“Thanks,” he grumbles.
“Can I see it?” I ask, holding my hand out for the script.
Declan passes it to me with a sly grin but no comment. I step under one of the streetlights to scan the first page.
“Hmmm…this has potential, but you need to grab them from the beginning. Especially since it’s chilly and everyone will be shivering.”
“And your suggestion is…” Lucy asks.
I clear my throat dramatically and summon my best spooky narrator voice. “Welcome, weary travelers, to the shadowed streets of Crowsbridge Hollow—a quaint little upstate New York town where the Christmas lights flicker with holiday cheerandthe whispers of the damned. On a bone-chilling December night, the unthinkable happened at Hollow Hill Sanitarium. One moment, the halls echoed with the muffled cries of the afflicted and the stern orders of the staff. The next...silence. Every patient, every doctor, every nurse—vanished without a trace. No bodies. No clues. Just empty beds, flickering lights, and doors swinging in the winter wind…”
“Wooo.” Lucy wiggles her fingers in the air. “Spooky.”
I hand the script back to Declan. “It’s still close to what Baxter wrote but a little more?—”
“Chilling?” Lucy offers.
“I like it.” Declan holds out his hand. “Pen?”
The corner of my mouth tilts up as I scrounge around in my bag for my favorite purple ballpoint and hand it over. “It’s purple.”
“He’s manly enough for purple pens,” Lucy assures me.
Declan casts a side-eye her way but doesn’t comment. He scribbles a few notes, then flips the page. “I have to keep the story tied to where the ride will slow down for the actors to jump out at key locations,” he murmurs. “But this is a better start.”
Pride thrums through me. It’s just a silly story but I’m pleased I could help Declan.
“We’re going to be late,” Lucy says.
We hurry along the sidewalk. Most of the shops are closed with signs about the festival on the doors. The fudge shop andcoffee house are both open with bright, inviting lights spilling onto the sidewalk.
“Smart,” I say as we pass. “It’s chilly, people will need food and warm drinks.”
We cross the next street, then turn right. Men in orange vests stand in front of wooden blockades at both ends of the library’s parking lot. Cars are lined up down the street, waiting for them to open.
Declan lifts his hand and waves. “Hey, Charlie. Mr. Baxter back there?” He points to the parking lot.
“Yup. He’s been asking about you every five minutes.” The man nods to the line of cars. “We’re sold out tonight.”
“Great,” Declan says without much enthusiasm.
Lucy snickers into her gloved hand.
“Wait.” I stop and open my bag, digging around for my camera. “I need to get a few shots of this. Go on, I’ll find you.”
“No, I’ll wait. Go ahead.” Declan plants himself right by my side.
“I’ll run ahead and let Baxter know you’re here, so he doesn’t send out a search party,” Lucy offers.
Anxious with Declan watching me and knowing he’s supposed to be somewhere else, my hands shake as I handle the camera.
“Emery, it’s fine. Take your time,” he says in a soothing tone.
I don’t bother with a voice over, just a quick note of what I’m shooting, panning to get the long line of cars and the library in all of its spooky glory.
“Perfect.” I tuck my camera away. “Thank you.”
“You’re not allowed to film on the ride,” he says. “I probably should’ve mentioned that sooner.”
