“It’s a classic family haunted house movie. Very respectable.” Felix dumped popcorn into a bowl. “Now, get comfortable. Gerald has strong opinions about seating arrangements.”
Somehow, through a combination of Felix’s orchestration and Gerald’s insistent cooing, Ramona and Zara ended up on the couch together. Not touching, but close enough that Ramona was hyperaware of every shift in Zara’s position.
Kashvi arrived with enough candy to supply a small army. Posey emerged from the kitchen with brownies that smelled like heaven. They arranged themselves around the living room — Kashvi and Posey on the floor with cushions, Felix in the armchair with Gerald settling onto the armrest like a tiny feathered gargoyle.
The movie started.
Within ten minutes, Zara was frowning at the screen. “Why would they buy a house that’s clearly malevolent?”
“Because it’s cheap,” Felix said through a mouthful of popcorn.
“That’s not a valid reason. The structural damage alone would cost more than?—”
“Shh,” Kashvi hissed. “Scary part.”
Zara watched the family explore the creepy basement with growing consternation. When they inevitably split up, she made a sound of disgust. “That’s tactically unsound,” she muttered.
Ramona bit back a smile. “It’s a horror movie. They always split up.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise the movie would be twenty minutes long,” Felix joked.
“That would be an improvement,” Zara muttered so only Ramona could hear.
On screen, something jumped out. Kashvi screamed. Posey threw popcorn at the TV. Felix was cackling with delight.
Zara leaned closer to Ramona. “Is that supposed to be frightening?”
“For most people, yes.”
“It’s just poor planning. If they had stayed together and brought adequate lighting?—”
“You’re thinking about this too hard.”
“I’m thinking about it the correct amount.” But Zara was smiling now, just slightly. “This is absurd.”
Another jump scare. This time Ramona flinched, and suddenly Zara’s hand was on her arm, steadying, protective.
“It’s not real,” Zara said quietly.
“I know that.”
Zara moved her hand away, but Ramona could still feel the warmth of where her touch had been.
Gerald chose that moment to hop down from the armrest and waddle across the room. He climbed onto the couch with surprising agility and settled directly on Zara’s shoulder, as if claiming his rightful perch.
“Oh, of course,” Felix said. “Gerald’s picking his favorite again.”
“He has excellent taste,” Zara replied, reaching up to gently stroke Gerald’s head. The pigeon cooed contentedly.
The movie continued. Ramona found herself explaining horror movie logic — why characters always investigate strange noises, why they never just leave, why the phone always dies at the worst moment. Zara asked genuine questions, trying to understand the internal consistency of a genre built on people making terrible decisions.
“So, the entire plot depends on no one acting rationally?”
“Essentially, yes.”
“That’s terrible storytelling.” Zara shook her head, but she was leaning closer, watching the TV with a riveted gaze.
