Chapter 7 Jen
Jen
A power outage during a thunderstorm at the Slasher cabin couldn’t be more perfect for Jen.
It was like Mary Shelley and her friends holed up at that gloomy castle while she wrote Frankenstein.
The perfect vibes for drinking too much, telling ghost stories and getting laid.
Jen would send off this chapter of her life with the gothic fanfare it deserved.
Too bad she wouldn’t be getting any action, since neither Tiff nor Carrie were into girls.
The jury was still out on the others, though.
She’d noticed how stiffly Jason and Patrick stood beside each other, like they were each trying very hard not to be drawn in by the other’s gravitational pull.
Those two needed to kiss already. Jason and Tiffany might’ve been perfect together on paper, but there’d always been something behind Jason’s eyes that made Jen suspect the wholesome football hero persona was all an act.
Yes, the stage had been set for the perfect wild dark and stormy night. But when the phone started to ring—
Goose bumps. Literal goose bumps rising on Jen’s arms. Her pulse began to pound like she was trying to slip out of some girl’s apartment at dawn without waking her up.
Hopes for a sexy gothic hangout fled her rational brain, and all she could think was that the creepy stranger she’d seen across the lake was calling.
The phone was one of those clunky old rotary beasts with the shrill ring that pierced your eardrums and shook your teeth.
Her grandmother had owned a phone like that when Jen was little.
It had scared the shit out of her then, and she hated to admit it freaked her out now.
It was a sound that was very, very wrong, even if they were balls-deep in eighties nostalgia.
“Who’s got this number? Did any of you give out this number?” Freddy looked wildly from face to face.
Everyone shook their heads, Jen included. Her pulse clambered to new heights. She should’ve never shared Freddy’s joint, because his paranoia was catching.
Patrick pointed his flashlight at the phone, as if the illumination would reveal who was calling. The fucking rental company. Couldn’t they have put a normal cordless phone with caller ID in this cabin?
“It’s probably someone at the rental office, checking if we’re okay in the storm,” Patrick said, although he sounded doubtful. Something sharp sliced through Jen and she realized it was fear. If control-freak Patrick was uncertain, things couldn’t be good.
“It’s after dark. The rental office is closed,” Jason said. He would know, since his mom worked there.
The phone continued to ring with a rattling screech that Jen felt all the way in her rib cage. The noise was like an old-fashioned fire bell, warning of impending danger. “Is someone gonna get that?” she demanded, hiding her anxiety with irritation. “Someone clearly wants us to pick—”
Carrie snatched up the receiver. Patrick kept the flashlight trained on the phone, and Jen’s breath caught. Under the soft lighting, the chunky plastic handset at her ear, Carrie looked exactly like Final Girl Jordan Knox when the Slasher calls the cabin to taunt her and her friends.
Jen thought she was hallucinating that scene from the movie when a low, gravelly voice grated from the earpiece, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“You’re all going to die tonight.”
Jen’s heart leaped into her mouth. Carrie slammed the receiver back in the cradle.
Maybe it was the voice, or maybe it was the discordant jangle of the phone, but Mikey stumbled in surprise and fell backward on his ass.
No one helped him up, not even Jason. They were too busy staring at the phone, talking at once.
“What the fuck was that?” Jen said.
“I told you, man! It’s the Slasher!” Freddy clung to Tiffany, who was holding him just as tightly.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Tiffany said.
“Relax, guys. It’s just some kids pranking us.” Jason’s reasonable voice rose confidently above the others. It was probably the same voice he used to deliver gameplay strategies to his teammates, and for a moment Jen actually believed him.
Until Carrie spoke.
“That’s what Derek says in Slasher,” she said, shakily, “before he and Cindy go into the woods and get killed.”
They all fell silent. Jen knew it was stupid.
Slasher was only a movie, a low-budget eighties film full of campy special effects and campier acting.
And yet, with the drumbeat of rain and thunder and the cabin’s darkened interior, she felt like they were inside the movie.
A movie where everyone dies, at the hands of an unstoppable killer driven by a compulsion outside of their control.
Well, almost everyone. Patrick picked up the flashlight and, likely by reflex, pointed it in Carrie’s direction again as if he was back at the Rialto shining a spotlight on her as Jordan Knox.
Carrie’s eyes were wide and her bare shoulders made her look young and innocent.
Even more young and innocent than usual.
The Final Girl.
Jen’s irritation flared like a lit match, and she seized that feeling and fanned the flame.
Anger was preferable to fear. It had always pissed her off that only good girls survived horror movies.
In real life, good girls were shy little bookworms like Saint Carrie, who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Bad girls like Jen—or in Slasher, rock chick Heather—would be more likely to fight back and draw just as much blood as their attacker.
Jen had always believed she would make a much better Final Girl than Carrie. She stretched to her full height and lifted her chin. “Fuck this. Call the police, Carrie.”
Carrie picked up the receiver. “It’s dead!”
“What?” Mikey said, hauling himself to his feet. “It just rang.”
Carrie shook her head, panic sharpening her delicate features. “There’s no dial tone.”
“That’s not possible.” Jason grabbed the handset from her. Carrie’s eyes were very dark and round as she gazed at his face. Jen wondered if she was truly over him. Probably not. Good girls pined. Their pure hearts loved too much, too hard. Which was why Jen normally avoided them like the plague.
Jason jiggled the buttons—or whatever those pegs on the top of the phone were called—like they did in old movies. “I don’t understand.”
“The storm?” Mikey asked.
“Yeah. Probably.” Jason replaced the receiver. “Okay—”
Mikey interrupted him. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.” How cute. Pipsqueak was stealing the leadership role from Jason to prove he was a big man.
“Get the fuck outta here?” Freddy said hopefully. Jen was glad he’d said it, and not her.
Mikey nodded firmly. “Yeah.”
“We don’t have to go.” Patrick’s face fell and the flashlight drooped in his hand. Mikey might as well have announced that Christmas was canceled. “It’s only a power outage. We can still have fun! We’ve got lots of food and beer. And board games!”
Jen couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Yay, board games. Are we gonna play strip Monopoly?”
“Come on. Freddy saw a random fan, and Tiffany got caught in seaweed. Carrie’s ex is probably miles away, and anyway, she said he’s not violent,” Patrick said.
“And the phone call?” Tiffany demanded.
“Like Jason said, a prank. Didn’t you recognize the voice?
It was a sound clip from the movie. This is the Slasher cabin.
Of course some local kids are going to think it’s a brilliant idea to crank call.
Hell, it could even be part of the cabin experience.
Maybe the rental company set it up to make it truly authentic.
” Patrick gestured at Mikey. “You’re working at the mayor’s office.
You must know how easy it is to set up a robocall. ”
Mikey nodded, his lips pressed together with concern.
“The storm will blow over and the power will go back on. Trust me,” said Patrick.
What Patrick said made perfect sense. yet Jen’s gut disagreed. It told her to get out of here. To escape to someplace dry with lots of lights and people.
“I’d feel better if we left.” Carrie hugged herself and stared at the phone. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
Jen found herself nodding in agreement. If the Final Girl was worried about something, then something must be wrong.
Fuck. She’d watched too many slasher movies.
“Then we’ll go,” Mikey announced.
Carrie still looked worried, and Jason gently squeezed her arm.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.
Jen wasn’t fooled by the gesture of affection.
Jason was being extra nice in that cringy way people are when they want to let you down easy.
Jen never had that problem, of course. She believed in ripping off the Band-Aid. It was kinder not to give anyone hope.
Carrie blinked owlishly, as if a guy had never touched her before.
It suddenly struck Jen that maybe she was disturbed by Jason’s touch because her ex-boyfriend had been worse than she’d let on.
Jen felt a sudden rush of sympathy—and trepidation.
Tiffany, however, looked ready to spit broken glass. Cheerleader Barbie wanted her Ken back.
“We should take a vote,” Patrick said.
“Who wants to get the fuck out of Dodge?” Freddy said.
Everyone put up their hand except Patrick. And Jen. She was still warring with herself. It didn’t make sense to be afraid of the kind of spooky atmosphere she normally loved. To feel anxious about disregarding the Final Girl’s warning. To let old movie tropes influence her choices.
Yet the voice at the back of her head screamed for her to leave.
“Jen?” Patrick said hopefully. “What’s your vote?”
“It’s still a majority without her,” said Tiffany.