Chapter 4: Friendships and First Frights

Miraculously, the candle lit right away and burned steady through the whole ceremony. Afterwards, I hunted down the kid to thank him. He blushed, eyes darting away, and shook my hand like he couldn’t believe I was real.

'It’s an honor, sir. You’re a legend to me.'

'Sir, I grew up on your movies. I never thought I’d get to work with you—this is a dream.'

His words caught me off guard. I hadn’t thought of myself as anyone’s hero in a long time. For a second, I felt guilty dragging my curse onto this set.

Will was just a logistics assistant, mostly invisible to the rest of the crew. He moved quietly, always humble. I saw myself in him—ignored, hustling, eager. Most of the crew kept their distance from me after the candle fiasco, but Will always called me 'Mr. Mason.'

We shared lunch a few times, sitting on the curb behind the soundstage, passing a bag of gas station chips—salty, a little stale—back and forth. The sun-warmed curb pressed into our backs, and the sound of distant traffic hummed in the background. Will talked about his student film days and his hopes of making it big. I told him about my first gig in a run-down drive-in, the thrill and the fear. For a little while, things felt almost normal.

Whenever I needed anything, I went to Will. During breaks, we’d talk shop. The first three days went smooth. On the fourth, we had to shoot an underwater scene—me holding my breath, fighting a ghost. I prayed in my room and tied the cross tight around my wrist.

The crew had rigged up a giant pool in the studio, the water cold and murky under harsh lights. I touched the cross, muttering a prayer. Will hovered on the edge, gave me a thumbs up, his face pale in the blue glow. I noticed him fidgeting, thumb tracing a scar on his hand. I nodded, trying to calm my nerves.

The props master checked my harness. 'If anything happens, just signal and we’ll pull you up,' he said, voice careful but kind. I nodded, took a deep breath, and went under. I opened my eyes wide, acting out the struggle. The director’s voice came through the earpiece:

'Mr. Mason, make your leg movements bigger—kick hard, like the ghost’s got your ankle!'

Just as he finished, I felt something clamp onto my ankle and yank me down. It wasn’t gentle. It felt like iron—cold, merciless. My lungs burned, ears pounding, and a flash of panic shot through me as I realized I might not make it up.