Destiny's Dark Fantasy Boxed Set (Eight Book Bundle)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “Yes!” She cried out excitedly then lapsed into a coughing fit. I grimaced and backed away from the door as a precaution.

  “Exactly,” she squeaked out when she found her breath. “Please, Perry?”

  “Sure, sure. It’ll give me something to do at any rate.” And hopefully would take my mind off of my problems.

  ***

  Unfortunately, my own problems always had their slinky way of creeping back into things, like Spiderman’s symbiote.

  As I sat there in front of my computer, staring blankly at the screen, I realized I had nothing to write about. Fashion was out of the question, as Ada apparently thought that would scare away her readers. Which I didn’t understand because leggings, studs, zippers, chains and a whole lot of black was so in right now (according to the other blogs I’ve read, anyway), not to mention how she is constantly borrowing my stuff, but I didn’t want to argue. It was her blog and livelihood, and I had to remember that in some ways this was a real job to her.

  I considered writing a little blurb about my experiences as a failed stuntwoman, or maybe a bit about one of my favorite bands, Slayer. But I decided no one would give a damn about my times at the gun range, and speed metal wasn’t made for her audience.

  Then it came to me. I knew exactly what to write about and how to do it.

  I leaped off my chair and brought out my ailing camera. Luckily it worked well enough that I was able to transfer all of my pictures from the weekend, including the video.

  I whipped open my film editing program, and for the next few hours I immersed myself into the filmmaking process.

  Most of the video I shot was pretty low-grade. I mean, it was a digital SLR, not an actual video camera. The sound was scratchy and the light, though bright in real life, didn’t pick up much detail. But the experience was all there, and even when I faltered in trying to remember some details about that night (maybe I was trying to block them out, I don’t know), the video brought me right back to it.

  And to Dex. Seeing his face on the grainy footage, hearing that deep, almost sneering voice of his, brought a wave of excitement over me. Where he came from, what he was doing there, where he went—these questions were just as intriguing as the other ones that surfaced.

  Dex aside, the video was pretty damn creepy. The eeriest part was seeing movements and flickers in the shadows around me. Now, despite my interest in the paranormal, I never watched those ghost hunting shows on TV. Ironically, I am too chickenshit and my imagination is far too powerful. One show and I would be convinced I had a ghost in my house. But I knew enough that the only time you can really pick up ghosts on camera is when you see those little white “spirit orbs” and what have you.

  Well, that’s exactly what it looked like in one of my shots. It was as I was heading up the stairs following Dex. A white...shadow...flew up the dark walls and around the corner, as if it was trying to race me up the stairs.

  I shivered and immediately flicked on all the lights in my room. That part was definitely staying in the film.

  You see, the only thing I had to talk about that was even remotely interesting was what happened to me at the lighthouse. And with the video to play alongside it and back up everything that I wrote, I knew that it could actually be a worthwhile addition to Ada’s blog. A bit offbeat but attention-grabbing nonetheless. Worst-case scenario, it had her readers coming back to see what would happen next.

  I decided to break up my story into three different posts and schedule them so they would publish days apart. That way, by the time Ada felt better and was ready to blog again, my story would have been told with maximum impact.

  That night I busily worked away on my story, relaying my nightmares in fervent prose and capturing the jittery atmosphere as I approached the lighthouse. I ended the film part right at the moment where I kicked open the window and disappeared into the building.

  Despite feeling ill at ease as I remembered each instance of the lighthouse mission, I fell asleep that night with a smile on my face. I didn’t have any dreams.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I woke up the next morning to loud banging on the door. It sounded like something was going to break it down.

  I moaned and rolled over. It was ten a.m. I had already woken up at seven-thirty to call my boss and see if it was all right for me to work today. I had felt a lot better than yesterday, maybe not full of pep and beans, but then I let it slip that my sister was at home with the swine flu. I guess the flu paranoia had a hold over everyone because the conversation went from “Yes, come in” to “No bloody way. Stay at home until you know for sure you don’t have swine flu.”

  Well, I knew I didn’t have swine flu, but I can’t say I argued at all with her logic. Though it still didn’t reflect very well on me, this was their doing. Plus, I was lazy and the thought of Alana being stuck on the phones for an extra day made me cackle inside.

  “What?” I yelled at the pounding door, my morning voice cracking. “Can’t I sleep in? I’m sick. Maybe.”

  “Lemme in!” Ada yelled from outside.

  “Don’t come in, you sicko!” I sat up. I didn’t actually want to contract this infamous flu.

  “Perry, my blog, holy shit.”

  Aww crap. The night before returned to me. She was pissed off that I took her fashion bible for jealous tweens and turned it into the Ghost Whisperer. Sure, I had Jennifer Love Hewitt’s rack but not the rest of her body post–“I’m a size two” slim down. I sighed and crawled out of my warm bed, quickly slipping on my house robe.

  I walked over to the door and leaned against it. I could imagine her fiery expression behind the door.

  “I’m sorry, Ada. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Open the door!” She pounded on it hard and my head felt the impact.

  I supposed that because I probably ruined her career and her income, I deserved the swine flu.

  I opened it and took a few steps back, covering my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my robe.

  She stood before me looking wane and bony. Her eyes were flashing with brilliance (or anger), giving her the appearance of a mad woman with frazzled white hair, like Doc Brown’s granddaughter.

  “You are a genius!” she exclaimed.

  “Come again?”

  She waltzed into my room and over to the computer.

  “Um, please don’t touch anything,” I pleaded.

  “Oh, whatever,” she scowled and proceeded to run her hands all over my desk. I wondered if I had enough sanitizer in my drawer to eradicate her. She flipped my laptop open and immediately opened her blog post. Or should I say, my blog post.

  “Look!” She pointed at the screen.

  I edged closer and looked over. It looked the same as it had last night. I shrugged at her.

  “Have you seen the comments?” she asked incredulously.

  “Ada, I just got up.”

  She shook her head at my priorities and started scrolling down the screen to the comments section. She turned to look at me, utter shock and glee (and maybe a slight hint of admiration?) in her eyes.

  “Two hundred comments!”

  “Huh,” I mused. “That’s good, right?”

  “Good? I’ve never gotten that many before. I mean sure, lots of people look at my blog and all that shizz, but two hundred? From your post? The most I’ve ever gotten was a hundred and sixty, and that’s only because I was giving away a Chanel scarf.”

  “You gave away a Chanel scarf?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Perry. Focus! This is insane. And all because you made up this crazy ghost story.”

  I scoffed. “Made up? I didn’t make it up. That’s what happened on Saturday night when you were busy knocking boots with The Whiz.”

  Her nostrils flared. If she was standing, her hands would have gone straight to her hips.

  “First of all, I did not knock boots with him, and second of all, his real name is Mario.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Mario was not much better t
han Whiz.

  “Well,” I tried to explain, “if you had actually told me what went on that night instead of ignoring me, maybe I would know that instead of assuming the worst of you.”

  “I love how naturally you assume the worst of me. Whatever, it’s irrelevant.”

  “You’re irrelevant,” I countered. Poorly.

  “Good one. Anyway, you’re the one who ran off alone. Talk about being irresponsible.”

  “And, as you can now see, this is what I ended up doing. Exploring the lighthouse.”

  “And scaring the shit out of everyone.”

  “And myself. There was a lot of stuff that happened later that I can’t even begin to explain.”

  “OK, so write about it. Now! Look at these comments.” She started reading from them, “‘Can’t wait to hear what happens next, I’ve got goose bumps’ and ‘This totally got me in the Halloween mood’ and ‘Where’s the rest of it? I want to know what happens, this is scaring the bejesus out of me.’ Hardly anyone has even made a peep of condolence for my swine flu.”

  “Apparently they are too scared,” I offered.

  Ada nodded slowly. With her eyes were returning to a non-psychotic state, I could see how sick she really was.

  “Look, go back to bed. Get some rest. Work told me to stay home today so I’ll start writing the next part, OK?”

  She batted her red eyes at me. “Can you go around and visit the blogs of everyone who commented...make a nice comment in their comment section, something like ‘Thanks for the blog support while Ada is sick, please come back tomorrow for the second installment’?”

  “That’s like two hundred blogs!”

  “It’s what you do! No one said blogging was a cake hop.”

  Cake hop? She must have meant cake walk.

  She got up and shuffled to the door, turning once more to look at me. “Please?”

  I rolled my eyes and nodded reluctantly. What on earth had I gotten myself into?

  ***

  As it turns out, I had gotten myself into plenty. My life turned into a blur of writing, editing, posting, visiting blogs, and answering emails.

  So many people were interested in my experience, the majority of whom were emailing me solely to ask whether it was true or if it was a fake post. I had gotten so many of those inquiries that I decided to make an FAQ post on the blog where I could answer those kinds of questions.

  What was really interesting, though, was how the story seemed to take on a life of its own.

  The videos that I posted on the blog had to be uploaded to YouTube first before I could link them. YouTube was something of an afterthought. Little did I know that my videos, within days, had an average YouTube rating of four stars (which is pretty good), had at least sixty comments, and had thousands of viewer hits.

  I have to be honest, that thrilled me to the very core. I was never popular at anything, so to see so much approval and attention paid to something that I did, which featured me (and, well, this Dex person), was an amazing feeling.

  Sure, it was weird to find yourself an internet sensation—even if you couldn’t really make out that it was me in the video—but it was still flattering that so many people wanted to know what happened next, that people cared about this little experience I would have kept to myself like I had done so many times before.

  In the weirdest way, I was happy that I was actually doing something with my life. Writing the blog posts, reliving the experience, crafting the video until it was on par with any ghost story, and just revving my underused creative juices in general, made me feel like I had a purpose. Sounds stupid and superfluous, I know, but I couldn’t help feeling that way.

  Naturally, it was a real downer to have to go into work and face the reality of the rest of my life. I couldn’t stay home and blog forever. Eventually, the interest in my paranormal experiences would wane and the creative fever would subside and I would be back to answering phones for the rest of my life.

  Answering phones and barely able to concentrate on doing so. I could only think about the blog all morning. How many people visited in the last hour? How did they find me? What did they think? How many comments were there now?

  In the afternoon, my boss came out to see me. Earlier she had remarked that I looked a million times better and was glad that the rest did me some good, even though I noticed she was keeping a hypochondriac’s distance away.

  Now, though, there was something else on her mind. She stopped just behind me.

  “Hi,” I smiled up at her.

  “I’ve got to show you something.” Frida leaned over and opened Firefox on the computer. She clacked away in the URL bar until YouTube came up. My blood ran cold. I didn’t like where this was going.

  She entered “haunted lighthouse” in the search bar and up came my videos.

  “Is this you?” she asked, pointing at the screen. I felt like I was going to get in trouble if I said yes, even though I didn’t know what exactly for. But my YouTube user name (PerrySlayer) kind of gave it away.

  “Yeah,” I eked out slowly.

  “You’re kidding me. I saw this video posted in my Facebook feed at lunch, so I clicked it to see what the fuss was about. Damn if I didn’t know you were a ghost hunter.”

  She didn’t seem mad. She was acting different though. I couldn’t read the strange expression on her face.

  “Oh, I’m not a ghost hunter.” I laughed uneasily. “My sister is a blogger and she wanted me to write a few posts for her. This is what I came up with.”

  “But it’s all true, right?”

  “Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I don’t really know what happened but what you see is what I got.”

  “Perry, I must say I am impressed.”

  Oh. She was impressed. That’s the strange emotion she was trying to express.

  I shrugged. “Well, thanks. It was nothing really. Was actually kind of fun to write.”

  She leaned against my desk, arms and legs crossed and looked me up and down. “I mean it, Perry. I had no idea you were so web savvy. To capitalize on YouTube like that, get that video on Facebook, get a group started—”

  There was a group on Facebook?

  “—not to mention all the links back to your sister’s blog. Those are some good marketing strategies.”

  “Oh. Well I—”

  “Plus the writing. You’ve got a real knack for getting people to want more. Have you taken writing classes?”

  Was she kidding me? Did she not read over my resume when she hired me?

  “Yes, I have. In advertising school.” I raised my voice over the last few words.

  She mulled that over. “Oh, yes. Now I remember. You went to Oregon State.”

  “That’s what it says on my resume.”

  She nodded slowly, not getting it. She straightened up and clapped her hands together.

  “I have to tell you, Perry, this certainly helps your situation.”

  “Uh, what situation?”

  She cocked her head at me. She obviously thought she was keeping me up to speed on things around here. She did remember I had been gone for the last few days, right?

  “Can you fill me in to use the Pacific boardroom for next Monday at nine a.m.?” she asked, turning her attention to my Outlook calendar.

  What situation???

  “I would like to have a meeting between you, me and John,” she continued, “so we can plan on our next steps here.”

  John Danvers was the CEO of the company. If she wanted a meeting with him and me, this definitely meant I was in a “situation.”

  “Sorry if I seem to have missed something here, but what are these next steps about?”

  “Your job, sweetie,” she gave me a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “But you don’t have to worry as much anymore. Things should turn around now.”

  And with that, she left the reception area.

  What the hell was that all about? Don’t have to worry as much? Was I worried before? Things should turn around? I was in a si
tuation?

  Oh God, was I going to get fired? Suddenly it all started making sense. Maybe she sent me home on Monday so they could try out a few temps while I was gone and see if any of them were better than me. Maybe Alana wasn’t filling in for me after all. Only one way to find out.

  I dialed Alana’s extension.

  She picked up with a dry, “Yes?”

  “Hi, Alana. Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to thank you for taking over the phones while I was sick.”

  “I didn’t answer your phones,” she spat out, clearly insulted. “They hired a temp for that.”

  “Oh,” I replied as nonchalantly as possible.

  “Yes, someone who doesn’t suffer from ‘ghost’ disease.” And at that witty remark, she hung up.

  Very mature, Alana, I thought. It was safe to say now that everyone in the office knew about my newfound ghost fame.

  I just couldn’t believe they hired a temp while I was gone.

  Calm down, I told myself. Alana probably refused to do it and claimed she was overloaded with business card orders or something like that. A temp didn’t mean I was going to get fired.

  Unless the temp did such a good job that they realized what fools they were to keep a slacker like me on the payroll and were planning all week to let me go.

  Until today, of course, when my boss finally realized that I may actually be better suited to roles in the company other than answering phones and setting up meetings.

  It was funny how I suddenly cared about keeping my job. I dreamed about this opportunity for such a long time, to be free of this horrid place and nine-to-five utter boredom. But even on welfare, which wouldn’t be much, I knew I would have to get another job. And dealing with finding another job was beyond me. So as much as I hated it, I needed this job.

  There was that glimmer of hope on Monday, though. I started fantasizing. I know I said I didn’t want to stay in advertising, but it would be better than nothing. And who knows, I might actually be able to do something really cool with myself. Plus, my paycheck would be bigger and I would finally feel proud to answer the question “what do you do for a living?” without having to justify being a receptionist.

  Still, the uncertainty was nerve-wracking, and I was in a bit of a downer mood when I arrived home after work. The reality was coming in cold and hard. I tried to keep an optimistic outlook but the jaded part of me kept telling me to expect the worst.