Mikey’s jaw hardened. “I go by Michael now.”
Jen slung an arm around Mikey’s neck and affectionately pulled down his head to muss up his carefully coiffed blond hair. “You’ll always be Mikey to us. Right, Carlton?” she said to Patrick.
Patrick rolled his eyes. Jen’s predilection for insulting nicknames was one of her greatest flawsandcharms.
“Hello, boys!” Tiffany chirped, her golden ponytail swinging. She ran her gaze along the assembled company. “Is Freddy not coming?”
Patrick checked his phone. Cell service had dwindled to one bar and data had disappeared, as expected. A few local news headlines had popped up while they’d still had internet access. A six-car pile-up, a man found dead in an alley in downtown Fairvale, a celebrity accused of harassment. Patrick swiped the notifications away. They were here to escape the grim cruelty of the real world.
There were no messages from Freddy. “He’s probably mopping up at the theater.”
“You mean, trying to lure girls into his serial killer van,” Jen said.
Tiffany made a face. “I can’t believe the Mystery Machine hasn’t broken down yet.”
“The mystery is how he manages to pick up girls in it,” said Mikey.
“It’s called weed,” Jen deadpanned. “All right. Are we gonna get this party started or what? Come on, Patrick, let’s start the tour.”
Tiffany took Patrick’s arm, probably so she wouldn’t be alone with Jason. Patrick didn’t mind. He liked Tiffany, even though her flair for drama constantly put Jason through the wringer. She had a bigger heart than she let on. She’d joined the Jumpscare Society because of Jason, but had stuck around through their breakups. To pad out the extracurriculars on her college applications, she claimed, but Patrick knew it was also because she and Jen had rekindled their friendship. Next-door neighbors and grade-school besties, they’d drifted apart after Jen’s parents divorced. Patrick was gratified he’d brought them back together. The Jumpscare Society screenings on Tuesdays after school were the only place the head cheerleader and the scowling goth girl could hang out without disrupting Cedar Lake High’s strict social hierarchy.
He was glad he’d brought everyone back together this weekend.
Well, almost everyone.
He and Tiffany promenaded up the veranda steps, the others following. “I’m so excited!” she squealed, mirroring his own enthusiasm.
Patrick took the key ring from the pocket of his khakis and found the right key. He opened the door and turned on the light. They all crowded eagerly inside, making noises of appreciation.
“It’s even more like the movie than I remember,” Tiffany said, squeezing Patrick’s arm. The cabin was old and musty—Slasherhad been filmed in the 1980s, after all—but it was no less grand. A chandelier made of antlers hung from the exposed wooden beams that crisscrossed the main room’s high, peaked ceiling. A narrow wooden staircase led up to the bedrooms on the second floor, theelaborately carved posts of the balustrade visible from the long hallway.
Mikey gawked in wonder. Even Jason and cynical Jen had genuine smiles on their faces. “I can’t believe we’re here,” Patrick said, a grin stretching his lips.
He inhaled deeply and coughed. The pine-scented air freshener burned the back of his throat. It was probably hiding the scent of mildew. Patrick could see why the rental company had decided to tear the cabin down and rebuild closer to town. Tourists these days would expect Wi-Fi and air conditioning and an address easily found by food delivery apps. Not this isolated and aging abode.
It was surreal to be inside, let alone staying for the weekend. They’d never slept overnight as paying guests, only poked around as curious trespassing teens while Patrick fretted about getting into trouble. The Jumpscare Society was most familiar with the grounds, where they’d spent many nights after their Rialto performances around the fire pit by the lake. Drinking, smoking, goofing off, shooting the shit. Typical teen antics, which they would’ve never done together outside of the film club due to all the different cliques they normally ran with.
Jason’s mom worked at the office that handled the cabin bookings, so he could easily “borrow” the keys when it was vacant. The rental company and park rangers turned a blind eye, as long as the Jumpscare Society cleaned up after themselves. Everyone trusted straitlaced Patrick to keep his club in line, and Jason, Tiffany, and Carrie were the “good” kids at school. In return, Patrick and Jason had stocked the woodpile for guests.
Tiffany dragged Jen with her to scope out the bedrooms, leaving the boys to explore the wood-paneled living area. It was like stepping into a time capsule. The cabin had been decorated so it was identical to how it had appeared inSlasher.As was true with the Stanley Hotel, made famous byThe Shining,visitors were paying to experience a piece of movie history.
Patrick opened the windows, hoping to remove some of the stuffiness and dissipate the fake pine scent. The yellowing gauzy curtains billowed in the cross-breeze. Mikey ran his hand along the striped wool blanket thrown over the brown leather sofa. Faded videotapes ofSlasherand its two sequels, as well as the reboot,The Slasher,sat on top of a combo TV/VCR unit. Patrick couldn’t believe people used to watch TVs that small. His laptop had a larger screen. But he hadn’t brought everyone here to watch movies, even if it was a reunion of the Jumpscare Society.
A life-size cardboard standee of the Slasher stood beside the TV. Mikey posed beside it, throwing an arm around the checkered shoulders. He puckered his lips in a kiss toward the masked cheek as Patrick raised his phone and took a photo.
“Nice,” Patrick said, grinning.
Jason picked up the receiver of the beige rotary phone that sat on a table behind the sofa. “Wow. Our grandma had one of these when Mikey and I were kids. Does it even work?”
A dial tone droned faintly from the earpiece. Mikey crept up beside Jason and did an uncanny imitation of the Slasher’s gravelly catchphrase. “You’re all going to die tonight.”
Jason rounded his eyes and mouth in exaggerated horror, like Jordan Knox, the movie’s Final Girl, when she picks up the Slasher’s phone call. Patrick took Jason’s photo, laughing. It was good to see a flash of Jason’s old easygoing self again. “The calls are coming from inside the house!” Patrick cried in mock alarm.
Jason put down the receiver. “Nope. IfSlashertaught me one thing, it’s to never pick up the phone.”
He and Mikey moved on, reading the spines of well-worn paperbacks and classic board games on the bookcase. Patrick inspected a stereo system with an intimidating number of dials. There didn’t seem to be any place to plug in his phone. So much for the playlists he’d carefully curated for this weekend. At least there was a turntable and the shelves were stocked with vinyl records, though he suspected they were all old to complete the retro experience.
Patrick moved on to the kitchen and opened the heavy wooden cupboards—they really liked their wood back in the eighties—exposing an impressive collection of vintage Corelle and Corningware. The knife block was full, and he pulled out each knife and examined it. The knives were light and the handles made of cheap black plastic. Amateurish, but they’d do in a pinch. He couldn’t wait to get started.
