A Midsummer Night's Scream

by Stine, R. L.

  I didn’t have time to reply. Lana stepped up, peering at us through her red heart-shaped shades. “How’s it going?” she breathed.

  What was that powerful lemony scent? Could she possibly be wearing Lana Cologne for Kids?

  “Good,” Delia and I said in unison.

  Pablo stood close behind Lana, as if making shade for her. He had a sparkly diamond stud in his right nostril. His intense dark eyes moved from Delia to me, as if he was studying us, reading our minds.

  “I’m sorry. Remind me of your names,” Lana said.

  The scent was so strong, it burned my nose. I told her our names—for at least the tenth time. We’d been rehearsing together for a week.

  “Oh, right.” She smiled at me. Her teeth were bright white, shiny as a car. “Your father is Sy Woodlawn.”

  “And my mom is Rita.” Why did I say that?

  Lana scratched her skinny arm with perfect long, red fingernails. “It was so neat of your dad to give both of you parts in the picture.”

  I felt a stab of anger in my chest. “He didn’t give us parts,” I snapped. “We auditioned for them. Les Bachman gave us the parts.” Les is the director.

  She squinted at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Behind her, Pablo picked at his teeth with a finger. A fly landed on his shoulder, ruining the perfect whiteness of his being.

  “Are we late for rehearsal?” Lana asked. “I think lunch is over.”

  “Simon Ferris, the wardrobe guy, sent us to pick up our costumes,” I said. “But we got turned around.”

  Lana laughed. She had a surprising laugh, like a horse whinny. “Your parents run the studio, and you don’t know where the wardrobe department is?”

  Pablo chuckled, too. Like Lana had made a great joke.

  “I have the worst sense of direction,” I confessed. “I get lost in my own bedroom closet.”

  That was supposed to be a joke, but only Delia laughed. And it was an obvious fake laugh.

  I don’t know why Lana made me feel so uncomfortable. Well … actually, I do know why. It was because she could never say anything honest or be real for one second. Everything she said was an act, like she was posing in front of a camera. Why couldn’t she just relax and be a human?

  “It’s so cold in the old mansion,” she said. “I start to shiver as soon as I get on the set. I’ll bet the camera can see my goose bumps.” She hugged herself and made her whole body shiver.

  “Claire thinks it stays cold in there because of the ghosts,” Delia said. “You know. The ghosts of the three actors who were killed.”

  That got Pablo’s attention. He gazed intently at me. “Ghosts? Do you believe in ghosts?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Kind of.”

  That made Lana shiver again. “I don’t like filming in a haunted house. But I guess it will get press. All the reporters will think it’s a great angle. We’ll be on Access Hollywood and everything. And everyone will be talking about how we made a horror film in a place where true horror took place.”

  Whoa.

  That was the longest speech I ever heard Lana deLurean give. “Do you really think the mansion is haunted?” I asked her.

  Her red lips formed a small O. She stared hard at me. “I … don’t know.” She turned to Pablo. As if he had the answer.

  “There are ghosts all around this old studio,” he said, gesturing. “I can feel them. I hear them whispering to me.”

  “Hey, that’s just what Claire said!” Delia exclaimed. “Maybe Claire is psychic, too.”

  “I’m not really psychic,” Pablo said, rubbing his bald head like he was polishing it. “I can just feel things that others miss. Like vibrations. Messages in the air.”

  Lana’s expression turned hard again. I could see her jaw muscles clench. I guessed she didn’t like it when the conversation wasn’t about her. Or maybe she didn’t like to share Pablo.

  “We’d better go,” she said. “You know how Les gets when I’m not on the set on time. He has palpitations. Really.”

  Les has palpitations when you say good morning to him. He’s totally wired all the time. People are always telling him to try decaf.

  Lana turned to me. “I hope you find the costume building. Don’t get lost.” A tight smile crossed her face. “We need you extras. You’re more important than you think.”

  Extras? Delia and I have speaking roles.

  We watched Lana wriggle off. Pablo glanced back at us, then hurried to keep up with her.

  Delia bumped up against me. “Do we hate her?” she said. “Should we kill her?”

  “Being her is punishment enough,” I said.

  And then a voice behind us startled me. “Who do you want to kill? Can I help?”

  8

  PEOPLE DIED IN THAT HOUSE

  DELIA AND I BOTH CRIED OUT. I spun around and saw Jake grinning at us.

  “Jake? You’re here?” Delia said. Then she remembered. “Oh, right. You’re working on the film, too.”

  I could see the hurt expression on his face. Like How could Delia forget about me?

  “Actually, I’m interning with Zack Fox,” Jake said.

  Zack Fox is the film editor for Mayhem Manor. And he’s my dad’s best friend. Dad arranged for Jake to work with Zack this summer.

  “Zack is like all over the new editing software,” Jake said. “He’s going to teach me everything.”

  “You want to be a film editor?” Delia asked.

  “For sure. I want to learn everything. Hey, you know I’m going to be a film major. My parents already got me some interviews at USC.”

  Delia snickered. “Film majors just go to class and watch movies. They don’t have to read any books.” That made me snicker, too.

  Jake’s eyes flashed. “You’re looking hot today,” he told Delia.

  I brushed a clump of lint off the front of his t-shirt. Just to remind him I was there, too.

  “Have you seen Shawn?” Delia asked. “Is he home today?”

  “I think he’s visiting his dad in Laguna,” Jake told her. “He went down there after Ross’s party. He texted me this morning. He said the waves were good but it was too crowded.”

  Laguna surfers are in their wet suits and in the water before the sun comes up. They’re all total fanatics. Shawn is a fanatic, but he also likes his sleep.

  “Is he coming home tonight?” Delia asked.

  Jake shrugged. “Beats me. Why are you always asking me about Shawn? How come you don’t ask how I’m doing?”

  “How are you doing?” I chimed in, trying to get into the conversation. But Jake only had eyes for Delia.

  “I’m kind of worried about Shawn,” she said, frowning. “I think he’s still stressing about his parents splitting up. You know. And his dad moving down to Laguna.”

  “Yeah, it’s been tough on him,” Jake said.

  I knew Delia wasn’t really that worried. She was just seriously hot for Shawn.

  I tugged Jake’s arm. “Dee and I are going to be late for rehearsal. Point us to the wardrobe building. We’re supposed to be on the set.”

  Jake’s expression changed. “You shouldn’t go in that old house,” he said. “Seriously. We’re all insane to go in there. I told you last night at the party. Mayhem Manor is totally cursed.”

  Delia rolled her eyes. “You and Claire should be a couple. You could compare ghost stories.”

  Hint, hint. Yes. WE should be a couple.

  “I usually don’t believe in that stuff. But there’s got to be three dead people haunting that place,” Jake said.

  “Stop it, Jake. Not funny,” I said.

  “Who’s joking? Three people our age died in that house. Do you really think they were all killed by accidents? They’re waiting in there. Waiting to avenge their deaths.”

  Jake looked so serious, I had to laugh. “Jake, you sound like a really lame horror movie.”

  “Seriously? Seriously? You’re laughing about it?” he said.

  I gave him a hard shove. “L
ighten up, dude.”

  History lesson number two: After the deaths of the three young actors, the film was stopped immediately. And the old mansion was never used again. Not even for exterior shots. No one wanted to go near it. People said it was cursed.

  The house just sat in the shadows at the back of the studio, rotting and falling apart. For some reason, it was never torn down. Maybe people were too superstitious to wreck it.

  It was my dad who had the idea to do a remake of Mayhem Manor. To make the film again inside the original mansion.

  “Think of the publicity,” my parents said. “Remaking a movie in the same house where people were actually killed. What a total winner.”

  They talked about it nonstop. Breakfast. Dinner. I mean, they were talking like they had the biggest blockbuster.

  When I told them the whole idea creeped me out, they said it creeped them out, too. That’s why it was a good idea.

  Now, standing outside the row of exec cottages, I squinted at Jake through my sunglasses. He was so adorable. I just wanted a chance to let him know how I felt. “Jake,” I said, “how are you getting home tonight? You driving home with your parents? Can I have a ride?”

  Jake and I live next door to each other on Coldwater Canyon Drive. I told you our families are close. Our parents work together, and they live side by side. It’s no wonder Jake only thinks of me as a sister.

  “No, I’m not going home. Zack is taking me to see his editing studio at his house.”

  I didn’t give up. “When are you getting back? Do you want to maybe hang later?”

  He scratched his head. “I don’t think so. I’m getting back pretty late.”

  He had his eye on Delia. She was smoothing lip gloss on her lips. She wasn’t paying any attention to Jake at all.

  “Later,” Jake said. “The wardrobe building is right up there.” He pointed. Then he turned and started toward Mayhem Manor.

  “Hey, Jake?” He stopped and turned back when I called him. “Do you really think those three kids are haunting Mayhem Manor, waiting for revenge?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “We’ll soon see, won’t we?”

  9

  WEARING A DEAD GIRL’S CLOTHES

  “HE NEVER TOOK HIS EYES OFF YOU,” I told Delia. “Jake never looked at me. I don’t think he even knew I was there.”

  Delia shrugged. “I didn’t notice. You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. He stared at you like … like he was hungry.”

  Delia laughed. “Hungry? You’re getting weird.”

  “I’ve seen him stare at a pizza with the same longing expression. Really.”

  “Claire, you think Jake is a cannibal?”

  “It’s not a joke,” I snapped. “I’m really kind of nutty about him. I mean, I get all fluttery, like in a bad chick-lit novel. But he doesn’t even look at me. Look. Is my face red? I can feel myself blushing when I see him. That’s sick, right?”

  Delia’s dark eyes met mine. “Listen, Claire, if you’re really into him, you have to let him know it.”

  “What do you think I was doing? I tried last night at the party. And just now. You saw me. I asked for a ride. I asked if he wanted to hang out later. I’ve been trying to get him alone for weeks, Dee.”

  “Well, get him drunk and attack him.”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. “You’re such a big help. Not.”

  How could we not see the wardrobe building? For one thing, it was two stories tall and bright green-and-yellow stucco. And it had a huge sign over the double front doors that said WARDROBE DEPARTMENT.

  Delia pulled open the door, and I followed her inside. We stepped into a wide, brightly lit room with endless racks of clothing and costumes of all colors and types.

  My eyes stopped on a row of old-fashioned frilly white bonnets on hooks along one wall. A gorilla costume had been tossed over a rack of black leather bomber jackets. The next rack held shimmery green-and-gold party dresses. A mountain of dark pants was piled on the floor near the far wall.

  I took a few steps along the front of the room, my eyes moving over the long costume racks. “Is anybody here?” I called. My voice sounded hollow in the big room.

  The film is set in the ’60s. We’re supposed to look like ’60s teenagers. But what did they look like? How could we ever find the right clothes in this incredible jumble?

  “Hey, anybody?” Delia called. “Anybody here?”

  A woman came hurrying out from a row of colorful party dresses. She was short and had a pile of henna-red hair, round brown eyes, a nose that seemed too long for her face, and a friendly smile. She was wrapping a silky orange scarf around her shoulders that clashed badly with her hair. She wore a loose-fitting brown skirt over black tights. I guessed she was in her forties or maybe fifties.

  “Can I help you, young lady?” She had a very young voice, tiny and bright. “Are you in Please Don’t?”

  I shook my head. “No. Hi. I’m Claire Woodlawn.”

  She fiddled with the big scarf. “Oh, my goodness gracious. Of course. Claire. I’m Betty Hecht. I was at your fifth birthday party. At your house. Your old house. The one in the Valley. I don’t think I’ve seen you since then. You’ve grown a bit.”

  I laughed. “I guess.”

  “I heard you’re in Mayhem Manor,” she said. “And you’re Delia, right?”

  Delia nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I have your clothes ready,” Betty said. “Simon Ferris ordered them yesterday. Now we have to get them fitted.” She turned and headed to a shelf against the wall. Then she turned back. “Are you two afraid to go in there? Afraid to go in that old house?”

  I shook my head. “This is my dream,” I said. “To be a film actor. It’s what I’ve always wanted. My parents finally said I could try. So … I’m not going to be afraid.”

  Delia squinted at Betty. “Do you think we should be afraid?”

  Betty didn’t answer. She pulled two wrapped packages off the shelf. “Which one of you plays Geena and which is Darlene?”

  “I’m Darlene,” I said. “The one who always acts tough.”

  “It’s typecasting,” Delia joked.

  Betty handed us each a package. She pointed. “You’ll find dressing rooms back there. Put them on and we’ll see what needs to be done to make them fit.”

  Delia and I walked to the back of the room and stepped into side-by-side dressing rooms. I pulled the curtain shut behind me. The room was just a closet with a wood bench on one side and a full-length mirror on the other.

  I opened the package and tugged out a long straight skirt, charcoal gray and pleated at the bottom, and a bright pink top, lacy around the collar.

  “Let me check them out when you’re dressed,” Betty called.

  I pulled on the skirt, then the top. The skirt was a little snug at the waist and came down just below my knees. Weird length. The top was loose-fitting and not sexy at all.

  I turned to gaze at myself in the mirror—but something was wrong.

  My eyes refused to focus. I gazed at myself through a thick mist. At first, I thought it was the mirror. I rubbed it with the sleeve of my top.

  But the fog didn’t clear. And I suddenly began to feel very weird, as if I were floating in the mist. Not really floating off the floor but hovering far away from the mirror … far away from my reflection.

  I heard a whisper of sound, like when you hold a seashell to your ear. Just a sudden rush of wind in my ears as I floated farther from the mirror.

  And then Betty’s voice broke through the dressing-room curtain at my back. “Hey, girls—you know those are costumes from the original movie?”

  It took a while for her words to come through the fog. I realized my brain was fogged like my vision.

  Did one of the murdered girls wear this skirt? This top?

  Am I dressed in a dead girl’s costume?

  “Betty?” I tried to call to her.

  But the rush of sound in my ears rose like a wave crashing
against the shore. A constant roar I couldn’t shut out.

  And over the roar, I thought I heard a whispered voice. A girl’s voice, very distant and frightened. A tiny voice over the rush of wind. Coming from the clothing? No. That’s impossible.

  What was she saying? I could barely hear her …

  “Go away. Go awaaaaay…”

  10

  “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?”

  I MUST HAVE SCREAMED. I didn’t hear myself.

  Betty Hecht tore open the curtain. “Are you okay?”

  The rushing in my ears stopped. The fog vanished. I blinked at myself in the mirror. My whole body was shaking.

  “Yeah. I’m all right. I guess I freaked a little about wearing these clothes. You know. From a dead girl.”

  She snickered. “Well, she was alive when she wore them. Step out and let me see you.”

  I took a deep breath to steady myself. Claire, you imagined that voice.

  Then I walked out of the dressing room, adjusting the top. I brushed Delia’s dressing-room curtain. “Dee, everything okay?”

  She pulled back the curtain. She hadn’t changed yet. She sat on the bench with her phone to her ear. “I have to take this call. It’s my modeling agent.” She waved me away. “Go on without me. I’ll catch up.” She pulled the curtain shut.

  “You look perfect,” Betty said to me. She tugged at the top of my skirt. “A little snug. Can you breathe?”

  “Sure. No problem,” I said.

  “Follow me. I’ll sign you out,” Betty said, starting to the counter in front. “Simon wants you to go to makeup next. Do you know where the trailer is?”

  “I … think so,” I replied.

  I thanked her, and she said it was so nice to see me. “I hope the movie goes well,” she said. I could tell by the way she gazed into my eyes that she was worried about the whole thing.

  Maybe she believed Mayhem Manor was cursed or something. Or maybe she was just a worrier.

  I didn’t have time to think about it. I stepped into the bright sunlight and started to walk around the side of the building. I shielded my eyes with one hand. I realized I’d left my Ray-Bans in the dressing room. I decided to come back for them later.