“Let me check them out when you’re dressed,” Betty called.
I pulled on the skirt, then the top. The skirt was a little snug at the waist and came down just below my knees. Weird length. The top was loose-fitting and not sexy at all.
I turned to gaze at myself in the mirror—but something was wrong.
My eyes refused to focus. I gazed at myself through a thick mist. At first, I thought it was the mirror. I rubbed it with the sleeve of my top.
But the fog didn’t clear. And I suddenly began to feel very weird, as if I were floating in the mist. Not really floating off the floor but hovering far away from the mirror … far away from my reflection.
I heard a whisper of sound, like when you hold a seashell to your ear. Just a sudden rush of wind in my ears as I floated farther from the mirror.
And then Betty’s voice broke through the dressing-room curtain at my back. “Hey, girls—you know those are costumes from the original movie?”
It took a while for her words to come through the fog. I realized my brain was fogged like my vision.
Did one of the murdered girls wear this skirt? This top?
Am I dressed in a dead girl’s costume?
“Betty?” I tried to call to her.
But the rush of sound in my ears rose like a wave crashing against the shore. A constant roar I couldn’t shut out.
And over the roar, I thought I heard a whispered voice. A girl’s voice, very distant and frightened. A tiny voice over the rush of wind. Coming from the clothing? No. That’s impossible.
What was she saying? I could barely hear her …
“Go away. Go awaaaaay…”
10
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?”
I MUST HAVE SCREAMED. I didn’t hear myself.
Betty Hecht tore open the curtain. “Are you okay?”
The rushing in my ears stopped. The fog vanished. I blinked at myself in the mirror. My whole body was shaking.
“Yeah. I’m all right. I guess I freaked a little about wearing these clothes. You know. From a dead girl.”
She snickered. “Well, she was alive when she wore them. Step out and let me see you.”
I took a deep breath to steady myself.
Claire, you imagined that voice.
Then I walked out of the dressing room, adjusting the top. I brushed Delia’s dressing-room curtain. “Dee, everything okay?”
She pulled back the curtain. She hadn’t changed yet. She sat on the bench with her phone to her ear. “I have to take this call. It’s my modeling agent.” She waved me away. “Go on without me. I’ll catch up.” She pulled the curtain shut.
“You look perfect,” Betty said to me. She tugged at the top of my skirt. “A little snug. Can you breathe?”
“Sure. No problem,” I said.
“Follow me. I’ll sign you out,” Betty said, starting to the counter in front. “Simon wants you to go to makeup next. Do you know where the trailer is?”
“I … think so,” I replied.
I thanked her, and she said it was so nice to see me. “I hope the movie goes well,” she said. I could tell by the way she gazed into my eyes that she was worried about the whole thing.
Maybe she believed Mayhem Manor was cursed or something. Or maybe she was just a worrier.
I didn’t have time to think about it. I stepped into the bright sunlight and started to walk around the side of the building. I shielded my eyes with one hand. I realized I’d left my Ray-Bans in the dressing room. I decided to come back for them later.
A small white trailer stood in the shadow of the wardrobe building. I blinked at it. It had no sign, no markings on it at all.
Strange,
I thought.
Les told me the makeup trailer was at the side of Mayhem Manor.
I decided they must have moved it. I let out a long breath. The old skirt was tighter than I’d thought. Maybe it would encourage me to lose some weight.
I climbed the three metal steps to the trailer door, then hesitated. Should I knock? I decided to go right in.
I pulled open the door and leaned inside. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust after the bright sunlight. Inside the trailer, I saw a wall of shelves filled with bottles and jars, all different colors.
Yes. This must be the right place,
I decided. I stepped through the doorway and pulled the door closed behind me. I turned—and saw the creature sitting behind a low desk.
I gasped.
It took me a few seconds to realize it wasn’t a creature. It was a very hairy little man. I felt my face grow hot. I was embarrassed that I had uttered a gasp.
But he was a strange-looking little dude. He had to be no more than five feet tall, and he was covered in hair. I mean, he had like a black shrub falling over his head, poking out in all directions. And a stubbly black beard on his round face. And his sleeveless blue wifebeater shirt showed off hairy black arms and a lot of black chest fur.
OMG. Anybody could have mistaken him for a bear or something. Trust me. He was a real hairy bowling ball.
I backed against the door. In case the beast attacked.
But when he spoke, he had a soft, high voice, and he smiled, and I could see he was human, after all. Or at least
almost
human.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said. “What can I do for you today?”
He had tiny hands with curly hair on the backs, and he plucked at the front of his tight shirt as he gazed up at me.
“Simon Ferris sent me,” I said. And then I stopped. And squinted at him. “Have I seen you somewhere before?”
He scratched his beard. “I don’t think so.”
“Haven’t we met?” I had the strongest feeling.
“No,” he said. “Who are you?”
I studied his face. He had dark eyes under heavy black eyebrows and a flat nose. His mouth was lost somewhere in his beard.
“From
Mayhem Manor,
” I said. “I’m Claire Woodlawn. I’m playing Darlene.”
He murmured something under his breath. It sounded like, “Darlene was a nice girl.” But I knew I hadn’t heard right.
“I’m Benny Puckerman. Everyone calls me Puck.” He nodded his head as if taking a short bow.
My eyes darted over the shelves all around him, the small bottles and jars. Hundreds of them. I realized none of the jars or bottles had labels.
“What is all this?” I asked. “Is this makeup? This is the makeup trailer, right?”
He snickered. He scratched his beard. “No, I don’t have any makeup here.”
“I-I’m in the wrong trailer?” I stammered. I wished he would stop staring. He didn’t blink. The hairy little guy was giving me the creeps. “Well, what is in all these bottles?”
“It’s my potions,” he said. He stood up. He kept his eyes on mine. “Do you believe in potions, Claire?”
“No. No way. I mean … well … I don’t know. I mean…” I tried to back up but there was no room. I bumped a shelf of bottles behind me.
“Well, I do,” he said. “I believe in them because I know they work.” He snickered again. Not a pleasant sound. He picked up a small blue bottle and rolled it in his pudgy hand. “They work. They work.”
I wanted to get out of there. He took another step toward me. I wondered if Delia was coming soon. “Wh-what kind of potions?” I stammered.
A smile spread under his black beard. “All kinds.”
He set down the blue bottle and picked up a tiny jar next to it. He raised it to my face. It had a glittery gray powder inside. He shook it in front of me.
“It’s a love potion,” he said. “You interested? Maybe try it on someone?”
I couldn’t hold back my laugh. This dude was insane. “A love potion? For real?”
He nodded. The strange grin appeared frozen on his face. “It works. It really works.” He held it close and gazed at the gray powder.
“You pour it on someone, see. It only takes a little bit. You spill a few flakes on them. Then they will fall in love—
madly
in love—with the first person they see.”
I laughed again. Nervous laughter. Was he
kidding
me?
“That’s Shakespeare,” I said. “Nice try, Mr. Puckerman. But we read that play in tenth grade. The fairy puts the love potion on the girl’s eyes so she’ll fall in love with the guy who’s crazy about her. But when she wakes up, the first thing she sees is a guy who’s been turned into a donkey. And she falls madly in love with the donkey. We read it last year.”
Puckerman shook his head. “That’s just a play. This is real.”
I gazed at the jar in his hand. “What is it
really
?”
He frowned. “I don’t make up stories. And I don’t lie.” He waved a hand, motioning to the shelves. “These potions are the real thing. Let me demonstrate.”
He moved quickly. Before I could duck out of the way, he dove toward me, raised a furry paw above my head, tilted a small bottle, and shook powdery silver flakes onto my shoulders.
“N-nooo,” I stammered in total panic. “What did you
do
? What is that?”
“It’s the love potion,” he answered.
I felt a tingling in my shoulders, like a mild electrical shock. My skin prickled as the feeling ran down my whole body. The bottles and jars became a blur of color all around me.
“What did you do to me?” I cried, my voice muffled, distant. “What did you
do
to me?”
11
HOUSE OF DEATH
I GAZED DOWN AT THE LITTLE MAN, at his adorable black beard, at the awesome wild tuft of hair on his head, at his beautiful face with its softly glowing dark eyes and gleaming smile.
A strong emotion swept over me. I wanted to grab him in my arms and pull him close, wrap him in a tight hug and tell him how wonderful he was.
“Claire, you and I have things to do later,” he said in that sweet, sweet voice. “Not yet. Not yet. But soon.”
I’d never felt this way about anyone. My heart was pounding. My hands were clammy. I couldn’t resist him.
I squeezed my hands over his thick shoulders. He had beautiful spiky back hair poking out from his t-shirt. “Can I … Can I…” I worked up my courage. “Can I kiss you? Can I hold you?”
He slid out of my grasp. “I’m just demonstrating the potion to you. Next time, you won’t question my power.”
“Please—” I begged, my voice trembling with feeling. “I just want to hold you close to me. I want to kiss you. I want to feel your beard against my face. Please—”
He raised his arm and sprinkled another powder, this time on my hair. The room blurred again. I felt my throat tighten. My stomach gurgled and growled.
Puckerman slowly came back into focus. He had beads of sweat on his ugly beard. His eyes were wet like oysters. He scratched his greasy hair. Gross.
“Get away from me,” I snapped. “What did you just do?”
“I’ll be calling you soon,” he said. “Believe me, you won’t enjoy it.”
“Explain it to me—”
“You have to face your fate, Claire. You
do
believe in fate, don’t you? Mayhem Manor is a house of death. When you enter a house of death, you must expect to die.”
“You—you’re crazy!” I cried. “You’re
sick
. I’ll call security. Really. I’ll call the studio guards.”
His dark eyes burned into mine, like he was trying to hypnotize me. “No, you won’t,” he said softly. “You won’t call security.”
Again, his hand flew over my head. This time, a black powder rained onto my hair. Again, my head tingled and itched.
I tried to twist away. But there was no room. I was totally trapped.
“That’s a
forgetting
potion,” Puckerman said. He spun the cap back over the little bottle. He flashed me a toothy smile. “You’ll forget this happened, Claire.”
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open, my whole body shaking. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.
The room suddenly went out of focus. Like a bad photograph. I squinted hard, struggling to make it clear again.
No,
I thought.
No way. I won’t forget. I won’t forget.
I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw hurt. I struggled against the potion.
“You’ve forgotten already, haven’t you,” Puckerman said.
I pretended to be confused. “Forgot about what?” I said. It was a lie. I remembered everything.
Without warning, he pushed open the trailer door and gave me a gentle shove outside. I stumbled down the stairs and before I could regain my balance, bumped into Delia.
“Is this the makeup trailer?” she asked. “Why do you look so weird?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I … I mean, no. It’s not. Wrong trailer.” I wanted to think about the whole thing before I told Delia about it.
She blocked my path. She wore a man’s starched white dress shirt over straight-legged jeans. Her costume. She grabbed for my hand. “What is that, Claire? What have you got?”
She pulled a slender gray pill bottle from my hand. She studied the unmarked bottle. “Did you get this inside that trailer?”
“Yes. I stole it.” I grabbed the bottle from her and spun it in my hand. “It’s a potion. I took it off a shelf in there.”
Delia rolled her eyes. “I should have known. Another one of your crazy—”
“No,” I said. “It’s real, Dee. I took it from the little guy in there. He tried to make me forget. But I concentrated. I fought off his spell. My mind is foggy, but … I—I took a love potion.”
She burst out laughing. “Give me some. I’ll try it on Shawn.”
I felt a surge of excitement in my chest. “And I’ll pour some on Jake,” I said. “No joke. We’ll get them together, and we’ll try it. We’ll try the potion on them.”
“Why not?” Delia said. “What do we have to lose?”
12
THEY TRY THE LOVE POTION
THE NEXT DAY, WE HAD A FREE DAY. The set was closed for tech rehearsal. Les Bachman was preparing for the first day of shooting.
I slept till noon. I would have slept later, but the two pool service guys were having some sort of argument outside my window. Something about chlorine tabs.
I pulled on a pair of white short shorts and a sleeveless yellow tee. Then I rounded up Delia, Jake, and Shawn, and I drove us all to Malibu. The four of us squeezed into a booth at Ruby’s Shake Shack on the pier.
What a day. The sun over the ocean. Chocolate milk shakes all around and maybe the best cheeseburgers in L.A.