The cara shook as she ran. The ground was a blur of movent in which all one could catch was the gray of the concrete floor and the brown of the wooden walls.
“Heeeelp!”
One could hear distorted shouts on the recording.
“Help, please!” scread a female voice.
This continued for a few more seconds as the woman finally ca to a dead end. She was pulling and pushing on a locked door, but after a few tries, she finally gave up and turned around. She was now standing with her back to the doors, facing a long corridor from which she had just co.
“Help! Soone. Please…” Her scream turned to sobs as desperation grabbed hold of her emotions. “Please,” she practically whispered now.
She raised the cara to record the corridor.
For a few seconds, all one could see was the place lit up by old tal industrial lamps hanging from the ceiling.
But then there was movent.
At the very end of the corridor, a silhouette could be seen, slowly walking toward the woman.
“Noooo!” she scread. “Please, no. Go away.”
She begged, but that did not stop the person on the other end. As whoever it was made their way under one of the lamps, the silhouette could finally be seen in the cara.
It was a large man wearing a blood-stained butcher’s uniform and a pig mask on his head. There was a massive butcher’s knife in his left hand. The right hand seed to be missing the palm, replaced by a vicious hook.
“Nooo!” she scread as the man with the pig’s head sped up, now running at her. She raised her hand with the cara to protect herself from the swipe of the knife. But it was no use. The blade t the hand, and the cara fell to the floor, now only recording the black boots of the man.
“Fuck,” a third voice scread. “Left hand, rcy. Left fucking hand. How many tis do we have to repeat that? You protect yourself with your left hand and drop the cara with your right onto the mattress. Don't raise the cara and just fucking yeet it onto the concrete floor.”
“I know. I didn’t want to drop it. He actually swung. I didn’t see it coming.”
“Oh please,” ca a muffled voice barely caught by the microphone. “It’s plastic, how hard can it strike?”
“Hard enough, when you swing it like a maniac.”
“Shut up, both of you,” a fourth voice, belonging to a woman, could now be heard, coming from one of the side doors. “Check the cara. If it’s broken, both of you pay for it.”
The view shifted as soone picked up the contraption. The recording now showed the face of a young woman. She was around thirty years old with long brown hair. She was wearing a pink tank top, covered in dirt and so dried blood. Her face was also dirty, but it didn't seem to detract from her beauty, as one could see that her makeup had sohow not run at all. And the hair was still styled, without any strands out of place.
She turned the cara around. “No, I don’t think it’s broken. Just a scratch on the side.”
“Okay, that’s good. We’ll do the scene again.”
“Oh, co on. Do you know how hard it is to run in heels? Can’t I at least take them off?”
“No. You need to look good or else no one watches it,” ca the male voice from off-screen.
“No one’s going to watch this anyway. Weren’t we supposed to hunt ghosts? And not record cheap horror flicks for YouTube?” the woman continued to complain.
“And we would have a great video if soone didn’t buy black thread to move the child's toys. We ca out looking like idiots. Everyone was laughing in the comnts.”
“Not my fault,” ca the muffled voice once again. “You should have specified. I thought you needed the thread for sewing.”
“Moron,” a word could be heard, barely picked up by the cara’s microphone.
“Whatever. We need sothing to regain the public’s attention.”
“And your idea is this?”
“Stop complaining and get into position,” the person spat in evident anger.
rcy pointed the cara at her face like a blogger. “You heard it here first, folks. Want to regain your audience? Just rip off every bad horror movie ever.”
After that, many more takes were made that night until one finally satisfied the person speaking from the side.
The date on the footage then jumped forward by a few days. The recording started as the cara caught sight of a room. It was in an old house that hadn't been well maintained. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls, and the windows hadn't been washed in a long ti.
The room was once a living room with an entrance to a porch, but currently, it was turned into sothing akin to a video editing studio. There were two PCs, each with multiple monitors. Aside from them, there was also a tablet and a relatively good sound system with a few microphones.
One of the PCs was turned on, showing video-editing software with the pig mask footage on the screen.
Aside from all the visible electronics, there was also a corkboard with so ideas for videos and a few photos of four people.
There was the woman who had run from the man last ti.
A tall and lanky man with long, dirty blond hair. Another woman, looking put together, with glasses and her black hair in a tight ponytail.
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The last person in the photo was a shaggy-looking guy with bright blond, greasy hair and a mousy face. Check latest chapters at NoveIＦire
“So here we are at the headquarters,” rcy said as she turned the cara around the room. “This is where the magic happens,” she said, trying to sound mysterious.
“What are you doing?” asked a male voice.
As she pointed the contraption at its owner, it turned out to be the tall man from the photo.
“I’m vlogging. The handheld cara is actually pretty cool.” She then pointed it at her face. “I an, wouldn’t you agree, our dear fans? All 200 thousand of you?”
“One hundred ninety,” comnted the second girl in the room. “I’m pretty sure we lost so subscribers after the whole ghost child debacle.”
“Sorry. All our 190 thousand LOYAL fans,” she corrected.
She recorded so small talk between the people until finally a car could be seen stopping in front of the house.
“Oh, the boss is here,” said the carawoman. “We’d better see what’s next on our agenda. Is it a killer clown? A ghost child using BLACK THREAD to influence the world around him? Or maybe we’re switching to sharks this ti.”
“Sharks would be cliché even for us,” comnted the girl.
“How about ghost sharks? That could get us so views.”
“Yeah, and where would we do the investigation? The aquarium?”
The man didn’t answer.
“I’m just hoping we aren’t switching to horror flicks permanently. Recording them sucks.”
“Yeah. I didn’t sign up for film production. I thought we were supposed to do ghost investigations, not whatever it was last ti.”
“Well, we will know soon enough,” said rcy from behind the cara as she pointed at the car door.
“Oh?” spoke the guy as another car stopped on the driveway. Unlike the beat-up old Golf, this one was a much nicer Toyota. It wasn’t an expensive sports car by any ans, but it was clearly very well taken care of.
From the first car erged the mousy guy, recognizable from the photos, while a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out of the other vehicle. He had a buzz cut that took away from his otherwise handso face. His body spoke of soone who was once fairly athletic, but now poor food habits had covered that build with a bit of fat, giving him the 'dad bod'.
“Holy shit, is that Raymond? Reymond Walker? Can’t be right?”
“Yoooo. I think it’s him. Dude still looks as serious as in high school,” spoke the tall man.
“Yeah. I think that’s him. When was the last ti we hung out?”
“Before he left town, so at the end of high school, I think. Didn’t think I would see him of all people. Now I’m curious.”
The mousy man talked briefly with Raymond, and then they entered the room.
“Hello,” spoke Rey. “Long ti no see.” He smiled slightly.
rcy put down the cara as they started exchanging greetings.
It took quite a bit of ti before the atmosphere cald down enough to talk business. “So. You might be wondering why I gathered you all here,” began the mousy man.
“Watch out, watch out. Cecil’s new great money-making plan is about to be revealed,” rcy whispered into the cara.
“It is much more than money-making. It is our path to stardom.” The man was practically shaking with excitent. “We will do an actual investigation into real murders in a haunted house. And what’s better, it is in our hotown.”
There was a mont of silence as they all looked at one another, confused.
rcy was about to ask a question, but Rey beat her to it. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he barked at the man.
She turned the cara to record her own reaction. Her eyebrows shot up as she inhaled through her teeth. “Awkward,” she whispered and turned the cara back to the scene.
By the man’s face, it was apparent he wasn’t inford about any investigation.
“Co on, bro. Help us out, like the old tis. Money and fa are right in front of us. Just need to grab them.”
“I thought you brought here to catch up and because you had sothing important. And that’s it? Your dumb fucking ghost show. You know how long it took to drive here. I had to take ti off for fuck’s sake. All to hunt ghosts?!”
“Calm down, dude, it’s just–”
“Fuck you. I’m going back ho,” Rey barked, not listening to Cecil, and started walking out.
Cecil ran after him, catching the man as he was getting into his car, and the two started to discuss sothing loudly.
“Pass the microphone,” rcy said to the other girl.
“What for?”
“Co on, aren’t you at least a bit curious? Get the one for outdoor recording.”
The girl rolled her eyes but passed rcy the microphone. So fidgeting with the ports could be heard on the recording, as the sound finally changed, picking up every little sound in the room, from the hum of the PC to people turning in their seats.
rcy sat down next to the window, pretending to move closer to the other girl, and pushed the microphone through the slightly open window. After so noise, two voices could be heard talking, accompanied by a lot of static in the background.
“Are you dumb?” barked Rey. “I drove all the way here. Left my wife and kid for the week, all so that you could record so ghost hunt?”
“It’s not a ghost hunt, dude. Look.” He lowered his voice a bit, but the cara still picked it up. “There were murders in our hotown. The police say that there were overdoses at a party, but I got so intel, dude. I talked to Grease, and he works in the mortuary, right? So he heard the doctor talk with the police. And the doctor said that the wounds were strange, and he couldn’t explain what happened to the bodies. So they just wrote it as an overdose, right? But Grease told the bodies were all fucked up, dude. And the best part? It happened in the old haunted place.”
“Grease? You still talk with Grease?”
“Yeah. We're cool.”
“Oh, right. Does he still deal in pills?”
Cecil choked on that question.
“And when did he get a dical degree? Let guess, he cleans up there and steals what he can from the dead and the doctor’s office? Or am I mistaken?”
Cecil stayed silent for a while before saying, “He also takes care of the doctor’s cat.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Cecil. Get your shit together. It was cool back then when we were in high school, but now it’s just sad. Get a proper fucking job and don’t drag others into your bullshit. I’m out.”
Rey turned around, ready to leave, but at the next words, he froze in place.
“I still have that photo.”
“What?”
“That photo. I still have it. You know, I kept it as a… morial,” Cecil said, looking everywhere but in Rey’s direction.
“Are you trying to blackmail ?” the larger man barked. “You goddamn asshole. You have the fucking audacity–”
“Oh, screw you.” Cecil finally snapped. “Not everyone here is a big city cop now. Not everyone can just leave it all behind. Look. We will crack open the case. Just imagine the article ‘A police cover-up of haunted house murders, YouTubers bring justice to the families who were lied to’. We will be heroes, and all I need from you is to get us police reports and doctors’ files. You are a cop, big badge, from a big city. They’ll show it to you easily. They’ll trust you.”
“And you want to break that trust and get you the reports.”
“Break is such a strong word. Just… get us the reports and help us interrogate the locals. We get our footage, crack open that case, and you were never here if you so wish.”
“And you give the photo.”
“And I give you the photo.”
Rey’s facial muscles were flexed to the maximum. He was breathing like a bull, looking like he was about to clock Cecil in the face. But finally, he deflated.
“Fine. I’ll get you what you want. You give the photo and fuck off from my life forever. You are dead to , understand?”
“Sure, sure, my guy. Like old tis.” He snickered.
“I should knock you out. Anyway, so where did the murders happen?”
To that, Cecil smiled, trying to look mysterious, before he answered.
“The old slaughterhouse.”
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