“Get her down from there before you kill her,” Ed demanded.
Warren and Nick hurried toward Scarlette, both carrying a large ladder, which they quickly scaled. Nick unhooked Scarlette’s safety harness, and Warren helped her onto his ladder, her knees shaking and face as white as a ghost.
When her feet touched the floor, cheers erupted around the room. I blew out the breath I’d been holding.
“Everyone, take your morning break while the crew gets this shit fixed,” Ed hollered over the chaos from the front of the room. “And don’t forget to put your props back. The prop designer is tired of being asked to remake them because they’ve gone missing.”
A Guilty Conscience
Thecrewworkedonthe malfunctioning set, muttering quietly amongst themselves about cursed theater productions. Whispers of Cheryl’s death inciting the wrath of something sinister made my stomach twist, anxiety weaving through my intestines at the thought that I’d accidentally unleashed something ominous by getting rid of her.
I hadn’t meant to curse the entire production. Cheryl’s death was supposed to make things run more smoothly. I needed this show to be a hit.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I glanced behind me, searching for the gaze that I felt boring into my back, but there was no one there. A chill slithered across my skin, pulling up goosebumps, and I rubbed at my arms to wipe away the evidence.
I needed to pull it together. No one was watching me. And there was no way I’d incurred a curse by ridding this production of a narcissistic actress who thought she’d been God’s gift to Broadway.
The sweet smell of perfume wafted through the air, and I gagged, the lead weight of dread pressing against my chest.
Why could I still smell her here?
My heart pounded as I rushed out of the rehearsal studio, running from the shade that had begun preying on my guilty conscience.
Don't Be A Pussy
Ben
Ben: Eve’s avoiding me. I need something to take my mind off her. Who wants to come watch the baseball game at my place tomorrow?
Nora: Count me in.
Jack: You know you added Eve to this group chat, right?
Ben: *eggplant emoji*
Jack: Are you calling me a dick? Or...?
Olivia: We’ll be there. What do you want us to bring?
Ben: Neither of you can cook so... yourselves?
Jack: Tosser.
Olivia: We’ll bring stuff to make margaritas. No cooking involved. :P
David: I’ll be there! I can bake brownies or something.
Nora: Um, I can’t cook either... Chips and salsa?
Ben: I guess I’ll make tacos. You can’t have chips and salsa and margaritas without having tacos too.
Olivia: Eve should make the tacos. Hers are the best.
Ben: I agree. Eve’s *taco emoji* is the best. I could devour Eve’s *taco emoji* all day long.
Jack: Why do I feel like you’re making this into a euphemism?
Nora: Ew.
