Slasher Summer(21)

Well, almost everyone. Patrick picked up the flashlight and, likely by reflex, pointed it in Carrie’s direction again as if he was back at the Rialto shining a spotlight on her as Jordan Knox. Carrie’s eyes were wide and her bare shoulders made her look young and innocent. Even more young and innocent than usual.

The Final Girl.

Jen’s irritation flared like a lit match, and she seized that feeling and fanned the flame. Anger was preferable to fear. It had always pissed her off that only good girls survived horror movies. In real life, good girls were shy little bookworms like Saint Carrie, who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Bad girls like Jen—or in Slasher, rock chick Heather—would be more likely to fight back and draw just as much blood as their attacker.

Jen had always believed she would make a much better Final Girl than Carrie. She stretched to her full height and lifted her chin. “Fuck this. Call the police, Carrie.”

Carrie picked up the receiver. “It’s dead!”

“What?” Mikey said, hauling himself to his feet. “It just rang.”

Carrie shook her head, panic sharpening her delicate features. “There’s no dial tone.”

“That’s not possible.” Jason grabbed the handset from her. Carrie’s eyes were very dark and round as she gazed at his face. Jen wondered if she was truly over him. Probably not. Good girls pined. Their pure hearts loved too much, too hard. Which was why Jen normally avoided them like the plague.

Jason jiggled the buttons—or whatever those pegs on the top of the phone were called—like they did in old movies. “I don’t understand.”

“The storm?” Mikey asked.

“Yeah. Probably.” Jason replaced the receiver. “Okay—”

Mikey interrupted him. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.” How cute. Pipsqueak was stealing the leadership role from Jason to prove he was a big man.

“Get the fuck outta here?” Freddy said hopefully. Jen was glad he’d said it, and not her.

Mikey nodded firmly. “Yeah.”

“We don’t have to go.” Patrick’s face fell and the flashlight drooped in his hand. Mikey might as well have announced that Christmas was canceled. “It’s only a power outage. We can still have fun! We’ve got lots of food and beer. And board games!”

Jen couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Yay, board games. Are we gonna play strip Monopoly?”

“Come on. Freddy saw a random fan, and Tiffany got caught in seaweed. Carrie’s ex is probably miles away, and anyway, she said he’s not violent,” Patrick said.

“And the phone call?” Tiffany demanded.

“Like Jason said, a prank. Didn’t you recognize the voice? It was a sound clip from the movie. This is the Slasher cabin. Of course some local kids are going to think it’s a brilliant idea to crank call. Hell, it could even be part of the cabin experience. Maybe the rental company set it up to make it truly authentic.” Patrick gestured at Mikey. “You’re working at the mayor’s office. You must know how easy it is to set up a robocall.”

Mikey nodded, his lips pressed together with concern.

“The storm will blow over and the power will go back on. Trust me,” said Patrick.

What Patrick said made perfect sense. yet Jen’s gut disagreed. It told her to get out of here. To escape to someplace dry with lots of lights and people.

“I’d feel better if we left.” Carrie hugged herself and stared at the phone. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Jen found herself nodding in agreement. If the Final Girl was worried about something, then something must be wrong.

Fuck. She’d watched too many slasher movies.

“Then we’ll go,” Mikey announced.

Carrie still looked worried, and Jason gently squeezed her arm. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said. Jen wasn’t fooled by the gesture of affection. Jason was being extra nice in that cringy way people are when they want to let you down easy. Jen never had that problem, of course. She believed in ripping off the Band-Aid. It was kinder not to give anyone hope.

Carrie blinked owlishly, as if a guy had never touched her before. It suddenly struck Jen that maybe she was disturbed by Jason’s touch because her ex-boyfriend had been worse than she’d let on. Jen felt a sudden rush of sympathy—and trepidation. Tiffany, however, looked ready to spit broken glass. Cheerleader Barbie wanted her Ken back.

“We should take a vote,” Patrick said.

“Who wants to get the fuck out of Dodge?” Freddy said.

Everyone put up their hand except Patrick. And Jen. She was still warring with herself. It didn’t make sense to be afraid of the kind of spooky atmosphere she normally loved. To feel anxious about disregarding the Final Girl’s warning. To let old movie tropes influence her choices.

Yet the voice at the back of her head screamed for her to leave.

“Jen?” Patrick said hopefully. “What’s your vote?”

“It’s still a majority without her,” said Tiffany.

Jen half smiled and slowly raised her hand. She didn’t really believe there was a psycho stalking them, but maybe the universe was telling them that coming back to the cabin had been a mistake. “Sorry, Patrick.” She gestured around the room with its moldering thrift store props. “I mean, this is great and all, but I can see why they’re tearing this place down. It’s barely fit for human habitation anymore.”