn ignored the protesting boy. “Granted.”

“Emily! How dare you wish—”

Mid-sentence, Fred’s voice went from being right next to them to originating from the speakers. “—my wish to come... Oh, no!”

The harbormaster and the teenage girl turned, waiting for the events to unfold. Emily squirmed as she stared at the canvas. On the screen, Fred sat in the alleyway, mumbling to himself. “The thirty-two-to-one scenario is the best I have. If I find a police officer, he could escort me to Lanchester Street where my odds increase.”

Emily put her fingers to her mouth and rubbed her lips. Shivering, she turned around. The parted curtains revealed the restored exit to the lobby.

“...walking down Banks Parkway is eighty-two to one chance of assault. Maybe I should double back instead? Another route I could take is...”

Emily ran to the exit, but paused after passing through the doorway. She twirled about, her skirt rotating in a circle, and released an unsteady breath. “Will he always be so indecisive?”

The harbormaster tipped his hat. “Goodbye, Ms. McGruber.”

The credits rolled.

The New Girl

Martina observed the end crawl of credits rushing past. What did it mean? Why had the force behind Forlorn Harbor decided to show “The Three Wishes?” Sure, Liam had mentioned it paralleled what they were going through. How did it relate to them?

The camera retraced its steps up to the inn behind the words, but instead of entering through the front entrance as it had every time before, it veered off to the side. The movie’s point-of-view hugged the outer wall of Anchors Aweigh, advancing next to it as the words scrolled. Martina pushed herself against the wall of the auditorium, waiting for the credits to end. She and the others would have to discuss what this segment meant.

The camera turned toward a pane of glass, and Martina let out a gasp. Martina herself was standing in the kitchen of the inn, pressing against one of its walls. Or, at least, someone who looked exactly like her was there. A changeling? No. The surprise on her expression mirrored the surprise on her counterpart in the film. Somehow, she was here and in the movie at the same time.

Martina blinked to clear the bizarre image, but instead, her view changed. Now, she was on the other side of the window in the kitchen. Through the window, six figures loitered at a distance from each other in the theater’s auditorium. In the back, against a wall, stood a lanky teenage girl. The girl was her. The Martina in the theater vanished.

A nighttime scene replaced the theater in the window, and Martina slunk to the ground. Forlorn Harbor had tricked her. She never had a chance of avoiding her turn.

Weeping, Martina sat on the floor, knowing she had entered a Forlorn Harbor episode because of the colorless surroundings and the stiffness of her different clothes. She wiped away her tears and observed the black-and-white tile of the floor. Martina had taken a one-way trip down a rabbit hole, and unlike Alice, she wouldn’t be returning unharmed.

With a deep breath, Martina began whispering to herself. “Keep cool. You might be in danger right now. Be ready.”

Martina lifted her head and rubbed her arms, chillier here than in the theater. Wooden barrels with taps in them were on their sides. Three wooden-topped tables had a variety of cut vegetables on a board. The tables also had bowls, platters, and porcelain mugs. The bowls contained shelled peanuts and pretzels. Shelves were attached to the walls within reach. Across the way was a sink filled with water—dirty dishes on one side and shiny dishes on the other in a rack. Near the washing station, a swinging door led to another room. In the corner near where Martina sat, a butcher’s block displayed the remains of an animal. The scent of cooked meat accompanied the food.

Examining her clothes, Martina guessed she was a dairymaid. The movie had dressed her in an ankle-length, heavy gray skirt with an apron pulled together with a belt. For the first time in her life, a black corset wrapped around her waist. Underneath the corset, a white top with ruffled sleeves completed Martina’s wardrobe. In this outfit, people would think she stepped out of an advertisement for milk or tea.

Taking her time, Martina rose to her feet while wiping her cheeks. A kitchen should have knives, and she needed a weapon. Something may enter this room. Or multiple somethings. Through the cracks in the doorframe, there were the indistinct sounds of chatter, the clinking of silverware, and the footfalls of several people.

Perhaps the lights would flash before she had to exit into the main area. Maybe her friends would help her.

Or maybe not.

Martina opened the nearest drawers to find linen napkins, spoons, bowls, and other place settings, but no knives. She slammed the drawer shut with a rattle and tried the next one to find corks and corkscrews. While she was sifting through the contents of this drawer, the swinging door creaked open, and a woman stepped in.

Stifling a yelp, Martina turned to confront the newcomer. She grabbed a corkscrew, its twisted metal part a couple of inches long, and hid it behind her back. A woman in her mid-twenties carried a platter full of beer steins. Dressed in the same clothes as Martina, the woman resembled someone. At first, Martina couldn’t place her, but when she did, she retreated against the wall.

Gladys!

Forlorn Harbor had placed Martina in Liam’s episode. What was it? “Silent Auction.” She flipped through the options in her mind.

Option one. Go to the house that Liam’s character had rented.

Option two. Make for the monastery Gladys had told Liam about.

She decided option two was not an option. Don’t listen to Gladys.

Gladys set half the platter on a central counter and pushed it to ensure the steins wouldn’t topple. She glanced at Martina as she grabbed two of the steins. “So that’s where you went.” Tilting her head, she added, “Rough first day?”

“S-stay away from me.”

Gladys squinted at Martina. “Show me your hands. What are you hiding?”

Thumbing the corkscrew, Martina pictured herself burying it in Gladys’ neck. Was she capable of such violence? In this world, yes! She had to be.

Gladys put a hand on her hip. “Come on. Show me, Martina. Whatever it is, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Martina remained still.

Gladys strode to the sink, closer to Martina. “Then let me guess. Knife? No, we locked those away. The pole for the spit, maybe? No, the spit’s in the dining area’s fireplace.” Her eyes shifted to the utensil drawer. Martina had left it open a crack. “A corkscrew? Right in three?”

Though a bit cold, Martian broke out in a sweat. An inner voice urged her to race toward Gladys and bury the corkscrew in her throat. Her nerves tingled with anticipation. Yet, Gladys acted differently than she had in “Silent Auction.” There, she put upon the veneer of a chaste waitress—all innocent and trusting. Here, she radiated confidence and poise, the experienced barmaid.

Pulling a plug in the sink, Gladys stepped away from the tub and shook her hand dry. “You may return it to the drawer, love. I don’t bite.”

“Not according to your teeth,” breathed Martina.

Gladys pressed down on a pump near the sink, giggling and throwing back her head. As the water splashed into the basin, Gladys turned to face her. “Do you mean these fangs?”

Gladys opened her mouth and displayed her small bicuspids. Martina pressed against the wall. Those fangs proved it. Gladys was a monster, a succubus, and though she wouldn’t fall for the same trick as Liam, she wondered if a male equivalent lurked nearby.

Then, the barmaid took her index finger and scratched her fangs. A scritch and click later, a pair of false teeth tumbled into her hand. Gladys casually tossed the plastic dentures on the counter and returned to cleaning the steins. “‘Not according to your teeth.’ You got moxie, girl. I like that in a coworker.”

Martina failed to form words. Her attention went from the teeth to the girl cleaning the mugs. Gladys’ removal of her fake fangs could be a trick—something to make Martina lower her guard, and then Gladys would mount her attack. No, the corkscrew would not be leaving her hand tonight.

“My name’s Eve Stenson,” said Gladys. “It used to be Mildred Nuremson, but I changed it when I arrived in Hollywood.” She set the steins on the counter beside the sink and turned around to retrieve three more. “Same as most girls, I hoped to see my stage name in lights. Little did I know how much waitressing has helped me with this job.”

Placing the mugs in the sink, Eve reached for the pump again. “What a living, huh? But I’ve appreciated the help tonight. The harbormaster is demanding when he’s impatient.”

A swell of laughter reverberated through the wall. “The harbormaster is here? Are we on a set?”

“Goodness, no.” Eve finished pumping and reached for a brush. “The Anchors Aweigh tavern is as real as they come as is the harbormaster. He arranged everything here.”

Martina rolled the corkscrew in her hands, unsure if she needed it now. “He’s imprisoned you here. And am I stuck here, too?”

Eve scrubbed the steins. “Not imprisoned. My story is too long to tell while the customers wait, but let’s just say this is my second chance, and I’m not blowing it as I did my first.”

Martina had many questions. “Starring in ‘Silent Auction?’”

Eve’s eyes glazed over. “No, my first chance came a long time ago. But this isn’t about me. This is about you, love. It’s your first day as a server, and you’re already a customer favorite. You shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Martina regarded the cement boundary separating her from the raucous crowd outside the kitchen. “You mean I have to go out there?”

Putting her hand on her hip, Eve smiled at her. “It’s your job, innit? They’re paying you, after all, and the harbormaster was insistent you serve him next. As I said, they’re dying to see you again.”

“Dying is what I’d like to avoid,” murmured Martina.

“You’re witty, I’ll give you that.” Eve shook her hands out over the sink. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. If they lay a finger on you, you come and tell me. We’ll see how old Eve takes care of them.”

“You’ll hurt them?”

“Humiliate them.” Eve winked. “My sarcasm is as sharp as any sword. They’re all pussycats unless you keep them waiting.”

Martina asked, “Even the harbormaster?”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘pussycat’ to describe him, but he’s not what he appears to be at all. Listen to him as you would a guide on a trail. Sondra has set up a full platter on the other counter over there. Retrieve it and start serving. Oh, and ignore anyone who asks you for a cask of Amontillado. They always pull that stunt on the new girl. Now go.” Her voice softened, filled with compassion. “You have nothing to fear here at the tavern, Martina.”

Eve’s reassurance didn’t calm Martina’s nerves, yet she was resolved to advance this episode. Perhaps the lights would blink, perhaps not. She didn’t know, but the time had come to make her move.

Slipping the corkscrew into her pocket, Martina strode across the room and retrieved the platter. She had never waitressed before and wondered if she had to hoist it on her shoulder. Eve stood at the washing station, cleaning plates. “Just carry it like you have it, love.”

With a deep breath, Martina stepped up to the swinging door, put her posterior to it, and pushed it open, rotating to enter the other room.

Customers filled the tavern area. They were seated at round tables, bartenders and barmaids serving others, a smoky haze hovering above. The room had wooden flooring with stone walls, and a cobblestone fireplace crackled with a roaring fire. A normal, off-the-beaten-path inn until she surveyed its patrons.

To her left, a group of vampires were playing poker, though one had a stake through his chest. Two people, a man and a woman, had taken advantage of a small clearing among the tables. They were performing a jig to music that a fiddler scratched out. Normal? Not quite. A large snake wrapped around the woman’s body, and the man was headless. The fiddler had starfish and barnacles attached to his damp clothes. A scarecrow and a giant cat standing on its hind legs threw darts in the corner. Across the room, smoking a pipe and conversing with a giant Frankenstein monster, was the harbormaster.

Martina froze. They hadn’t noticed her yet. When they did, she was dead meat. She brushed against the swinging door, ready to dart through it. Then, a female werewolf noticed her and put her fingers to her mouth. Was she...whistling? She was! Martina now recognized her—the female werewolf in “Silent Auction.” The lycanthrope flashed her teeth with no sharp canines. She shouted over the noise. “Good job tonight, new girl.”

Bizarre. Then, a large man in a black one-piece suit jostled her. The man had beady red eyes and a lithe form—a moving shadow. Except he whispered, “Oh, excuse me, Martina.”

The silhouette stepped to the side, and she gasped when she spied a flash of metal. A zipper ran up and down the length of his dark body. Turning, she scrutinized a woman with a pageboy cut and a long cigarette holder sporting a horrible scar across her neck. While masterfully done, Martina spotted the wound was makeup.

What was going on here?

The woman cleared her throat, and Martina recognized her as the mother from Joy’s episode. “Harbormaster’s waiting, Martina.”

A different barmaid flashed her a smile as she passed her, and Martina recognized the woman who lived in the cottage at the end of “The Tallax.” And the male server was Kaylee’s boyfriend, Billy. Indeed, people in costume made up the entire room. The vampire with a stake through his heart? A harness wrapped around his body. The snake lady? She was moving a leather snake—it wasn’t moving on its own. The scarecrow had eyeholes.

They were all fake.

Then it dawned on her. First night. They wanted to turn her into an actress in a Forlorn Harbor show. Maybe she was stuck here. If the harbormaster planned to keep her here, he had another think coming. She was no one’s prisoner!

Frowning, Martina marched toward the harbormaster. Seated at a small table near a window, the harbormaster spoke with Shelly’s legendary monster. When the sailor caught sight of Martina, he patted the other’s hand and ended the conversation. Martina spotted the lines around the other man’s face where a plastic mask overlaid his features. The “monster’s” jacket was ripped at the shoulder, revealing padding.

Martina stopped next to the harbormaster. She slammed down the tray of steins and snack bowls on the table. “I’m here.”

The harbormaster helped himself to a bowl of pretzels. “Hello, Martina. Such an entrance. You belong here with these lovely people surrounding us.”

Martina took a deep breath. “That’s just it. I don’t belong here at all. Why have you brought me—brought us all—into these episodes?”

Calling him out, she hoped he wouldn’t feign ignorance. She had a hunch the sailor knew why she was here, and her direct strategy might lead to answers.

The harbormaster passed a stein to his companion. “I need you to do me a favor, Martina. You’ve done admirably up to this point. A final task, and then we’ll call it a night, shall we?”

“But will I be stuck here tomorrow?” Martina tensed, expecting mirth at her expense.

The harbormaster noticed his friend grimace at his mug. “Oh, I’m sorry, Glen. I forgot you can’t drink with the latex on.” He then turned his attention to Martina. “I suppose staying here with us is up to you, dearie, but I must say, your initial night on the job has been splendid. I’d hate to lose you.”

Martina gulped. “You mean  I could go home?”

Sitting back, the harbormaster stretched his arms over his head. “They say ‘home is where the heart is,’ do they not? I wouldn’t know. I have no heart.”

The Frankenstein monster snorted, and the harbormaster slapped him on the arm. “Not a bad joke, huh?”

“Please, let me go home. I’ve learned my lesson.”

The harbormaster quirked an eyebrow.

Martina licked her lips. “I used the magic word this time.”

The harbormaster sipped from his drink. When he finished, he wiped his lips. “And what is this lesson you have learned?”

“I will never steal again.”

The harbormaster retrieved a pipe from his coat pocket and pointed it at her. “Ah, if the theft had gone off perfectly, you’d have never stolen again. No lesson learned there, dearie. Haven’t you ever heard of the parable of the wonderful garden?”

“No.”

The harbormaster cleared his throat. “A gardener went into his yard to tend his wonderful garden. He sniffed the roses, stroked the petunias and azaleas, and came inside, saying how lucky he was. The trouble was his garden hadn’t any of the plants he imagined were there. His patch of land was full of thistles, crabgrass, and bindweed. The gardener, however, wouldn’t give up, and he returned every day, no matter what his senses told him. He stroked his thistles and received pricks, and his wild garlic overpowered his nose, but he continued to proclaim that he had the best garden in the world.”

What did his parable mean? “What do you want me to learn?” Martina’s voice trembled. “I’m a failure? Or an awful friend? What? Tell me, and I’ll learn it.”

“Education doesn’t work that way,” said the harbormaster. “Telling you something doesn’t allow it to sink in. Experience is the true way to learn.”

Martina straightened up. “The only thing I’ve learned is you’re a horrible man. What you’ve done to my friends is awful.”

The Frankenstein actor uttered, “Awful.” He slurred the word under the makeup.

In a rapid motion, the harbormaster knocked the pipe on the table. “Forlorn Harbor isn’t about playing nice. This place is about getting what you deserve.” He made a sweeping motion toward the room. “You do a good job serving tonight, then you’re paid. You do this last chore for me, and then you’re relieved for the night. All your companions had their opportunity to do what was right on their turn, didn’t they?”

Martina’s nostrils flared.

“Your turn awaits, dearie.” The harbormaster stuck the pipe between his teeth.

Two gas lamps off to the side blinked on and off. Martina caught it from the corner of her vision. For all her classmates, the lights were a beacon of hope—a lighthouse on a foggy, starless night, but not for her.

The harbormaster’s eyes shifted to the light. “Don’t you want a look-see?”

Martina shook her head. “No one will help me anyway.”

The captain stood and positioned her to face the wall with the lamps. The stench of his tobacco assaulted her nose as the wall faded away, and the theater replaced it. Everyone except for Martina and the harbormaster froze in place. A dart the scarecrow had thrown hovered in the air toward its target. Even the smoke didn’t move, but Martina didn’t care about anything happening in the tavern. She focused on the auditorium, and though she expected it, tears threatened to form.

The theater was empty. Scattered debris and tools were evidence she and others had been there. Her companions had left. She had tried to help her friends, and they had abandoned her for their freedom.

“Was anything in the lobby, or was that a lie, too?” she asked.

“The lobby is empty.” The harbormaster pointed at the exits. “If you look closely, you’ll see the doors have returned, too.”

Martina swallowed more tears. Stuck forever in a Forlorn Harbor episode. Though the inn was a set with actors and not the frightening tavern in the introduction, it still sucked. She’d have to live here for the rest of her life.

“I’ve seen enough.”

“Indeed,” replied the sailor.

The theater disappeared, and frenetic motion returned to the surroundings. Laughter, clinking glasses, and a dart hitting its target with a thud signaled to her the action at the inn had resumed. Shoulders slumped, Martina turned and stood near the harbormaster and the fake monster. “What is it you want me to do?”

The harbormaster clapped his hands together and addressed the monster named Glen. “See? I told you she’d come around.”

The harbormaster reached into his pocket and withdrew a keyring full of brass keys. Each key had a different set of teeth, though they were all old-fashioned. “Here is my keychain. These open a lot of locks, most of which should remain shut, but I need you to run into the graveyard and open a crypt. Mellini’s crypt.”

Mellini. After a moment of reflection, Martina brightened. “The toymaker. In ‘Red Rover.’”

The harbormaster started cracking his knuckles. “All you need to do is find the right key to insert into the crypt’s lock and open the door. You don’t need to enter.”

Martina regarded the keys. “What’s in there?”

The harbormaster cracked another knuckle. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He leaned forward on his elbows, speaking with the pipe in his mouth. “Do not open anything else in the graveyard, no matter what happens. And whatever you do, don’t open Cthullu’s crypt. I can’t deal with him calling tonight.”

The Frankenstein monster giggled through his makeup, and the harbormaster slapped him on the arm. “See, Martina? You’re not the only joker here.”

The girl had no idea what the captain’s joke was about and didn’t care. Her thoughts centered on a creature dragging itself from the crypt and attacking her when she opened it. She pictured half-rotted corpses reaching out to her from between bars. Or a figure dressed all in black with a cape and a gleaming knife in his hand. “May I return to the kitchen to fetch a weapon to defend myself with?”

“Denied!” The harbormaster turned his head sideways as if he would listen to no more of this conversation. “You must complete this task with no weapons.”

“You’re not fair,” she observed.

“You’re not kidding.”

Across the tavern, Martina spied Eve serving a mummy and a man dressed in a scientist’s smock. Eve caught her eye and nodded reassuringly.

Was Eve really on her side? But then again, what choice did she have? Should she play barmaid and stretch out the episode? No, the harbormaster had given her a task. She had to see it through. “I’ll do it.”

The harbormaster eyed her. “I knew you would. However, a word of caution.”

Now, a word of caution?

The harbormaster lowered his voice. “In here, we keep the atmosphere light and friendly. Some would call it joyful. Out there, Forlorn Harbor is not as safe. As the old maps used to say. ‘Here there be monsters.’”

“What kind of monsters?” gasped Martina.

“I’ll say no more. Just watch your step, dearie, and you’ll be fine.” He patted her on the shoulder as an uncle would.

The harbormaster pointed to the inn’s exit. “Now, don’t linger here. Take the next bold step and fly away to the Mellini tomb. Go straight to the graveyard, unlock the gate of his crypt, but no other.”

“And return here?”

“If that’s what you think is best, then yes. Return my keys to me, and your shift will be done. You’ll return to a nice mug of cocoa in a warm bed.”

Cocoa, her bed, warmth. Perfection! But Martina pushed away the comforting thoughts. Monsters. She’d watch her step and listen to her inner voice. “I’ll come back.”

She dodged a few costumed patrons and then came face-to-face with Eve. The barmaid had been collecting glasses on a platter, but she stopped to intercept her before she left. Martina flinched, wondering what the woman planned to do.

Without warning, Eve stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Martina. Though Martina stiffened, she sensed the embrace expressed Eve’s solidarity and support. Eve patted the pocket with the corkscrew. “Careful, love. Straight to the crypt.”

Eve released her, eyes shining like an encouraging older sister. She moved out of Martina’s way.

Taking a deep breath, Martina hurried toward the door. Opening it, she exited into a starlit night.

Thunderous Encounters

Martina slipped outside into a stiff wind that chilled her in an unloving embrace. The tavern’s tall stone wall surrounded the building with only a garden gate leading out. From above, gusts of air blew a small weathervane on the tavern resembling a spindly scarecrow—its arms akimbo—squeaking a metallic protest. Martina advanced to the exit, rubbing her arms to keep herself warm.

Following the dirt trail leading down the hillside, Martina patted her pocket with the corkscrew, ensuring her single line of defense still existed. As she descended, the mist rose, obscuring the path and forcing her to walk slower. The fog curled and gyrated as if alive and reaching for her.

The wisp of air’s reach was strictly in her imagination, but it never hurt to be wary.

Martina marched through the frigid mist until an eight-foot-high, iron structure loomed before her—the gate to the graveyard. Arched above the entryway, metallic letters encased in a frame supplied the name of this final resting place. Willowton Cemetery. Creaking on rusty hinges, the mesh gates were open, swinging back and forth.

Martina hesitated. The barricade surrounding the cemetery was of the rod and spikes variety. The gaps were narrow, and she could see through the rods to the interior though they were too close together to slip through. Perhaps she should circle around at first instead of plowing ahead inside. With luck, she might spot the Mellini crypt and be able to climb the fence.

But the harbormaster had told her to go straight inside. Circling outside deviated from his instructions.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Martina tottered on the balls of her feet. True, the mist obscured much of Willowton’s graveyard. Yet, a fence between her and any potential adversary settled her fluttering heart. If the dead weren’t truly dead in Forlorn Harbor, this barrier may prove to be a lifesaver.

Martina skirted away from the entrance. She followed the outside of the burial ground’s enclosure, peering in when the mist faded. Occasionally, she’d spy a granite structure or a gnarled tree, but nothing moved within.

A storm announced its presence with an avalanche-level roar. Rain wouldn’t be good. She’d have to take shelter somewhere.

Running her hand along the bars, she noticed a dead elm tree ahead and halted. A thick funnel of smoke formed and floated from behind the trunk. Did she detect the scent of cherries? She peered into the darkness, trying to discern what produced the odd vapor. Someone spoke from behind the tree, halting her in her tracks.

“Don’t worry. I’m a friend.”

The thunder rumbled off in the distance, ending with a rattle. Martina reached into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the corkscrew handle as a woman stepped sideways from behind the elm. She was shorter than Martina, with light hair curled at the ends into a bell-shaped style. She wore an athletic shirt and stirrup-style pants with slip-on shoes. Every voice in Martina’s head screamed danger, except for the curious object in the woman’s right hand. An e-cigarette.

The smoker appeared to be human, but looks could be deceiving. Take, for example, the changeling in Joy’s episode, or the succubus in Liam’s. Martina was on high alert.

The woman held up her hands, her e-cigarette between her index and middle finger. “I come in peace.” She made the peace sign with her free hand.

Martina found her voice. “What do you want?”

“You’re Martina Ramirez, correct?” The woman stepped forward. “I’m Adriana Cosetti. We could help each other.”

Internally, Martina started her count. One. Two. Three. Out loud, she said, “I don’t need help.”

The ends of Adriana’s mouth slipped upward. “You do realize where you’re at, don’t you?”

Adriana’s placid expression made Martina want to trust her. She seemed human, harmless, pretty in a classic way, maybe with a slightly longer neck than most. Yet the harbormaster’s warning rang in her memory like a church bell caught in a hurricane.

Martina’s companion advanced again, bridging the distance to about ten feet. Resisting the urge to run, Martina stood her ground and lifted her chin. “No farther.”

Eyes shifting to the wall around the graveyard, Adriana tilted her head in the same direction. “I can’t go into the cemetery, but I’ll guide you around it.”

“What I need is in the cemetery.”

Adriana rolled the e-cigarette in her fingers. “Too bad. You think there are frightening things out here? You should see what’s in there. I can still guide you from this side of the fence.”

She took another step, but Martina resisted the temptation to retreat. If she trusted this woman, she might be able to point out the location of the Mellini family plot from the other side of the gate. After all, she would have to come close to the burial shelters to read the names in the dark and fog, and moving close to these stone memorials was a frightening idea.

“What’s in it for you?” Martina warbled, not at all with the confidence she had tried to project.

“If I help people, the harbormaster makes things easier for me.”

Thunder roared in the distance, ending with a crackle and a hiss. Martina had several questions and didn’t want to waste an opportunity. Some offers were too good to be true, and this one fell into her lap. Shouldn’t the harbormaster have mentioned the people outside could help her? Instead, he had only said there were monsters.

With her hands up in the air, Adriana again narrowed the gap between her and Martina. Martina scowled. If this lady wouldn’t listen to her to stay in place, why should she trust her? “I said stop.”

Adriana pouted. “Scared little girl. You’re going to get yourself slaughtered out here.”

Hidden beads jiggled after Adriana stopped talking. Not beads, exactly. Perhaps a child's shaker? The sound reminded her of something she had seen on a video in grade school. Adriana moved her head back. The way she carried herself reminded Martina of...

A rattlesnake!

The image of the invertebrate prompted Martina to remove the corkscrew from her pocket in case she needed it. As quick as lightning, the woman’s neck shot forward. It elongated far past what was physically possible. Adriana’s face aimed for Martina’s neck, and she opened her mouth to reveal tiny fangs and a forked tongue.

Screaming, Martina thrashed, parrying the corkscrew upward to put it between her and the snake lady’s mouth. The tip of the tool scratched Adriana’s cheek and deflected her blow. Her adversary snapped her mouth shut and growled from her throat, retracting her neck into her body. For her part, Martina stumbled away, warding off the creature with the spiral blade in her hand.

Adriana dropped her e-cigarette and put her hands on her cheek. Green blood spilled over her fingers as she wailed. The woman had shifted slightly, allowing a better view of the back of her shoulders. Sprouting from the base of her neck was a rattlesnake tail. When viewing Adriana straight on, her head had obscured the tail, but now, the ridged appendage, with its spiny segments coming to a rounded end, undulated and buzzed.

The sight of a human rattlesnake tail was too much to take in for Martina. She spun around and sprinted as fast as possible along the fence. Adriana had claimed the cemetery was more dangerous inside than outside. How much worse could it be?

When she reached the entrance, Martina thrust open the barrier and rushed inside. She didn’t care any longer if things were lurking at the entrance. What was more dangerous than a half snake, half woman anyway? She’d rather meet a revived ghoul than that green-blooded creature.

She scurried behind a monument, crouching down. Nothing pursued her, but snakes weren’t known to be loud. Shivering, Martina kept her eyes glued to the gate, waiting to see if Adriana would slither up to it.

Five minutes passed. The harbormaster’s warning rang again in Martina’s mind. Why did she trust anyone? Was she an idiot? But no one had followed her. Even the clouds in the sky had dissipated, and the thunder had stopped rumbling.

After ten minutes, Martina turned around and tiptoed into the graveyard. She would be cautious, careful, each step measured, each step purposeful. Restoring the corkscrew to her pocket, she breathed in deep.

Headstones formed on her left and right as she moved inward. They resembled diminutive icebergs on a sea of fog. Hardly any sound met her ears as she picked her way among the cadavers’ shelters. The silence should’ve been peaceful, but Martina wanted to scream to be sure noise carried in this dead place. The smell of mold and loam mixed with a faint acrid scent of elements unknown. Gulping, Martina walked into a mud puddle hidden by the low-lying fog, and her foot sank to her ankle. She pulled it out—pop—and moved off the trail, onto the grass and firmer ground.

Martina shook her foot, wishing she had taken a lantern from the inn. Yet, the brilliant moonlight cast enough illumination for her to make out the words on the monuments. She stopped to read a few: Alicia Carver, beloved daughter and Springer Ralston, a child of fifteen years. Everyone buried in this cemetery was young. The hackles rose on Martina’s skin as she read each headstone. All were young people whose lives were cut short.

In the distance, Martina spied several rocky buildings embedded into the side of the mountain. They were entrances without exits. Crypts! She hurried over to them, squinting to skim the names beneath the family crests. “Mellini. Mellini,” she chanted as if the name would protect her from anything lurking in the shadows.

She approached a monument with the engraving Zinneman. Where had she heard that name before? Recently? For no reason at all, Martina thought someone was behind her. She twirled around. Nobody. The swirling mist remained nonplussed to her scrutiny. Was someone watching her?

She pictured Adriana on the other side of the fence, glaring at her. Martina trembled at the image. She had to keep moving!

Steadying her nerves, Martina rushed to the next crypt. A locked iron gate barred entry. The barrier didn’t extend to the top and bottom, leaving an inch of clearance. The lock was an old-fashioned square construction on the bars. One of her keys may fit it. Reading the plaque above the door, Martina reflected on the name. Bellairs. She almost turned away until...

A heel hit the ground. Click.

Martina tried to locate the source. Swinging her attention from side to side, she was certain she was alone.

Click.

This time, she zeroed in on the sound—the crypt!

Examining the iron rods again, Martina tensed as the inhabitant took a third, unsteady step. From within came a whisper. “I know a way home.”

This had to be a lie. The harbormaster had instructed Martina to open the Mellini crypt, no other, but why trust the old sailor? Maybe he was the devil? Then again, should she trust an unseen presence shambling within a tomb?

“Open the gate, Martina,” the voice rasped. “And I’ll take you home.”

Was that an offer to leave? As if hypnotized, Martina shuffled forward.

“Open!”

This time, the speaker’s tone was insistent. Shaking her head, Martina retreated. She blinked out of her mesmerized state. Instead, she ran, circling behind an oak tree.

Martina stopped to take a breather. Leaning against the oak, she huddled as if to make the wooden trunk a second door to the crypt. Were those words spoken in the inky blackness? Or was it her imagination?

No imagination. Martina didn’t need it here.

There was a similar tomb nearby, and Martina dragged herself toward it. The name etched on the entablature indicated this was the burial vault of the Seagram family. As she stole closer, she reached into her pocket and gripped the corkscrew.

Again, a footstep. Again, a whisper, but this time indistinct. Martina kept her distance from the locked gate. She would maintain that gap from now on, reading the names engraved on the stones or plaques without edging any nearer to the entrances.

She tried two more tombs with the names Arthur and Prescott. The last marble building on the left had iron bars for a door similar to the Bellairs’ crypt. She hated these doors the most of all. Sure, the interior was visible, but she couldn’t see through the darkness. Whatever lurked within might be spying on her through the bars. She sidled closer to it. Peering in the moonlight, the letters on the brass plaque beneath the cornice came into focus.

Mellini.

It figured the enclosure she had to open was the type with bars. She took a moment to steady herself and then tiptoed to the lock. Her eyes darted to the inn at the top of the mountain, a golden hue pouring from its windows. Like a lighthouse. Safe. Only costumes there. Real monsters here.

She returned her attention to the task at hand. Insert the key, unlock, nudge the door, then sprint back to the inn and the harbormaster. Present him the key and go home.

She hoped.

Creeping forward, Martina clutched the keys. It wouldn’t do to allow them to rattle and give her presence away if anything was inside. She was sure something lurked within. She focused on the square lock, similar to the others she had seen before. How would she try each key and keep silent at the same time? She’d work it out. First, she had to move close enough.

Then, someone spoke, words indistinct. Martina halted. Icy fingers traced their digits down her backbone. Her mouth went dry, and she steadied herself. Whatever the voices promised would not tempt her. No matter what, she would—

“Has that wall disappeared?”

Someone from within the crypt had spoken. Not creepy whispering or indistinct urging. Someone young asking a question.

Another person spoke, familiar and comforting. “Yes. Let’s find out what’s around the corner.”

Liam’s voice!

Mimicry could be one of the harbormaster’s tricks. Should she trust the voice belonged to Liam? And the first speaker—upon further reflection—sounded like Kaylee’s. She bit her lip. Wouldn’t this be the ultimate Forlorn Harbor twist? Trick her into thinking her classmates were here?

No, she had to be on her guard.

Next, several feet padded along a stone floor. Whoever—or whatever—was approaching! Human shadows moved together toward her.

Martina hung back. “One. Two.”

Martina’s body shook as the inhabitants of the crypt emerged from the darkness.

Forlorn Harbor

Geoff’s features formed from out of the shadows, a ragged cut across his cheek where he had nicked himself in his episode. Behind Geoff was Liam. Both stopped at the locked gate of the crypt, and Geoff wrapped his fingers around the bars. “Dang it. We escape one room, but we’re still trapped. What the heck do we do now?”

Reaching for the bars, Liam opened his mouth to answer, but then he noticed Martina. “Is it you, Martina?”

“Martina?” screeched a voice, presumably Joy’s. Hers was the sound of a rusty gate swinging shut. “Is she out there?”

Martina took a step forward, but she was still three steps away from the door. “Yes, are you Liam?”

Someone shoved Liam aside. Theresa. Her eyes focused ahead again. “Oh, God. Martina. Find someone to free us.”

The people in Mellini’s crypt resembled her companions, but could she trust them? She hid the keys behind her back, debating if they were real.

Geoff pulled on the bars. “Solid enough. Martina, what the heck are you wearing?”

The others were all in their clothes from the theater, and she was in her uniform. Though her companions were dressed in jeans, leggings, and T-shirts, everyone still looked old fashioned in black-and-white. Martina ignored Geoff’s question and continued to stare them down.

Liam nudged in front of Theresa. “We’re in an episode! Of course, everything’s in black and white. In the darkness of the crypt, we couldn’t tell. It’s clear here in the moonlight.”

“So, we’re in Martina’s episode?” Ned rubbed his chin, his head towering over Liam’s. “Together?”

Martina found her voice. “How did you get here?”

Theresa spoke over Liam’s shoulder. “When your segment started, the theater grew dark, and the film never began. We called out to each other. Then we were here. Someplace dark.”

Liam pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “This crypt. We’ve been trying to find an exit, thinking we were in the real world. Away from the theater.”

Behind her back, Martina rubbed her thumb over the keyring. “Why did you think you escaped the theater?”

Theresa pointed at her eyes. “We’re all healed. Ned has his foot again. Kaylee remembers us all.”

Joy’s voice shouted from the rear of the crowd. “Who cares about this? Tell her to go find someone to let us out of here. I stick by what I said earlier. The corpses behind us will soon start moving.”

Martina regarded Geoff. “And you? Where have you been?”

Geoff rubbed his neck. “I had started to choke when I ended up here. Sometimes, I feel that doggone rope around my throat, usually choking me every time I swore. Then the others arrived, and we found we were in this crazy place.”

“All that matters is we’re back and good.” Ned reached over Liam and tapped on the bars. “Now get us out of here.”

Liam grabbed the bars. “We need to think. We’re still in an episode, but one I’ve never seen. We should be careful.”

To Martina, they seemed like her classmates, but she had been tricked before. As recently as running into a lady with a rattlesnake tail. A question came to her. When answering factual questions, it was easy to lie, but Martina wouldn't be so easily deceived with a question from the heart.

Attention falling on Liam, Martina asked, “How do you feel about me, Liam?”

Though they were in black and white, Liam’s skin tone darkened. He had blushed.

Theresa smirked. “Oh, he’s been worried about you, Martina. Regretting how he’s treated you like a love-struck puppy.”

“Shut up,” said Liam, though not sharply.

He couldn’t fake an immediate blush.

Martina revealed the keys and shook the keyring. “I have the keys right here.”

Kaylee emitted a cheer, and even Joy spoke like Martina had just assisted her on the volleyball court. “Excellent, Martina.”

Martina advanced to the lock. This felt right. They had strength in numbers, but would she mention what she thought or feared? They were stuck here? If they made a united front to the harbormaster, however, he might release them.

Trying the first key, Martina found it didn’t fit. Theresa slipped her arm between the bars and her fingers patted Martina’s arm. “Thank you so much. You’re such a good friend.”

Martina tried the second key. Yeah, when Martina held the keys, Theresa was all kind and sweet. An hour hadn’t passed when she was wishing Martina into an episode instead of her, but Martina had to put it all behind her now. She had to free them.

“How do we know she’s the real Martina?” asked Joy. “What if she’s some changeling ready to attack us?”

Geoff reared, but Liam stood his ground. “If she were a changeling, she’d suck the life out of Theresa through her hand.”

Theresa retracted her hand.

“But she didn’t.” Liam’s eyes remained on Martina, still working on her task. “It’s her.”

The tenderness in his voice steadied her nerves. His answer confirmed what she already knew. This was Liam, not some identity-switching monster.

Theresa ribbed him. “You would know, given how much you stare at her in class.”

Now it was Martina’s turn to blush. As she tried a fourth time, her fingers fumbled with the keys. “Please, let me focus.”

Geoff held out a beefy palm. “Let me do it.”

Someone pushed Geoff against the bars, and Martina guessed that Joy had shoved him. “Idiot. You’re not even facing the lock. She’s doing a fine job.”

The sixth key slid in, and a thrill raced through Martina’s body. Gulping, she turned the key in the lock with a click. Hopefully, she was right about them, and they weren’t disguised creatures.

The gate swung open, and the pack of crypt dwellers spilled out into the graveyard. Geoff and Liam stepped forward allowing the rest to move out of the stone building. Geoff stretched, and Theresa rushed up and hugged her. Martina observed Ned’s restored foot as he strolled across the doorway. Kaylee and Joy were last, holding hands, best friends again. Joy’s youthful features were restored.

Liam cleared his throat. “Martina, I owe you an apology. I’ve been—”

Joy strode forward. “Shut up, Liam.” She took Martina’s arm. “You did good, girl. I won’t forget this when we’re back at Jimmy’s High.”

Kaylee flashed her a smile.

Geoff rolled his neck, cracking it. “Yeah, yeah. Martina’s all that and a bag of chips. Problem is, we’re still here and we need to return to the theater.”

Ned surveyed the grounds. “Do you know where we are? Or what the monster is?”

Martina recounted what had happened to her at the inn. “We’re in the graveyard of Forlorn Harbor’s introduction. We need to make our way to the inn, but we must be careful. A woman with a rattlesnake tail is outside these walls. Once we are inside the building, I’ll return the keys to the harbormaster.”

Geoff pounded a fist into the palm of his other hand. “I’ll take care of that harbormaster when I see him. He’ll wish this place had a hospital.”

“We shouldn’t threaten him.” Joy tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I hate him as much as you do, but he might be our ticket home. I say we trade the keys for our freedom.”

“He deserves a mouthful of broken teeth,” growled Geoff. “And I’m the guy to do it.”

“I agree,” Ned cracked his knuckles. “He needs to be taught a lesson.”

Theresa shrunk down into her shoulders like a turtle retracting into its shell. “Have you two lost your minds? He could be a monster himself. What if he turns into some ten-foot, ten-eyed creature? I say we avoid him and ask down at the docks.”

“At the docks?” Joy humphed. “Who’s going to help us down there?”

“I don’t want to go to that creepy inn,” replied Theresa. “It won’t hurt to check down there.”

Nudging Joy, Kaylee shook her head. “I’m with Joy. We have something he wants. He has something we want. We trade.”

“Of course, you’d be on her side.” Ned leaned against a tree. “Kaylee, do you ever think for yourself?”

Kaylee called Ned a name, and Joy tittered while Theresa stood between the two groups. Geoff turned and started up the hill. “Enough.”

Liam called after him. “What will you do?”

“I’ll punish him. Like he punished us. Unless you know how this episode turns out, Liam, stay out of my way.”

Liam scrambled and stood in front of his brother. “I don’t. I think we should let the person who has interacted with him take the lead.”

Geoff pointed at Martina. “You mean her?”

Liam glanced at Martina and flashed her a look of respect. “Martina has the best relationship with him. You weren’t there, but we had the opportunity to ask him questions, and he said Martina’s was the best. And he gave her the keys to free us. Just take a moment. I’d like to hear what Martina has to say.”

Geoff snorted and turned to Martina. “Fine. Beanpole, what’s your idea?”

“I think he wants us to learn a lesson. When we do, I think we’ll be able to leave.”

Joy brushed aside a lock of her hair. “What lesson? What could we have possibly learned from this night?”

Martina’s question exactly. Guess everyone else’s lessons? Sure, but she had no idea of her own. She had thought the old standby “thou shalt not steal” would send her home, but the harbormaster had dismissed her guess when she had suggested it at the inn. Martina was a good person, a good person with faults, sure, but still decent. He had mentioned something about a garden, though.

Martina didn’t answer Joy’s question. Instead, Geoff laughed at Joy. “Your lesson is you’re infatuated with your face.”

Joy raised her eyebrows. “I was born pretty. How am I supposed to change?”

Her glare challenged Geoff. He snorted, and Kaylee thrust out her chin. “Better than threatening everybody.”

“Threats are the only way to get what you want.”

Theresa jabbed him with her elbow. “Shut up. We all learned something tonight. We’ll no longer be a diva, or a bully, or a brown-noser.”

Kaylee furrowed her eyebrows. “Brown-noser? Who’s a brown-noser?”

Joy sneered at Theresa. “Or a two-face.”

Theresa put her hands on her hips. “I’m not a two-face, you biddy! Dang, why doesn’t this place allow you to swear!”

“Shut up!” Martina’s heart beat hard against her chest when she raised her voice. “We can’t fall apart now.”

“She’s right.” Liam stepped next to her. “Martina has given us a clue. We must act like we’ve learned a lesson. If he asks us, just say we’ll try to be a better person. That’s always the right answer.”

Theresa nodded, her head bobbing like a squirrel munching on a nut. “Yeah. If we have to confront him, we’ll just act like this experience has changed us all for the better. Geoff, it might be better if you don’t talk at all. In fact, maybe we let Martina do the talking.”

They all turned to her. How did this happen? But, perhaps, this was for the best. They had almost come to blows just now, and she had the most practice ignoring people’s taunts. Still...what if the harbormaster asked her what she had learned? Or if he asked one of the others? Would they be able to fool him?

The answer came faster than she expected when the harbormaster emerged from a nearby fogbank with a coil of rope around his shoulder. “Fake penitence may have worked when you were three years old, but it won’t work on me.”

Geoff clenched his fists. “You! I’ll make you regret tricking me.”

The harbormaster strolled up to Martina. “I assure you, Mr. Crosswell, attacking me will result in a tightening around your neck again. Care to give it a try?”

Geoff halted and put a hand to his neck.

The harbormaster chuckled. “Anyone else care to challenge me and return to your post-episode state?”

Everyone took a step back except Martina. She waited as the sea salt approached her and held out his hand. “The keys, Martina?”

Fingers trembling, she placed the keyring in the harbormaster’s palm. He dropped the coil of rope. “However, I won’t leave you in the lurch. I will offer you a way home, restored and whole. If you haven’t learned your lesson, that’s on you.” He shrugged. “I don’t care.”

Theresa nudged Liam, but he pressed his lips together. He wasn’t going to speak for them. They left it up to Martina. “What do you want us to do?”

The harbormaster asked, “Are you sure you don’t recognize this segment? All of you except Geoff watched it. Two teenagers trapped in a theater, making wishes and wanting to escape. What did they have to do?”

Blanching, Liam shook his head. “No. You wouldn’t.”

The harbormaster snickered. “One of you has to remain behind. You choose.”

Geoff toed the rope. “What’s this for?”

“When six of you exit this cemetery, you’re free. You’ll return to the lobby of the theater. If all seven of you leave, you’ll all be stuck here with me for the rest of your lives. In case someone doesn’t offer to remain here, the others will have to restrain the ‘volunteer’ to allow the rest of you to escape.”

Everyone regarded the rope as if it were a coiled serpent.

The harbormaster waved a hand at them. “I’ll leave you to it. I don’t want to be present for the ensuing scene, but I’ll be back for the new resident of Forlorn Harbor.”

When he had finished talking, the harbormaster strode out of their patch of the graveyard and into a fog bank. His footsteps receded into the distance.

Joy put up fists. “I’m not staying.”

Liam kicked at the rope with unblinking eyes. “None of us want to.”

Geoff cracked his knuckles. “Who wants to volunteer?”

Ned swayed. “Not me. If you come for me, I’ll just run out of the graveyard. Everyone knows I’m the fastest.”

“Unless I throw a rock at your head,” hissed Joy. “Everyone knows my aim is the most accurate.” She lifted her eyebrows. “MVP in volleyball, remember? Care to test it, big man?”

Ned grimaced. Liam stepped forward. “No one is going anywhere. If someone does something drastic, everyone else will stop him.” He paused and eyed Joy. “Or her.”

Joy eyed Kaylee. “My friend won’t hurt me.”

Geoff said, “Unless you want her to stay behind.”

Kaylee flinched, shuffling away from Joy.

Martina let out a breath. “This is what he wants. He wants us to turn on each other.”

“What do you suggest?” Geoff clenched his fists.

“We call his bluff.” Martina pointed up the hill. “We walk out of here together and head for the inn. We confront him. Don’t you understand? Us, united. That’s the lesson. We’ve been missing it all night. We’ve been turning on each other. Arguing with each other. We must stop now. We show him we’re better than that.”

“But he said if we all walk out of here without leaving someone behind, we’ll all be trapped!” wailed Theresa.

Martina regarded the other girl. “He has the power to send us home. Surely, he can override himself. Come on. It’s the only way.”

“No, it’s not the only way,” snapped Joy. “And I’m not going to risk the rest of my life on your stupid idea. You’re nuts!”

Kaylee nodded her agreement with Joy—no surprise. Geoff crossed his arms. Her idea had failed to penetrate his thick skin as a bird trying to fly through a closed window. They would be the hardest to convince anyway. Ned shook his head, and Theresa moaned, but if she could convince Liam, perhaps together they could convince the others. Their support of each other would be an example.

Martina’s eyes met Liam’s. Please, Liam.

Martina needed him now more than ever.

Liam hung his head. “Pleading with the djinn isn’t how “Three Wishes” ended, Martina. It’s not worth the risk.”

The moment when Liam kissed the succubus had hurt Martina. The kiss wasn’t a betrayal of his love, but of his friendship—the bedrock of a relationship. He had cracked their foundation when he kissed the monster. Again and again, Liam ignored her when times were difficult. Her shoulders sank, and all the energy seeped out from her.

Joy squinted at Martina “You know what? This is your stupid episode. You’re dressed for it, and you never suffered through anything all night. Maybe you should stay here.”

“No!” exclaimed Martina. “I want to go home like the rest of you.”

“Yes, but we all have something to lose if we muck this up.” Joy grabbed Kaylee, an arms-length away. “You’ll lose your memory. I’ll lose my looks. Ned, you’ll lose your foot. And Liam? You’ll lose whatever the heck you called it. Geoff might not even be able to go home. Everyone loses something, except sweet, little Martina.” Her singsong voiced dripped with venom.

Geoff’s eyes lit with fire. “Yeah, she’s right.”

How had her solid idea of putting up a united front turn into this nightmare? They were about to tie her up. She peered over her shoulder at the inn.

Her glancing away was a bad move. Joy shouted. “She’s gonna bolt. Grab her.”

Martina whipped her head again to the six encircling her. “I won’t run. You’re playing right into his hands!”

Geoff picked up the rope, and Joy circled around to her. No point in trying to dodge, they’d just catch her anyway. Joy curled her lip at her. “Or right into yours. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You cut a deal with the harbormaster. If you convinced us to go to him together, he’d send you back, but leave the rest of us here.”

Joy grabbed her arms. Martina stiffened. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you hate us!” screeched Joy. “You’re not as good as us, and you’re jealous. Oh, yes, I see it clearly on your face.”

Joy pushed her against a gnarled oak tree with a thick trunk

“I’m not jealous!” screamed Martina. “Theresa, Liam. Tell them. I’m not jealous.”

Theresa bit her lip. “I’m sorry, but Joy’s making sense. If the harbormaster offered you a deal, you’d be a fool to pass it up.”

Martina regarded Theresa with shock. “Is that what you think of me?”

Geoff and Joy started tying her to the tree. She resisted and started kicking them, but she was too late. They had trapped her. Too weak to fight them, Martina gaped, astonished. Were these the same people she had entered the theater with earlier?

No doubt about it. They were.

Ned rubbed his arms, as if a gust of wind just blew past him. “I’m not sure about this,” he murmured.

Kaylee glanced at Ned, then bit her lip.

Theresa asked, “Do you want us to leave you here like her?”

Ouch. Theresa’s words stung like a slap across the face.

Joy poked Geoff. “You sure about the knot?”

“I tied it, didn’t I?” Geoff pulled on the rope.

Martina strained against the binding. “Liam, please. This is wrong. I know you know better. Tell them.”

Liam didn’t dare to meet her eyes. “This is our version of the three wishes episode. We have to leave someone behind. You weren’t in the coming attractions, either.”

After they finished, Geoff and Joy stepped back and surveyed their work. Martina would receive no mercy from them. She didn’t expect any. The rest seemed embarrassed. Humiliated.

“Please, don’t leave me here,” cried Martina. “Please.”

Geoff grabbed his jacket and pulled it tighter. “Let’s go.”

They turned and walked away from her. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, though the graveyard was chilly. One last attempt. Maybe Liam would find it in himself to finally listen to her.

“Liam! Help me.”

Without turning around, Liam stopped and shook his head. “Martina, this is your episode. Not ours.”

After speaking, Liam turned and ran, joining the others.

The Dilemma

Martina watched the retreating forms of her companions run side by side through the graveyard. They lined up like a sports team and proceeded like a wave across the mossy grass. The maxim “every person for themself” didn’t apply now that they had sacrificed her.

Trusting idiot! She should’ve left them in the crypt, but if she had, she never would’ve been able to live with herself. No matter how they treated her, they were still people who deserved her assistance. Yet, they tied her to a tree with a snake lady and whispering devils nearby. Left behind is the result of having a heart. Never again!

But the thought rang hollow in her mind. If the others in the graveyard changed their minds, if they turned around, and if they removed the ropes, Martina would lead them to the inn. She would speak for them to the harbormaster. She would do whatever he said to transfer them all home.

But are they returning for you? No, they are moving forward. They aren’t changing their minds.

Martina licked her lips and screamed. “Please, don’t leave me!” Her voice rang over the cemetery with a sharpness that would put a sickle to shame.

The retreating figures didn’t answer her pleas or acknowledge her at all. They had become silhouettes, resembling soldiers heading home after a long war.

Hopeless. She could ask them again, but they wouldn’t stop. Why try? When she had come up with a reasonable plan, a workable solution, they had turned their backs on her. Again. No, again and again. If Martina hadn’t agreed to being a lookout while they stole the copper wiring, she wouldn’t be here.

Fog banks swirled to her left and right, but not straight ahead, providing her a clear view of the people who had abandoned her. Time for a new plan. Maybe she could summon Eve at the inn, and—

What just happened?

One second, the gang was traversing the cemetery plain, and the next moment, they were falling into the ground as quickly as a flash on a camera. If Martina had blinked, she would have missed it.

A beam of moonlight illuminated the area where they had disappeared. Mind swimming, Martina squinted and made out rectangular holes in the soil where the others had been moments before. Six white, square tombstones slid across the funeral plots like pucks on a hockey rink. The tombstones settled into place near the location where her friends had sunk into the ground.

What the hell was going on?

Martian stiffened when someone chuckled from a nearby fogbank. The harbormaster emerged from the tendrils of mist resembling unstrung cotton candy. He bore the same expression as Donny Misgurski after he had hacked the projector in History class to play an anime show.

Martina strained against her bonds as the harbormaster approached. He halted in front of her, rocking on his heels. “What an interesting dilemma. Perhaps nobody will be leaving Forlorn Harbor tonight.”

The harbormaster curled his lip in disdain. Yet, his statement, the way he said it, sounded as if he was confiding in her. As if...he was on her side? She shouldn’t trust him, but what choice did she have?

“They left me.” Martina’s head lowered when she answered a question he didn’t ask. “And now they’ve disappeared. I don’t know what’s happened to them.”

The harbormaster reached down to his boot to retrieve something tucked away. “I warned you there were monsters, dearie.”

“I thought you meant Adriana.”

The old man held up a sharp knife with a leather handle. His expression registered nothing—all signs of glee or amusement were gone. Martina tensed at the sight of the five-inch blade whose end curled at the tip.

Her breath caught in her throat. “What are you going to do with that?”

The harbormaster circled the tree. He remained silent, tugging on the rope. “Cut you free. But they’ve done such a poor job of it, I think I’ll be able to save the rope.”

Cut her free? But why? Was he going to let her go? “Did you see what happened to the others?”

The rope tightened, and it pressed her against the trunk, pinching her arms. The man behind her sneered. “Yes, I know all about it. If I let you go, Martina, will you stay by my side and not run away? You’re nearly at the finale of your Forlorn Harbor episode. At the end, you’ll return as the others did.”

Return! A glorious word. A tiny flare of hope burned in her.

“Back to the theater?” Martina inquired.

“More importantly, back home.”

All at once, the ropes loosened, and Martina wiggled free. The binds fell to the ground in a heap of hemp, and she stepped over the former fetters. Now was her chance to run away. Instead, Martina stood in place. Could she trust this man? He had released her, but he had also toyed with them throughout the entire night. Was he playing with her only to scatter her hope across the grounds into a million tiny seeds of despair?

The old man stepped around the tree and nodded at where the moving tombstones settled. “Follow me, please.”

Martina walked a half step behind the harbormaster toward the tombstones and the wails, curses, and calls from her companions. They were still alive. Perhaps he would give them a lecture and send them on their way. At this point, she would welcome a three-hour tongue-lashing on breaking and entering if he would return them to Queensborough.

When they were almost to the pits, Martina caught snatches of words. Geoff and her classmates were screaming about their predicament. The words “sinking” and “no handhold” rebounded against the fogbanks.

They rounded the headstones, standing like sentries before six holes. Each hole had a small mound of dirt next to it. The harbormaster stopped at the nearest makeshift grave, and Martina peered over the edge to where a frightened Liam was up to his waist in murky water. Quicksand.

Liam’s eyes locked onto Martina’s, and he extended his hand, ignoring the harbormaster. “Martina. Help me.”

Theresa’s voice spoke from the ditch next to Liam’s. “Is Martina out there?”

Martina dropped to her knees and started to reach for Liam, but the harbormaster snapped at her. “Don’t help them.”

Martina ignored him, doing the math in her head. She saves one. Then two of them save two. If they hurried, they would survive. “But they’ll die if I don’t.”

Her companion waved his hand, and the watery soil solidified around Liam, trapped half-buried in the ground. He raised his arms and started digging himself free, but as he did, dirt from the mound beside the grave tumbled down on him.

Exclamations rose into the air, reminding Martina of screeching fireworks. Joy scoffed, “And now I’m stuck up past my stomach. What the funk?”

Kaylee replied, “This dirt is almost to my neck!”

The harbormaster strolled to the foot of the trenches. “Don’t try to dig your way out, or the grave dirt will slip over the side of your hole and bury you. Remain still and listen to what I have to say.”

The sailor was out of Liam’s line of sight. His eyes met Martina. In them, Martina read fear, desperation, and regret. He had the eyes of an animal caught in a cage.

The harbormaster clasped his hands behind his back as a professor giving a lecture might. “Congratulations on reaching the end of the last episode of Forlorn Harbor tonight. Leaving behind Martina to save your skin has clearly shown what you value most in life.”

Ned’s voice rang loud from one of the graves. “You gave us no choice.”

“On the contrary.” The harbormaster strode forward, a drill sergeant addressing recruits. “I did give you a choice. Stand together or sacrifice one for the rest. How’d that work out for you?”

Kaylee wailed. “But I just wanted to go home.”

“And Martina didn’t?” snapped the harbormaster. “She has the same fears and dreams that all of you have. And what did you do? You tied her to a tree. And why? Because of your insecurities and ambitions.”

Liam whispered to Martina. “Talk to him for us, Martina.”

Martina blinked her response. Liam must have assumed she had some pull with the harbormaster. The sailor contorted his mouth as he rushed up to Liam’s location.

“Don’t talk to Martina, not even to speak her name. Besides helping you to break into the theater, she hasn’t done anything wrong, unlike the rest of you. If you live to see another day and if you return to your homes, remember this. If you ever speak negatively about Martina, dirt will fill your mouth and cut off your words. The soil will choke you, suffocate you, to remind you of this moment when you stood in your graves wondering if you’d live or die.”

“What do you want from us?” Joy’s voice had changed. Not the wheedling, petty tone, but a scared-to-death pitch of someone who thought her life was ending.

“Oh, Joy-who-is-no-joy-to-talk-to, I don’t want anything from you.” The harbormaster resumed his march along the foot of the holes. “What I require must come from Martina. Since you were incapable of making a decision together, I’ll leave your fate in her hands. Spike that, my volleyball princess.”

Martina stiffened. “Me?”

The harbormaster regarded her. “Yes, Martina. You will determine the ending of this episode. No tricks, no twist endings. You make a choice, and we finish here tonight. What do you say?”

If trust in the harbormaster were her life savings, she wouldn’t have enough money for a vending machine. “What’s the choice?”

The harbormaster resumed his pacing, speaking loud enough for all to hear. “The first option is I allow these six to crawl up and out, and they live in Forlorn Harbor for the rest of their lives. You, Martina, go home. Tomorrow, at school, you’ll learn something interesting about six missing people. The police will find Geoff’s van abandoned near the woods at the edge of Queensborough. I might leave some clues, as I did when I carved ‘Roanoke’ in a tree, to make people wonder what happened.”

Shouts of protest soared upward from the pits like champagne corks shooting off bottles. All of them voiced their disapproval.

The harbormaster held up his hands in a call for quiet. “Option two, my dear, is you all materialize back in your world, but with a string attached. Everyone returns to the state they were in after their episode ended. No-foot Ned, pretty-face Joy, and all the rest. They’ll wake up in a wrecked van.”

Silence met this option. If Martina selected the second choice, they would blame her for their conditions—the scarring, their missing memories, and their feelings. They would glare at her across the classroom or knock her food out of her hands at lunchtime. While they may not be able to speak about her without dirt filling their mouths, they would always shun her.

“Isn’t there a third option?” Martina bit her lip. “One where we all go home as we were at the beginning of the night?”

The harbormaster grabbed the lapels of his jacket. “A life without consequences is no life at all. If you want, I could mean that literally. Return them all, body and mind intact, but dead.”

“No!” shouted Martina, and a chorus of voices below joined her.

“I rather thought that would be your response. Life without a foot, life with some scarring on your face, life forgetting things is still life, Martina. But I leave the options to you. What do you choose, dearie?”

The options he offered weren't options. Not really. Martina had to choose the safest alternative—no debate.

Liam’s hopeful expression stared up at her. He would never regard her as a friend again. The decision would strip all his earnestness away.

She had to choose. “Two.”

“Option two, it is!” shouted the harbormaster. “And with that, your role is done, Martina. You are free to walk to the edge of the graveyard. When you cross it, you’ll find yourself in the theater lobby.”

Wringing her hands, Martina remained rooted to the ground. “I want to see them go first.”

The harbormaster side-eyed her. “You don’t trust me? Kudos to you.”

He held up three fingers, dropped them to two, and then one. The sound of a vehicle crashing boomed throughout the cemetery. Broken glass, crunching metal, popping joints, and all the wince-inducing noises associated with it rang across the field.

Martina grimaced.

Dramatically, the harbormaster put a hand to his ear. “Ah! Did I just hear the harmonious sound of a van crashing into a tree? And now...” He swept his hand toward the graves.

Martina peeked into Liam’s hole. Where he had stood was the impression of the lower part of a standing body. She hurried along all the graves, peeking over the edge. The pits were vacant.

When she had finished, the harbormaster said, “I’ve tucked them safely into their crashed vehicle. They’ll be calling the police soon, Martina. It’s time for you to leave.”

She looked at the Anchors Aweigh tavern. “Say good-bye to Eve for me, please?”

“She’ll be proud of you, Martina.” The harbormaster tipped his hat. “As am I.”

Martina turned and ran through the cemetery, the fog bank parting before her. She hurried to an iron-wrought entrance without a gate. A cobblestone path led to the docks.

The exit!

Sprinting to the gap in the gate, Martina strode through without hesitation. When she placed her foot on the ground outside the fenced-in memorial grounds, she expected the cushion of grass. Instead, her foot met the resistance of concrete—the concrete of the lobby of the Majestic.

She halted. The chamber was as they left it, ruined and empty. No scarecrow stood guard in front of the doors. Turning around, Martina noticed the entrances to the auditorium weren’t walled in anymore. Cocking her head, she heard nothing from inside. Hopefully, the harbormaster had kept his promise.

Martina ran to the door. The chain Geoff cut earlier was intact, but on the ground. Exiting, she turned to the snow-covered street. The night’s precipitation had increased by another inch. She puffed, and her breath came out in a cloud of white air.

An ambulance siren wailed far in the distance. The crash? She stole down the street and peered into the alleyway beside the Majestic. Nothing was parked there.

Taking a deep breath, Martina turned around, stepped onto the street, and headed home.

The Ending Nobody Saw Coming

Martina gathered her winter accessories—gloves, hat, scarf—to brave the chilly, brumal, just-past-midnight wind outside. The last time she had gone out at this time in the morning, she had planned to break into the Majestic. This time, she was leaving St. Alfred’s Church after a nighttime Christmas celebration. What a difference a month and a half made.

Martina’s sister, Juana, had spotted her “just a friend” ex-boyfriend after the mass. Nonetheless, her sister had excused herself after the final blessing, blithely stating that she wanted a private chat with her “pal.”

The ex-boyfriend, Sebastian, had driven all the way up from Florida on Christmas Eve to see Juana. Her sister’s “just a friend” line of bull fooled no one in the Ramirez family. Abuela Bea had prepared a guest room just in case Sebastian and Juana would “ring” in the new year together. Papa wouldn’t be happy about it, but the rest of the family held their breath. Sebastian met with Martina’s approval. Any man who had driven over eight hundred miles on Christmas Eve was someone special.

Juana and Martina were the only ones in the Ramirez family to brave the night and the cold for the midnight service, the rest of her family choosing instead to attend an early mass. Martina slipped on her gloves, muttering a final prayer. “Keep me from temptation.”

The gloves hugged her skin as if she had plunged her hands into a horse’s thick mane. She whispered a prayer for her grandfather. He had handknitted them for her. His act of love now held her hands, keeping them warm. For some reason, the frosty temperature outside had sunk into her bones, leaving a frigidity inside her that had lasted through the entire mass.

Where was Juana? She wouldn’t mind an interruption now, would she?

When Martina turned to survey the rear of the church for her sister, she zeroed in on a gentleman standing with his hands clasped behind his back. The man wore a blue, two-piece suit with his hair slicked back and a stubbled chin. She couldn’t mistake him. The harbormaster!

Their eyes locked, and Martina’s heart quickened. In fear? No. Surprise, then. Was she hallucinating, or was he truly here?

The harbormaster turned and strolled toward a side chapel in the rear of the building, doubling as the sacristy. As a hawk focuses on a field mouse, Martina kept her attention trained on him until he entered the small antechamber.

Should she follow him or not? Martina wasn’t sure whether he was the harbormaster. Perhaps her time in the Majestic was a nightmare, as Dorothy’s experience at the end of The Wizard of Oz. She would awaken and see people who resembled the characters in her dream, but no, she knew better. Her classmates proved the entire night had unfolded as she had remembered it.

She should confront him.

Martina picked up her purse and marched past ten rows of pews, avoiding the post-service stragglers. When she reached the corner chapel, she noticed the harbormaster was the sole occupant. His back was to her, standing before a depiction of a stained-glass angel. The artist had chosen to use abstract art for the heavenly figure compared to the shepherds below.

The harbormaster spoke without turning around. “This scene is appropriate for tonight, eh Martina?”

She had wanted to respond snarkily, but it wasn’t her style. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Indeed. The veil is thinnest on certain nights of the year. Tonight, being one.”

The warmer temperature in the chapel eased the chill Martina had experienced through the mass. “I’m surprised to find you in a church.”

The harbormaster cocked his head. “Everyone is welcome in church, you know.”

Wheeling around, the movie sailor regarded her, his eyes piercing hers.

What does he want from me? Will he kidnap me like some cheap horror movie with a final scare?

Martina gulped. “My sister is here and expecting me.”

“You look healthy, dearie. Happy.”

“Uh...thank you?” The elderly man’s tone, though even, worried her. She swallowed, wanting to sprint away, but her feet and resolve failed her. “I’m good.”

“How about your companions in the Majestic?” The harbormaster stroked his stubbled chin. “Are they good, too? Tell me how they’re doing, starting with the night I left you.”

An odd inquiry. “Why do I feel you know the answer?”

“Humor me.”

Martina drew in a deep breath. “The story around my school is that Geoff had robbed the Majestic that night and had taken copper wiring and chemicals he had found. While he and the others were joyriding later, the van hit black ice and slammed into a tree. Several of them were injured, and a bottle containing the chemicals exploded over everyone trapped inside.”

The harbormaster rubbed an eyebrow. “Sounds sketchy. Something you’d read in a superhero comic, perhaps.”

“The gas dissipated before EMS arrived.” Martina stepped into the chapel. Perhaps this holy chamber would provide a sanctuary for her. “The story explained the changes...Ned’s foot, Joy’s skin.”

The harbormaster’s eyebrows pinched. “But Geoff Crosswell didn’t suffer from physical or mental injuries. What was his story?”

“The cut on his cheek won’t heal. It left a nasty scar.”

The harbormaster opened his mouth, but Martina put up her hand.

“I know what you mean. Supposedly, the airbag saved him from injury, and he escaped before everyone else. He said the others knew nothing about the stolen goods.”

The harbormaster crossed his arms. “Taking the fall doesn’t sound like Geoff.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

The harbormaster tilted his head.

Nervously, Martina rubbed her coat’s top button. “Rumor is, every time he acts up or doesn’t tell the truth, his throat constricts, and he has trouble breathing. Geoff is in prison for five to seven years. It wasn’t his first crime, and he confessed to all of them.”

“Good for him.” The harbormaster clapped his hands. “Confession is good for the soul...or so they tell me. What about our friend, Ned? How’s our star athlete coming along?”

“He has a prosthetic, but he had to quit football since he can’t run as fast as he used to. His teammates abandoned him, and he hung around after school in the library. He and Frieda Summers are a thing.”

“Isn’t she the girl Joy said has a face like a butt?”

“They’re complete opposites. Tall and short, Black and white, but they make a cute couple. I saw them walking together when driving home with Kaylee.”

“Ah, the forgetful Kaylee.” The harbormaster tapped his temple.

“She offered me a ride home one day. Kaylee’s aunt adopted her when she was young. Strangely, Kaylee remembers her aunt and cousins, but she can’t remember anyone at school before the Majestic. She sometimes forgets our names.”

The sailor scratched his chin. “I’m certain the medical profession is puzzled.”

“New people she remembers,” said Martina. “When she goes to college, it won’t be a problem. But it’s a problem now, and people avoid her. She said she’s seeing a psychologist and working on being more thoughtful of others.”

“A noble effort, to be sure.” The harbormaster pinched his lips as if he had bit into a prune. “And what was Kaylee’s friend’s name? Grace?”

“You know her name is Joy.” Why the games? “She only recently returned to school. The plastic surgery stretched her skin mask tight. In Trig, I overheard some girls say she was crying in the bathroom.”

The harbormaster made an exaggerated frown, the ones clowns make. “I imagine she’s not happy about being on the receiving end of criticism.”

“They say cruel things, and I wish they’d quit picking on her.” The tone in Martina’s voice was icy.

The harbormaster tilted his head. “You told them to stop, didn’t you? You’re an interesting case study, Ms. Ramirez.”

Martina ignored the comment. “And before you ask, Theresa returned to school two days after the accident. She wore sunglasses for the first week. She’s been working with an occupational therapist for her eyes. Theresa gave up the glasses, but her eyes still drift. Her friends say she grosses them out. She tried to blame it on me.”

The harbormaster curled his upper lip. “Maybe I should’ve placed Theresa in an episode where she lost her tongue instead.”

“You did enough.”

“Meaning?”

Martina took a deep breath. “When she blamed me, she spat out dirt in front of everyone. Afterward, her friends didn’t want to be around her, and then they started telling others all the lies Theresa had spread. She talks to no one now. Comes to school late and has permission to leave early to meet with her therapist.”

“But someone reached out to her.” The harbormaster eyed Martina. “Didn’t she?”

“Theresa wants nothing to do with anyone. She told me I ruined her life, and she ran away, crying. What happened to her is not my fault.”

“She’d be dead if it weren’t for you.” The harbormaster ran a hand along a kneeler in the center of the sacristy. “And then there was one.”

“Liam hasn’t changed. He’s quieter and moodier, but still has his circle of friends. He wrote me a note, though.”

“Oh?”

“It said he could never love anyone now, including me. He wrote he was lonely, even with people around him. A piece of him has died. I often wonder. Why did Eve do it?”

The harbormaster snarled. “Eve is an actress, and she performed admirably in her part as a succubus. In your episode, sweet-natured Eve wasn’t acting at all. Figuratively, Liam kissed himself in his segment. Liam will always look out for Liam first. He’s right. His choice of life is a lonely one.”

Funny, when Martina had read the note he had dropped in her locker, she’d had the same thought. His plea for companionship should’ve moved her, but his tone was injured, as if the world owed him recompense. His words had left her cold.

The harbormaster returned to the stained-glass illustration of the angel and the shepherd. “And what of Martina? How did she fare after her first night as a lookout?”

“I joined a fantasy and science fiction club. We meet on Saturday nights to watch films and discuss books. Sometimes, we just talk.”

“No looks of longing?”

He keeps asking me questions I think he already knows. “I don’t care about that, and no, we’re just friends, trying to understand each other. And ourselves, I guess.”

“Ah! You’ve interpreted the parable of the wonderful garden correctly.” The harbormaster’s eyes widened.

“I searched for your parable in several holy books and the internet.” Martina lifted her chin. “It doesn’t exist.”

“Perhaps it hasn’t been written yet. Was the gardener delusional? No. He couldn’t admit that his wonderful garden wasn’t wonderful at all. No matter what his sense...” the man again tapped his temple, “told him.”

Martina leaned forward. Huh?

“Certain people, Martina, may be your thistles and bindweed.” The harbormaster nodded toward her. “Roses don’t belong there.”

Then, the harbormaster turned his attention to the stained glass. “I always favored the Judeo-Christian concept of an angel, especially the ones called ‘guardian angels.’ People think of chubby babies on fluffy clouds, but not all are overweight toddlers.”

Reverently, the harbormaster placed his fingers on the stained glass. “I’m sure most guardian angels use a soft touch, whispering in their ward’s ear to be careful or to watch out.”

Martina examined the multi-colored angel with its triangular head and rhombus-shaped body. The wings were uneven and stretched out sideways. “I always thought of them as loving grandparents.”

“Perhaps some are, dearie. And perhaps some are a bit more forceful. The forceful ones will go to great lengths to protect their beloved charges. They bend the rules of reality, strain the cosmic laws to their limits, to ensure the ones they protect stay on the true path.”

The angel etched in glass blazed as a car’s headlights shone through it as if signaling the harbormaster had finished his speech.

The man reached into his jacket, retrieved his mariner hat, and placed it on his head. “I’ll be wishing you a joyful Christmas, Martina.”

He sidled past her and into the church’s nave, striding away.

Martina observed his retreating figure in stunned silence. She turned to the image of the stained-glass angel and scrutinized it. She had missed something before. Though abstract, there was a curious bit of glass near the circular head of the angel. The glass was small, navy blue, and shaped like a sailor’s hat.

Acknowledgments (Roll Credits)

The director of Forlorn Harbor would like to thank the following people.

The producer of this endeavor, Kelly, and all the people at Rowan Prose Publishing, who made this novel a success. My deepest and sincerest gratitude.

My thanks to the test audiences who consumed early versions of Forlorn Harbor: Michelle Tang and Kristiana Sfirlea. They helped shape the novel into what it is today.

People who encouraged my pursuit of “directing” along the way: Virginia and Francis Doran, Kate Dovey, Ellen Doran, Ed Hosmer, G. Miki Hayden, Tom Doran, Judy Malecke, Carla and Ken Graham, C. Rae D’Arc, Daniel Johnson, Mark Garrett, Adam Rausch, Mark Bronni, Eric Bronni, and Meaghan Fesler. Your kind words make a huge difference.

For the early morning movie marathons the Saturday before Halloween, my thanks to John Doran. Forlorn Harbor would fit right into our schedule.

To my family, Paxton and Phillip, who patiently waited while I worked on this story.

To my inspiration and love, Hope.

To God, the ultimate director.

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Jim Doran is a genre writer who has been published in Havok, Every Day Fiction, and Ye Olde Dragon’s horror and fairytale anthologies. He resides in Michigan.