9. Scary Movie #2
I feel a hot flash and a heavy, liquid throb that forces me to cross my legs. I grab my glass and take another heavy gulp of Pinot.
"You know what the best part of horror movies is?" Carolina exclaims, sitting up cross-legged and gesturing with the glass in her hand. "Survival sex. Shower sex. Fear sex..."
I nearly choke on my wine for the second time tonight.
"I'm serious!" she continues, fired up. "Think about it. You're locked in an isolated place. There's adrenaline, there's fear, there's the dark. Your senses are heightened. Your body goes into fight-or-flight mode, your blood is pumping like crazy, and bam... your hormones explode!
It's pure physiology."
She takes a sip and winks at me. "I'm just saying, Haunted Spurs is going to be a hell of a good time. Add the paranormal, the pitch black, and us locked in there with those cowboys. It's going to be a total free-for-all. In a good way, obviously."
Panic grips my throat.
Holy God. If a stupid plastic mask in a movie is enough to get my panties wet, how the fuck am I going to survive being locked in a house with Ron?
You could have some fun...
My little inner voice whispers.
I try to shut it up. I shove a handful of popcorn into my mouth, and before I even realize what I'm doing, I already have my phone in my hand.
Me: I'm watching a slasher movie. For the record, the killer's mask is definitely less ridiculous than the one you had on the other day.
I hit send. I bite my lower lip, my heart hammering against my ribs as I stare at the screen.
Why did I text him? I have NEVER texted him first before now.
Not even a minute goes by before the three little typing dots appear.
New-cowboy: Ah. Thinking about me on a Friday night, Queen of Darkness? I'm flattered.
Me: I was merely making an objective observation on stage costumes.
New-cowboy: Sure. And for the record, my mask was a masterpiece of terror.
New-cowboy: Plus, I'd bet my ranch that your on-screen killer doesn't have my abs. Or my dimple.
I snort a silent laugh through my nose. The sheer arrogance of this man is astounding.
Me: My on-screen killer has one massive quality that you don't: he knows how to stay absolutely silent.
New-cowboy: Hmm. You're wrong.
New-cowboy: I can think of a couple occasions where I could be absolutely silent. I bet you can think of them, too...
My breath catches in my throat.
My brain, already hopelessly ruined, projects a crystal-clear image.
I see him on his knees, his hands holding my hips down, his face buried between my thighs.
I imagine him feasting on me in the dark, with a dedication so carnal, attentive, and ruthless that it doesn't even leave him with enough breath to utter a single fucking syllable.
God... I could pass out right here, right now.
"Selene?"
I jump, nearly throwing my phone into the air.
I snap my head up. Indya and Carolina are staring at me.
"Do you have something you want to share with the class?" Carolina probes, her eyes shining with pure, lethal female curiosity.
"N-no," I stammer, hastily clearing my throat and trying to reinstate my icy shield of apathy.
"Hmm..." Indya murmurs, tilting her head with a sly smirk. "And yet it seems to me like you just went from a classic Wednesday Addams pale to... a blushing, prudish maiden."
I roll my eyes as hard as humanly possible, praying the darkness of the living room hides the level of damage on my face. "The... wine," I lie shamelessly.
Me: Yeah, I can think of a long list of ways I could shut you up. Like gagged, for instance.
New-cowboy: And you know what else is long??
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I scream internally, a cry that is equal parts desperation and pure hormonal hysteria. My mind shatters as I remember his considerable size. He was so... long, thick, veiny.
Definitely different from my ex's pathetic little dick.
Me: Has that one ever worked on anyone?
New-cowboy: I save them all for you, so again, you tell me.
Me: Ahh... how lucky am I.
I lock the screen with a sharp click and press the phone to my chest. I bite my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting desperately to hold back a completely dopey smile, while the killer on the TV screen claims his umpteenth bloody victim.
A blatantly fake cough breaks the atmosphere.
My blood runs cold. My eyes go wide, suddenly hyper-aware of the unnatural silence that has fallen within a three-foot radius of me. I turn around slowly.
And to my utter horror, I realize that my new nosy friends have all clustered together right behind my back, shamelessly snooping on my business.
"Okay..." Carolina starts, her voice dripping with pure, diabolical triumph. "Now that we've established we were spectacularly right, we want the details. Go on."
She crosses her arms under her chest with a satisfied smirk. A vigorous move that pushes her perfectly done fake boobs up, stretching the "Go ahead, stare at my boobs" text on her t-shirt.
HAUNTED SPURS – OFFICIAL INTRO VIDEOS
(Premiering nationwide across the network. Best experienced with the volume cranked up and the lights off.)
LEVI & EMMA
[VIDEO]
Black screen. An amplified heartbeat, then the iconic, sharp bassline of Smooth Criminal tears through the silence.
A white spotlight pierces the darkness. Levi slides into frame with a flawless moonwalk.
He’s wearing his fire-resistant turnout pants and heavy turnout coat, but he moves with unnatural lightness, snapping into place and leaning forward in a perfect, gravity-defying tilt.
From the shadows behind him, Emma emerges. She steps up beside him, and they punch the air in perfect sync with the drumbeat.
The music distorts brutally. The beat bleeds into the creeping, dark synths of Thriller.
The set lighting short-circuits. It flashes green, alternating with blood-red strobes. The vibe instantly turns horror, deeply unsettling.
With a violent yank, Levi tears off his turnout coat and lets it drop. He’s completely shirtless, his flexed muscles gleaming under the strobe lights.
The choreography shifts. The movements become jerky, zombified, agonizing. Levi drops into an aggressive slide, ending flat on his back with his chest heaving. Emma, wearing a bone-chilling expression, stalks toward him, straddling his bare chest.
They freeze for the camera.
"We're ready for the show," they say in unison, their voices flat and blood-curdling.
[CONFESSIONAL]
Emma twists the hem of her cardigan, her eyes wide and her shoulders hunched. "I... I'm terrified of horror movies, to be honest. I have no idea how I'm going to do this," she stammers, visibly and genuinely panicked.
Levi, sitting next to her, turns. He looks at her with infinite tenderness, winks, and wraps an arm around her, pulling her tight against his chest. "I've got you."
CAROLINA & INDYA
[VIDEO]
Pure adrenaline. An electronic beat pumped to the max. Frantic, party-music-video style editing.
The camera shakes, tracking Indya on horseback. She's flying at breakneck speed in a barrel race, leaning around the barrels with insane agility. The announcer's voice blares over the loudspeakers: "She's so fast it's almost supernatural!"
Smash cut. On the arena rail, Carolina is pure, bubbling energy. She's jumping, waving her arms, and cheering her friend on at the top of her lungs. She's wearing a tiny, wet white t-shirt with COWBOY PILLOW plastered across her chest.
The camera punches in for a distorted, fish-eye close-up.
The lighting is club-style neon purple. Carolina and Indya are pressed against each other, sweaty, wild.
Indya pops the cap off a beer. The foam bubbles over.
Carolina tilts her head, catches the foam with her tongue, and licks all the way up the glass neck of the bottle, holding dead-on eye contact with the lens.
Flashing neon fuchsia graphics pop up: Cowboys?
[CONFESSIONAL]
"Why are we here?" Carolina kicks off with a dazzling smile.
"For the fun of it, obviously!" Indya shoots back, clapping her hands.
Carolina bumps shoulders with her best friend, winking provocatively at the camera. "And, obviously... we fully intend to go for a ride..."
They both burst into booming laughter, collapsing into each other.
SELENE & RON
[VIDEO]
Heavy shadows. A room lit only by the moon. Selene is sitting, dressed in black, her sharp, gorgeous profile illuminated. Her fingers rhythmically strike the keys of an antique typewriter. Clack, clack, clack.
Her voiceover is a low, velvety, haunting whisper: "There are so many stories hidden in the shadows."
FLASH. Red LED light. Ron is sprawled on the bed. His abs are a grid of flexed muscle, and his face is completely blacked out by the terrifying, inhuman white Scream mask.
FLASH. The click of a camera shutter. Ron points a camcorder lens dead at the viewer.
FLASH. Ron, shirtless. His dark Stetson is pulled low over his eyes, a lopsided grin on his face promising absolute hell.
A thick curtain of smoke fills the screen. When it clears, Selene stares down the barrel of the lens with magnetic eyes, delicately dragging the petal of a black rose across her dark lips.
[CONFESSIONAL]
Studio lighting.
Selene sits perfectly composed, visibly stiff, uncomfortable, her arms crossed. She eyes the camera sideways. "I... am here looking for inspiration for my next book."
Beside her, Ron is the picture of ease. He sits with his legs spread wide, relaxed, spinning his camcorder in his hands. "I'm thrilled about this whole idea and..." he lifts the camcorder, shooting a wicked wink straight at the camera operator, "...I'm here to shoot a documentary."
JOSH & LIZZIE
[VIDEO]
The sharp scrape of skate blades carving into ice.
Josh Roy, NHL captain, rotates his torso and slaps a hockey puck with devastating power. The ice sprays toward the lens, shattering the frame.
With a fluid transition, the ice crystals pulverize in mid-air, morphing into a cloud of dry dirt.
The footage flickers, like an old film reel.
Lizzie emerges from the dust, tipping the brim of her cowgirl hat down with her index finger.
She has the look of someone who has never lost a game in her entire life.