Chapter 2
As the days passed without a word from Holly or her lawyer—no cease and desist, no threats—I started to think maybe we were in the clear.
Probably because I'd already gone into damage control mode, groveling like a politician's assistant caught in a scandal.
I assured them we wouldn't include Holly's reaction to the photo in the final cut, apologized profusely, and then pivoted to our next episode's subject—which was, embarrassingly, no one.
The podcast is on its typical break, seeing that the holidays are approaching.
Usually, we have a list of guests lined up, episodes scheduled months in advance.
This time, though, we're completely adrift.
Ever since we got sued for defamation three months ago, we've been walking on eggshells, terrified of screwing up again.
Correction—Sabrina doesn't seem to care whatsoever, because I'm always around to clean up her mess.
Maybe that's why I can't let go of the grudge I'm holding against her, for putting everything we built at risk.
It wasn't always like this. The cracks in our friendship didn't start with the lawsuit.
They've been forming for a long time—hairline fractures spreading wider under the pressure of staying relevant, staying seen.
You'd think after all the drama and stardom going to her head, I would've quit by now.
But being Sabrina's personal assistant for the last four years has locked me into a stable role I never saw coming.
I'm not trained in podcasting or editing; that's Phoebe's realm.
I manage Sabrina's calendar, book her travel, pay her bills, send birthday cards to her nieces and nephews, even schedule her pap smears.
If it's messy, personal, or stressful, it's my problem.
I know all her dirty secrets and she knows mine—well, most of them.
When Maske of Sanity first took off, it was thrilling.
We were nobodies chasing something big, telling deep-dive survival stories, interviewing people who lived through the unimaginable, and sometimes, when we were lucky, the people who caused it.
Sabrina's girl-next-door vibe—blonde, bubbly, disarmingly clueless at times—made her an audience favorite.
Phoebe and I stayed in the background, doing the grunt work while she soaked up the spotlight. It worked, until it didn't.
Lately, everything's changed. Ever since Sabrina wrongly accused someone of murder mid-episode, our list of potential guests dried up overnight.
Now, most of the people we actually want to talk to aren't answering our calls.
Honestly, I'm shocked Holly didn't back out after the scandal broke, but she'd signed her contract months ago.
Breaking it would've meant legal and financial fallout neither of us could afford.
Maybe it's the holidays and "the most wonderful time of the year" doesn't exactly make people eager to relive their brush with death, but the slump feels deeper than that. Maske of Sanity might still be a top podcast in the U.S., but behind the scenes, we're barely holding it together.
Our "studio" is a joke—a cramped apartment with a living room pretending to be an office, a shoebox kitchen, and a bathroom you can't turn around in.
But it's L.A.—you learn to fake it. Phoebe handles sound engineering, editing, and final cuts.
I manage the disasters. Sabrina smiles for the fans and keeps living the influencer dream.
The rhythm's simple—a live show every other Friday, breaking down insane true crime headlines, and one polished, heavily-produced interview episode a month.
Right now, though, we're in limbo, waiting to see if Holly's episode will save us or sink us for good.
It's the only episode we have locked in for 2026.
When I open the door to the studio and find Phoebe hunched over her laptop, deep into editing Holly's interview instead of battling the Black Friday crowds, I can't help but laugh.
"You know we weren't planning on releasing that until the new year. Why are you working on it now?" I set down my messenger bag and grab a drink from the fridge.
"I know, I just wanted to get it out of the way since I probably won't be mixing or working on anything for a while." Phoebe sips from an obnoxiously large coffee mug, the messiest topknot of thick dark hair shifting slightly with the movement. "What are you doing here?"
"I brought some decorations. Sabrina loves Christmas, so I figured I'd make this place merry and bright."
After an hour of decking the halls, Phoebe speaks up. "Sabrina needs to stop saying 'um' and 'like' so much. Do you have any idea how much work it is to edit those out and cut to Holly so the viewers don't realize how inarticulate Sabrina can be at times?"
"I remind her before every recording to be more aware of it. When do you think the episode will be ready?"
"I'm taking my time with this one, making sure they can't come at us for anything. I might be able to include her reaction to the photo in a respectful way. But in Sabrina's defense, everyone's seen it. Reddit and X picked up the photo the second it was leaked."
"True, but considering what she went through, we should've done the bare minimum and not shown it, for her mental well-being. I'm terrified her story will be the last one we get to share."
"What's up, bitches?" Sabrina bursts into the studio, venti Starbucks cup in hand, practically kicking the door down.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, slightly annoyed Phoebe and I don't have this rare moment to catch up without Sabrina changing the topic to something selfish.
"I saw your location and figured I'd stop by to see what's up. I also have a fantastic idea."
"Thanks for the reminder. I need to turn that off," Phoebe says, barely looking up from the computer.
We only shared our locations to protect our safety due to a crazed fan taking his obsession with the podcast a little too far. Once, he followed Sabrina around for an entire day before she even noticed. See? Airhead.
"Feeling a little excluded?" I tease, knowing Sabrina always gets FOMO. It's hard to be a tripod friendship without someone occasionally feeling like the third wheel.
"Not even close," she lies, unbothered. "But I thought this would be the perfect time to announce our next episode idea. It's a little different from our usual ones, but I think it'll be a massive hit."
"We're all ears." Phoebe finally gives her full attention, and we stand side by side, faking enthusiasm.
"Okay, I'm sure you all remember what happened in Frosthaven Falls nearly a year ago?"
"With Romee Anderson? The cabin deaths?" I start, my blood pressure already rising. "Of course, everyone remembers."
"Yes, and naturally, our requests for an official statement or interview went unanswered by everyone involved. Right?"
"Right," I confirm.
"But I did some digging, and the cabin is still standing. They didn't tear it down! It's sitting there, completely abandoned."
Phoebe and I exchange a look, unsure where she's going with this.
"Do you want to buy it or something?" Phoebe asks.
"Hell no. I want to go there, Frosthaven Falls, and interview the people living there. I want to spend Christmas Eve night in the cabin, exactly one year after the killings took place."
"Christmas Eve night?" My muscles tense up and I tell myself to relax, take a deep breath and shake this dreadful feeling off. I mentally tally all the Christmas plans I don't have, but spending it in a place where people were murdered doesn't seem very festive.
"It's probably boarded up or just left to rot on that abandoned street. Think about it. We could be the first ones to step inside and see the aftermath."
"What makes you think the Frosthaven Falls residents will even talk to us?
" I'm going to do my best to talk Sabrina out of this absurd idea.
But once she gets a fire up her ass, it's hard to extinguish.
"They'd probably be less inclined to open up to us and our podcast. Plus, we're not exactly documentary-style. "
"This could end up being a huge waste of our time," Phoebe adds.
Thank you, Phoebe!
"Doesn't the appeal of what happened there sound even a bit intriguing? Mara?"
Sabrina looks at me and I feel put on the spot, as always.
"What about Christmas?" is all I can muster up.
"Mara, your dad can spend it with your brother. Phoebe, I'm sure Aiden would forgive you for missing it, and my family always understands work comes first."
The last sentence resembles a dig, like if Aiden truly doesn't support his girlfriend, he wouldn't let her go. Typical Sabrina.
"Frosthaven Falls is like ten hours away…" I counter, and I sound weak, even to myself.
"Would we drive? Fly?" Phoebe asks.
I calculate airfare versus gas prices, wondering which option is least expensive. Being stuck in a car for that long would be grueling. But still, this sounds like a horrible, horrible idea, regardless.
"Think about it. Please?" Sabrina begs.
"We'd need to find a motel or something nearby if this is even remotely possible." Phoebe looks at me like she regrets even suggesting it.
I bring out the big guns. "You think breaking and entering should be added to our list of offenses?" I soften my tone, trying not to sound too harsh. "Remember, we're not exactly angels right now."
"The town's so small, barely two thousand people," Sabrina offers, trying to smooth things over. "We could stay a few nights, check it out on Christmas Eve, then make it home for Christmas dinner."
"Have you ever even seen snow?" I ask Sabrina.
She's spent her whole life in Los Angeles where winter barely registers.
"It's not like sunny L.A., where December means fifty-degree temps and a little wind.
It's real winter up there. Freezing cold, snow piling up, trapped inside for days. Do you even own winter gear?"
Sabrina shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm sure I could get some snow clothes sponsored before we leave." Her eyes gleam with excitement. "How insane would it be to step over the threshold and see what's left? I bet there's still blood on the floors."
"It would make for an interesting video," Phoebe concedes. I can see the wheels turning in her head. She's in. This would be something completely different for her—a new challenge to tackle, something more engaging than the usual content where two people sit in front of microphones.
I push aside the uneasy feeling nagging at me, as if telling me a trip to Frosthaven Falls will only end in bloodshed. "Let me think about it."