Forester's lodge

"It's just wonderful here! Martin, look at this forest!" Saydie shifted in the backseat of the car, peering out the window, now to the right, now to the left, now to the driver's seat to peer ahead. They were driving along a narrow, sandy road that cut into a green thicket, mostly made up of old, deciduous trees. The road looked sparsely traveled. In many places, it was overgrown with grass and weeds, and long branches brushed the hood here and there. Behind the wheel sat Martin, a tall, stocky twenty-year-old in a sports T-shirt and worn jeans. He drove carefully, afraid to damage the old Ford on the bumps. The boy's eyes sparkled with joy and excitement. So far, everything was looking better than he'd imagined.

Beside him, in the passenger seat, Clive, wearing his dark, space-age sunglasses, didn't even try to wipe off his triumphant grin. This trip was his idea. When he heard that some friends were looking for a place to film an amateur horror film for a film class, he suggested an abandoned cabin in the woods. The shack still belonged to his family, though no one had visited for centuries. Clive had visited the place about six months ago, out of pure curiosity. The lodge made quite an impression on him, primarily because of its relatively good condition and the dark atmosphere of an abandoned dwelling in the middle of a dark forest. It was the perfect setting for a horror film. Smiling to himself, he conjured up ideas on how to enhance the atmosphere of dread. He had already taken some steps, but all in good time. He had plenty of surprises in store for his friends.

"Wow!" Saydie sighed with delight.

"Perfect!" Martin chimed in.

They entered a small clearing where a wooden house stood. Massive, darkly painted logs formed a sturdy structure consisting of a ground floor and an attic covered by a sloping roof. The old-fashioned shutters covering the windows had been bolted shut with boards nailed to the walls for strength. Grasses and bushes, wild flowers and vines, created a swirl of greenery around the building. On the porch, a bench-shaped swing swung on rusty chains. With each movement, the metal scraped against itself with an unpleasant screech.

The cars stopped in the very neglected, overgrown driveway in front of the house. Saydie was the first to jump out of the Ford, rubbing her shapely, tanned legs.

"My whole body's gone numb," she moaned.

Martin was stretching on the other side of the vehicle.

"Hey, what do you think?" he called to the people getting out of the other car.

A very tall, slender guy with long, straight hair tied in a ponytail approached Martin and patted him on the back.

"It's fantastic, simply divine!" he said. "A million times better than any decoration. It's something!"

"Garry's melting already," laughed the plump blonde in the striped T-shirt. "The thing is, this place is awfully far from civilization. I didn't see any Taco Bell or even KFC on the way here.

" "You, Mick, could use some weight loss," said Clive, who had also climbed out of the car.

"You're so mean!" remarked the petite brunette with glasses. She alone didn't look impressed. She looked around, frowning and biting her lower lip.

"I don't like it here," she muttered under her breath

. A strong arm wrapped around her neck. She smelled good toilet water. It could only be that flashy Clive.

"What's wrong, honey?" he whispered in her ear.

"Piss off!" She pushed him away as hard as she could. She didn't like him, to say the least. That ironic smile was driving her crazy.

The boy took off his oversized sunglasses and, tilting his head, fixed his gaze on his friend.

"You rascal!" he hissed. "You intrigue me.

" "You don't!" she replied.

"Hey, Clive, Rachel, flirting for later." Martin called out to them. "Now we have to get settled in. Is there a key to this door, or are we going to break in?

" "Don't panic!" Clive covered the distance to the porch in a few strides, gracefully hopped the steps, and landed by the door. "

Ta-da!" he called, pulling a bunch of keys from his pocket. "Prepare for the best!"

He fumbled with the rusty locks for a moment, but they gave way, and the interior of the old house opened to the newcomers.

"Welcome," Clive bowed exaggeratedly.

Slowly, one by one, they entered. The sweet smell of dust and decay greeted them. Little light filtered through the cracks in the curtained windows. The outline of the stairs leading to the attic, the doors to the adjoining rooms, and part of the living room emerged from the darkness.

"Ha! So we don't even have to put up the tents!" Martin rejoiced.

"I told you so," Clive's voice sounded proud.

"What about the electricity?" Mick asked, concerned.

"The generator was working," his friend explained, fully immersing himself in the host's role. "There's wiring in every room.

" "Great, but can the laptop and spotlights be plugged in?

" "Sure! Come on, let's try to get that old generator working."

Clive pulled Mick along. The rest of the group made their way, groping a bit deeper into the house. The wooden floors creaked underfoot, and any touch of the remaining furniture sent up a cloud of dust.

Rachel, walking at the back, felt very uneasy. She had the feeling that evil lurked in the dark corners of the room. If anyone, she shouldn't have goosebumps on her arms. After all, she was considered a horror fan and connoisseur. Maybe she'd simply seen too many, and such an atmospheric setting brought to mind the scariest parts of movies. For example, "Evil Dead"—a cabin in the middle of the woods, a group of friends, just like them, discover tapes recording a spell that awakens demons lurking in the forest. The girl shuddered involuntarily. She loved that horror film; she'd seen it at least three times, but now the memory alone was more terrifying than the scenes on screen.

"Oh my God!" Saydie exclaimed unexpectedly.

"What happened?" Martin rushed to his friend, wrapping his arms protectively around her.

"There," she pointed.

Against one wall of the room, near the fireplace, sat a dark, elongated, blocky shape. It looked a bit like a bench, or perhaps a chest. But taking two steps closer was enough to dispel any doubts. It was a coffin.

Everyone felt an icy chill run down their spines. Rachel was about to turn on her heel and run from this dark house as quickly as possible. Then the light flickered on. The warm glow chased away the shadows. The parlor no longer looked menacing, but rather rather pathetic. Torn wallpaper on the walls, cobwebs in the corners near the ceiling, a marble fireplace covered in a thick layer of soot and dust, two old armchairs whose original color was impossible to guess, a low wooden table tilted towards the side of a broken leg, and the coffin. A brand new wooden chest, covered in a shiny, dark varnish, with a silver cross on top and a white ruffle where the lid met the base.

"Oh, I see you found my surprise," Clive said, standing in the doorway, his hand still on the light switch.

"Dude... that..." Martin was having trouble forming a coherent sentence.

"You don't have to thank me." Clive nonchalantly approached the coffin and sat on top. He patted the lid. "Pretty, isn't it?

" "Where...?" Martin stammered.

His friend sitting in front of him smiled in response, revealing beautiful white teeth.

"You're crazy!" Garry said.

"Heh heh, wait until you see the contents." He slid off the lid, leaned over the chest, and first opened the lid just a crack. He glanced at his friends, who were watching him expectantly. His right eyebrow arched comically.

"Uncle," Clive whispered towards the dark opening. "Time to get moving. You've been lying here too long."

With a sudden movement, he opened the ornate flap. His friends involuntarily jumped back. But the coffin was empty. Inside, the snow-white satin lining almost invited the tired body to be laid upon it.

"Gosh, Clive, you're a monster!" Saydie sighed. The boy was laughing hysterically.

"You're all so worked up!" he chuckled.

"You have ideas too!" Rachel snorted.

"You know what, you're such idiots," he sighed. "We came here to have fun, and you're so deadly serious, deadly serious, he he," he repeated, savoring the phrase, "you take everything so seriously. Martin, you promised it would be fun, and now what? "

When asked, he merely rolled his eyes in horror. He seemed to wish his friend hadn't said those words.

"Fun?" Rachel asked, her voice changing. "Martin, what's this all about? Is this movie just fun for you?

" "No..." he stammered, embarrassed. "But you can't take it completely seriously either," he explained. "I thought we were going to make something funny, a cross between Nosferatu: The Vampire Diaries and Polanski's The Fearless Vampire Killers." Like a horror movie parody, you know…

"I don't know," she replied, offended.

"And I was convinced we'd do something like The Blair Witch Project," Garry interjected

. "Come on!

" They started talking about the movie again. Rachel didn't want to hear it for the hundredth time. They'd already spent so many hours before their departure arguing about every detail. Resigned, she decided to leave her friends for a while.

"Where are you going?" Martin called after her . "

I'll take a walk in the woods.

" "Just don't go too far, you might get lost," Clive warned

. "I'll manage," she replied, irritated by her friend's remarks.

She longed for a moment alone to gather her thoughts. Dusk was slowly falling. The last bird song of the day echoed through the woods, and the smell of damp earth filled the air. She walked forward as if in a trance. Nothing was going her way. First, Clive had picked on them. She barely knew him. He was in a completely different class. He knew Martin and had suggested the trip, but beyond that, he had nothing to do with film classes, drama club, or writing workshops. Meanwhile, she had poured her heart into writing the script, which now, under Clive's influence, was to be turned into a comedic tale, a joke. She saw nothing funny in her story of tragic love, death, a curse, and the struggle with her dark nature. Perhaps she should withdraw from the project? But if she took her script, her colleagues would have no subject, and she wouldn't find a director as good as Martin, or filmmakers as brilliant as Mick and Garry. Saydie was beautiful and perfectly suited to the role of the protagonist. No, Rachel couldn't give up now. Not because of someone like Clive!

She stopped. She was at the back of the house, where the clearing ended, merging into the dark forest thicket. Beneath one of the spreading trees rose a small mound covered with tall grass. She approached. Above the mound, partially obscured by the stalks, protruded a slightly rotted wooden cross. The girl shuddered. What was this place? She felt a growing unease within her. Something rustled among the branches, and in an instant she was running. Her heart leaped into her throat. She ran without looking back until she was within range of the light filtering through the open door. She collided with Saydie, nearly knocking her over.

"Rachel, what happened?"

She couldn't catch her breath. She glanced back, but the darkness had already thickened so much that she couldn't see anything beyond the silhouettes of the trees.

"Let's go inside," Saydie suggested. "Maybe we can make some tea. The kitchen looks quite decent."

Her friends were still discussing it in the living room, over the open coffin. The girl thought it was all too grotesque to be true.

"There... there's a grave out there by the forest," she blurted out.

Everyone fell silent, looking at her as if she were crazy.

"What are you talking about?

" "I saw it. It's an old grave.

" "Damn it, Clive, where did you bring us!" Garry's voice held a hint of amusement, as if he didn't believe the girl.

The boy just shrugged

. "It's an old house. Maybe someone died here.

" "Cool, just great!" Saydie said indignantly. "I don't feel like staying here overnight

." "What are you talking about!" Martin said indignantly. "Girls, you're not scared, are you? Clive's right, it's an old, run-down forester's lodge. It's possible someone was buried near the forest, or maybe it's the grave of the former owner's beloved dog?" We're not going to have to look for a better place to sleep after dark because of some barrow. We have everything we need here—electricity, water, a fireplace. Oh, right, we'll light it up and it'll be cozy in no time!

"On the other hand," Clive said, smiling mischievously, "most horror movies have plots like this...

" "Shut up!" his friends snapped at him

. "Enough of this nonsense!" Martin took charge. "The girls will check if the kitchen is usable, and we'll unpack the cars."

Rachel stood there, wondering what to do. Perhaps her imagination was playing strange tricks on her, or perhaps she had actually watched one too many horror movies. She felt someone staring at her. When she looked up, she saw Clive's green-gray eyes. His gaze was piercing and hard at the same time. She involuntarily cringed. A contemptuous smile appeared on his face. She decided to ignore him. As she passed, he whispered,

"You'll be the last

one left."

A fire blazed in the fireplace, casting a warm glow across the cottage's wooden floor. Mysterious shadows danced on the room's walls. The moonlight made the wind-stirred branches of the trees outside the window seem like enormous hands with sparrow-like claws. A stronger breeze stirred the curtain and swayed the flame of the candle on the mantelpiece. The woman sitting in front of the fire huddled, drawing her flowing tunic closer around her. She leaned closer toward the warm flames, and the golden locks of her hair slid down her back, over her shoulder, until the ends of the curls touched the floor. The woman turned her head, listening. Then there was a loud knock on the door and...

"Cut!" Martin called. "Got it?" he asked Garry.

"Yes, I don't think it needs repeating.

" "Rachel, help me," Saydie called, rising from her armchair. "There's something wrong with this hairpiece. I'm afraid it'll fall out."

The petite girl, dressed in funny gray dungarees, resembled a mouse, and like a mouse, she bustled about quickly and agilely, fixing her friend's hair. She deftly unclipped a strand of golden curls, combed it with a comb hidden in her breast pocket, and then delicately pinned it on Saydie's head. They

began working on the film the very day they arrived. They chose the sets, set up the equipment, and cleaned up a bit, just enough to keep things clean. A bit of old, authentic dust made a perfect backdrop. They weren't sure what to do with the coffin. Clive insisted on taking it down to the basement, but although Martin and Garry liked the interior, especially the red brick vaults, the basement proved useless as a set, as the lack of electricity and humidity prevented adequate lighting. So they set up the Nosferatu room in the downstairs bedroom. They'd covered the old bed there with one of the curtains they'd brought, making it a catafalque, and placed the coffin on top. Rachel still shivered at the sight of the box. Clive's explanation that he'd borrowed it from the funeral home didn't help. She knew they were filming a horror movie, but she still felt a shiver run down her spine every time Martin or Garry settled into the coffin, even if just for a laugh.

They spent the night in the attic. There were two bedrooms. One still had a large double bed. The mattress was in good condition, and they hadn't detected any bugs, so the two girls had volunteered to take that room. They slept in the same bed, each wrapped in her own sleeping bag. Rachel was happy with this arrangement. She didn't want to be alone. They'd gone to bed quite early, tired from the journey, but for a long time afterward they could hear the boys' voices arguing in the living room downstairs.

In the morning, everything looked different. The sun was shining, transforming the forest into a kaleidoscope of shimmering colors, and the birds were singing eerily. Even having to run to the bushes to urinate due to faulty plumbing and washing in cold water straight from the well didn't dampen the friends' spirits. They were incredibly excited about their first day of shooting. However, almost the entire day passed before the camera rolled. They had to add a bit more character to the rooms, hanging a curtain here, placing a candlestick there, setting up the lighting, connecting laptops, and a small TV on which they would monitor the results of their work. The girls spent a lot of time ironing their costumes. It wasn't until late afternoon that they finally sat down, each with their copy of the script in hand, discussing for the hundredth time how best to bring Rachel's story to the screen. The sun sank into the tree branches, long shadows cast across the clearing, and Mick began to seriously worry about the lighting when they finally decided they had to shoot at least one scene.

Night fell, and it took them several attempts to achieve the desired effect.

"Now we're approaching the door," Martin said

. "I don't see it well," Mick shook his head doubtfully. "I can't illuminate you if you're standing in the doorway.

" "What if we put some light behind you?" Garry chimed in. "Such a dark silhouette in the moonlight.

" "It all looks great in a professional film, and I have two spotlights," Mick complained. "Make it a glow...

" "What if we blow some smoke around?" Martin asked. "The smoke would scatter the light

." "Maybe...

" "So I'm free for now?" Saydie interrupted. "Because I could eat something.

" "Yes, little star, you can eat something." Martin smiled warmly. "Just watch your makeup and dress.

" "Hey, I'm not a pig!" she said indignantly. "I won't get myself splashed."

Offended, she spun on her heel and, pulling her friend with her, ran into the kitchen. They'd left their supplies here—canned goods, bread, soup bags, beer, crisps, cookies. Saydie grabbed one of the beer cans, opened it, careful not to spill anything on herself, then tipped it over and drank at least half of it in one go.

"What are you doing..." Rachel was surprised by her friend's behavior.

"These headlights are so damn hot," she explained. "And besides, that hairpiece is like a scarf and a hat combined.

" "But you look gorgeous," her friend said. "Boys are losing their minds over you.

" "Don't all..." the girl whispered and took another sip of beer.

Rachel moved closer.

"What's wrong?"

Saydie asked, giving her a quick, nervous look. For a moment, it looked like she might cry, but she just narrowed her eyes and finished her beer, then placed the empty can on the table with a clatter.

"Ha, what the hell!" she wiped her mouth with her hand. "I like Clive!" she blurted out

. "What?" Rachel couldn't hide her surprise. The idiotic question slipped out before she could think. She wanted to ask, "How is it possible that you like someone like that when you have three great guys at your fingertips?" Martin, for example, was a wonderful friend, cheerful, resourceful, and interesting. Garry, although a bit crazy, was one of those people you could always rely on, and Mick was just a bigger teddy bear, caring, painfully honest, and sweet. And Clive... well, Clive looked like a model from a magazine and was rich.

Rachel stole a glance at her friend. She hadn't expected this girl to be charmed in such a simple way. Saydie's gaze roamed the tiles.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" "—she asked unexpectedly.

Rachel had already opened her mouth to explain that such a thing didn't exist, it was just infatuation, a game of pheromones, but just then Clive appeared in the kitchen doorway. Tall, slim, with gray-green eyes framed by dark lashes, dark, slightly raised eyebrows that stood out against his pale, delicate skin, and a thick shock of hair the color of sun-dried straw. Yes, he could be attractive.

"What's up, princesses?" said

Saydie, straightening as if someone had stabbed her between the shoulder blades with something sharp. She tilted her head coquettishly, giving him a flirtatious look. He didn't react to these signals. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

"Where have you been?" Saydie persisted. She wanted to attract her friend's attention at all costs.

"I was sleeping," he replied. Only now did Rachel realize she hadn't seen Clive all day. She clearly hadn't missed his company.

"Until this hour?" Saydie wondered.

"We talked for a long time yesterday, I was exhausted," he explained. "Besides, I have nothing to do here anyway.

" "You could help a little," Rachel suggested. He glared at her. She didn't even flinch under the influence of those hypnotic green eyes.

"It's not my movie," he drawled. "I'm lending you the house and the coffin, is that enough?

" "No, of course..." Saydie tried to smooth over the suddenly heated exchange. "We just seemed interested... that you wanted to join in... to contribute more..." she muttered.

He frowned, looking from one girl to the other. The tip of his cigarette glowed orange with another drag.

"Yes, I did," he shrugged. "But now I see that movie is utter rubbish."

A forced smile spread across Saydie's face as the girl's eyes filled with tears.

"Why do you think that?" she whispered.

Clive stubbed out his cigarette in the sink. He approached the blonde, touched the tip of her dress, and twisted a lock of hair around his finger. She looked at him expectantly.

"Look at you," he said, shaking his head in disgust. "That flowing dress, those curls, they're the worst kitsch I've ever seen.

" "Did we get up on the wrong foot, or what?" Rachel interjected, seeing that it didn't take much for her friend to burst into tears.

"No, I'm just being honest about what I don't like." He smiled maliciously. "And I don't like everything about it!" First of all, the idiotic script.

Rachel knew Clive was trying to hurt her, but the comment still stung. Just because he'd shared a fantastic film set didn't give him the right to criticize everything. The boy, however, disagreed.

"What kind of story is this?" he said, pacing the kitchen. "When does this happen? Romanticism? Pointless!" A guy wanders through the woods, stumbles upon a cottage where a lonely beauty lives, they fall in love, and then he discovers she's a vampire. Could anything be more stupid? Maybe in the 1920s, it would have been impressive, but now? If you were making a black-and-white silent film, styled after the early days of cinema, I understand, but this...

"You're right," Rachel's voice sounded strangely dry. "It's not your movie. Don't bother with it. Go back to sleep."

He laughed loudly, showing off his amazing white teeth.

"Did I offend you?" he asked.

"No," she tried to control her voice. "The words of a pathetic asshole who has no clue about anything don't impress me.

" "Oooh," he clapped his hands together. "Looks like we're about to get down to business!

" "You wish!" she blurted out.

At that moment, Saydie grabbed another can of beer and, shaking her fake curls, ran out of the kitchen. Clive and Rachel stood for a moment, completely stunned.

"What about her?" the boy muttered

. Rachel ran after her friend. In the living room, she bumped into Garry .

"Have you seen Saydie?" she asked.

"She's outside. Have you seen Martin?

" "No."

It was already completely dark outside. At first, Rachel couldn't spot her friend, until a metallic scrape drew her attention to the swing on which a crouched figure was swinging. Rachel sat down next to her. Her friend nonchalantly sipped her beer.

"Are you having fun?" There was bitterness in her voice.

"What?" Rachel didn't quite understand what she was talking about.

"Don't pretend!" Another sip of beer. "I see you two falling for each other! And I, the naive fool, have I ever confided in you!

" "Is this about Clive?" It was hard to follow her friend's reasoning. "He hates me, and it's mutual. He's always picking on me."

"Yes..." the girl muttered, playing with the can. "Rachel, I'm not stupid. I've witnessed scenes like this countless times. There's teasing, spite, a complete lack of communication, and yet the air around you just sparks. It turns you on. I can see it in your eyes. He's never looked at me like that in his life. "

Rachel sat completely stunned. Was that possible? Regardless of the blonde beauty's past, she was wrong in this case. They weren't exactly proof of the saying 'whoever likes someone, likes someone else's' truth.

"Listen..." Rachel decided to make it clear, but before she could explain anything, a stocky figure appeared in the doorway.

"Girls, are you here?

" "Yes, Mick, what's going on?

" "I'm looking for Matin, is he here?

" "No."

They reluctantly rose from their seats and followed their friend deeper into the cottage. Spotlights illuminated the door and part of the hallway. Garry's camera lay on one of the armchairs. Clive peeked out from the kitchen. He was eating a sandwich.

"What's going on?" he asked

. "Martin's gone off somewhere," Mick explained .

"Maybe he went to drain some potatoes and got lost in the woods," the handsome man laughed .

Mick looked uncertainly at the faces of his friends.

"I'll check," he decided

. "Wait." Clive retreated to the kitchen, only to reappear a moment later with a flashlight in his hand

. "I'll go with you. And you," he turned to the girls, "check the bedroom. He was saying something about wanting to try on the coffin." He chuckled.

After the boys left, Rachel watched them for a moment, wondering what was so amusing about Clive. Just a few minutes ago, he'd seemed irritated, but now his mood had changed so dramatically.

"I think I've had enough for today," Saydie said. "I need to eat something."

Rachel decided to look around for Martin. He was probably rummaging around the house looking for some prop. She stopped at the wooden stairs. She glanced up, but the darkness and utter silence convinced her there was no one there. She moved on to the "Nosferatu bedroom." It was dark here too. The switch on the wall grated unpleasantly, the lightbulb flickered, flooding the room with artificial light.

"Martin, are you here?" she called, even though she knew full well there was no one inside. Sometimes people act completely irrationally. She was about to leave when her gaze fell on the coffin standing on the bed. In one place, the white ruffle surrounding the lid, which was protruding outward, was adorned with crimson dots. The girl moved closer and touched the delicate material. It was still damp. She felt an icy chill and a tightness in her chest, but she had to lift the lid. Slowly, she lifted the lacquered lid, which stopped vertically, resting on its hinges.

Martin lay on the white padding of the coffin in his worn jeans and sweat-soaked T-shirt. His mouth was parted as if gasping for air, his head tilted unnaturally, his eyes wide, glassy, ​​dead… A bright red stain bloomed on the pillow by his neck.

Rachel made a sound like a dry cough. She covered her mouth with her hand and took a step back. Then a detail caught her attention – Martin's hands were folded over each other, on the boy's chest. It wasn't an accident, if anyone even thought of such a theory. Martin had been murdered.

The discovery was like a punch between the eyes. The girl ran from the bedroom. In the hallway, she collided with someone. She almost fell.

"Garry!" she screamed.

The boy held her by the shoulders. It took a moment before the girl calmed down enough to say,

"Martin... he's dead.

" "What are you talking about?" he shook her hard. His friend's appearance must have convinced him this wasn't some silly joke. He let go of Rachel and followed her into the room without a word. One glance at the open coffin was enough for him. He paled.

"Jesus, how... how did this happen?" he stammered, unable to tear his eyes away from the corpse.

"He murdered him." Rachel felt tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why, Garry, why did he do it?" she sobbed. Suddenly, the girl's eyes widened as she realized something with horror.

"Garry, he's in there with Micki!" she said in a choked voice. "He'll kill us all!

" "Who? Who are you talking about?" The boy couldn't understand.

"Clive. Come on, we have to save them." She tugged at her friend's sleeve.

"What are you talking about?!" The boy stared at her, his eyes wide with astonishment. Everything around him was happening far too fast.

"Come to the kitchen, quick." Maybe we'll find a knife in time." The girl acted as if she had a high fever. She spoke in a rush, her eyes sparkling. She pulled her friend after her. They reached the kitchen, where Saydie was calmly making sandwiches. She looked at them as if she'd seen ghosts.

"What happened?" she asked.

But there was no answer. Rachel hurriedly searched through the bags of food, Garry paced back and forth, holding his head and muttering under his breath.

"Phone!" Rachel suddenly screamed. "Garry, call the police!" she pressed the shiny gadget to the boy. Saydie eyed her friends suspiciously.

"Oh my god, tell me what's going on?" she demanded.

"Where's that fucking knife?!" Rachel cried hysterically. "I'm an idiot, a complete idiot! He was here, he could have..."

As if to confirm her suspicions, Garry held out his phone.

"There's no battery," he said in a different voice.

"Mick... we have to help him!" Rachel suddenly felt fear and helplessness give way to determination.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that now." At the sound of that voice, all three of them froze. Clive stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. A mysterious smile played across his face. He held Garry's camera in his hand.

"Good old Mick has gone for a well-deserved rest," he declared. "He's a real numbskull." He laughed, raising the camera and aiming the lens at his face. "Hello everyone," he said to the glass eye. "My name is Clive Sheappersand, and I'm presenting an artistic film I've made, entitled 'Bloody Fun in the Dark Forest.' This film is dedicated to my dear cousin. Vlad, I wish you were here," he cackled nastily, pointing the camera at the surprised trio.

"You're sick..." Rachel whispered.

Garry recovered from his initial shock and clenched his fists. Although he wasn't a hot-headed man, he felt the blood rush to his brain; he was no longer in control.

"You bastard!" came from his tight throat. Then he jumped, knocking Clive to the ground. With a metallic clang, the camera fell to the floor right at the girls' feet. Saydie stood transfixed, unable to comprehend what was happening around her. Unlike her friend, Rachel knew she had to act, had to help Garry. She spotted a metal spotlight stand. In a single bound, she reached it and grabbed it with both hands, heading toward the fighting men. Clive was on top, pinning her opponent to the floor, seemingly strangling him. The crushed boy's knees twitched spasmodically, one hand clutched at his attacker's hair, the other scratching the floor with his nails as if trying to grab something. Rachel swung her hand, but then Clive lifted his head and looked directly into the girl's eyes. The metal support slipped from her hands. She stumbled back a few steps, colliding with the wall. The thought flashed through her mind that she had been the victim of some cruel joke, that this was all a masquerade, an idiotic prank. But the growing pool of blood, Garry's glassy eyes, and the monstrous grimace on his face were anything but amusing. The creature that had murdered him, who had looked like a familiar boy just moments before, now stared at her with blazing eyes. No noble features were discernible behind the terrifying mask; the raised upper lip revealed sharp, animalistic fangs. They stared at each other for a long moment, interrupted by the dull thud of a body falling. Saydie fainted.

Rachel flinched. The creature rose from its victim and stood before the terrified girl. In an instant, the grotesque features softened, the fangs retracted into the gums, and the yellow light in his eyes faded, returning to a gray-green hue.

"What do you say to that?" he asked with a wicked smirk. "Better than your script?"

"Who… what are you?" she stammered. He took

a step closer, tilting his head to the side, comically raising his left eyebrow.

"A vampire?" He assumed a helpless expression, only to burst into hysterical laughter a moment later.

"Rachel, Rachel…" he sighed, walking away toward the other, still unconscious girl. "I'm your worst nightmare," he said. This time, his tone was serious, and there was even a hint of sadness behind it. "Something sparked between us, you have to admit," he continued, leaning over Saydie. "Our pretty girl didn't like it. I think she was jealous," he added, picking up the camera from the floor and checking if it was still working.

"Rachel, what will you tell us in the last minutes of your life?" He turned the camera on again, adopting a mischievous pose.

With a deep sigh, the girl slid down, supporting herself against the wall. She didn't care.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no!" he protested fiercely. "That's not right. You can't give up."

"Stop toying with me. Do what you have to do," she said in a monotone, resigned voice.

Clive put down his new toy and returned to Rachel, crouching opposite her. He took her hands in his cool ones. His skin was surprisingly soft. She felt no fear, even though his face was mere centimeters from hers. She looked at the boy, acknowledging Saydie's point for the first time. In the dim light, with shadows playing on his face and a mysterious glow in his eyes, Clive looked incredibly alluring. Yet his beauty was deceptive, as if nature had deliberately endowed him with charm to more easily beguile his victims.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked in a whisper.

"You wouldn't understand anyway." He shrugged. "Besides, what's the point of knowing? You'll be dead in a few minutes."

He gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and stroked her cheek.

"I don't feel your fear, Rachel," he said. "Without it, the whole game is meaningless." You must be afraid; then your body emits a different scent and your blood has that wonderful aftertaste. Wake up from this numbness, release your feelings.

She stared at him intently, as if trying to memorize every detail. She didn't understand what he meant, but subconsciously she felt she had temporarily gained the upper hand. He hadn't anticipated this behavior and was beginning to lose his way. How could she exploit this?

A soft groan came from across the room. Saydie was regaining consciousness.

Clive jumped to his feet and in a few bounds reached the blonde, who was just waking from her faint. He caught her in his arms. His face was filled with almost wild joy.

"Saydie, honey, at least you won't disappoint me," he said.

Rachel felt her indifference instantly slip away.

"Leave her alone!" she screamed, but her voice was mixed with her friend's cry of terror.

Clive tugged at the blonde hair, tilting the would-be movie star's head back.

"You know, you're beautiful," his voice added, a mocking tone. "It's true that nothing would have worked out between us, but let me have one last kiss."

In an instant, the boy's face took on an unnatural look. He leaned forward and sank his teeth into the victim's cheek. The scream turned to a squeal, the squeal to a rasp, and then to a slowly fading wheeze.

Rachel's stomach lurched, yet with the last of her strength, she crawled to all fours and reached the spotlight stand she'd dropped earlier. She grabbed it, struggling to her feet. Her heart pounded as she swung and struck Clive in the back of the head. A blow like that should have knocked him unconscious. He didn't. He relaxed his grip, letting the victim's body slide to the floor. He turned his head toward Rachel.

"Rude," he shook his head. There was blood at the corners of his mouth.

The girl aimed again, but the weapon missed its target, being knocked away as if it were a dry twig rather than an iron bar.

"My heroine..." Clive whispered. "I knew immediately that you were extraordinary. You fear for your friends more than yourself. Noble, but foolish, because it lost you."

He inhaled a deep breath, savoring the scent.

"Now I smell your fear," he announced.

Rachel realized that only escape could save her. A few steps to the door, and then darkness and a dense forest, where it was easy to lose track. Before Clive could rise from Saydie's dead body, Rachel leaped forward, propelled by a new surge of energy. In a split second, a warning signal flashed in her brain as she registered the door closing in front of her. But she didn't have time to stop and crashed headlong into it, hitting the solid wood with her forehead. Pain blinded her, and she only felt strong arms grab her from behind.

"Telekinesis, or whatever you call it…" Clive muttered, pulling the girl away from the entrance. "We can move objects with our minds. I admit, it's gimmicky, but very useful.

" "Shhh, shhhh," he gently rocked her in his arms. She realized the wailing sound echoing through the cottage was her voice. As if through a fog, she saw two fires burning with a yellow glow above her. Panic forced her body into a final attempt to wrench itself free of the grip. But there was no escape from the staring eyes and sharp teeth that dug into her shoulder. A shiver ran through her, and then she fell into a warm, soft darkness.

******

Pinkish streaks appeared in the sky, a harbinger of the rising sun. Mists still lingered between the trees, the last stars fading from the sky. The birds were beginning their morning concert. Clive swayed lazily on the swing, pressing a number on his phone. He waited a long moment for the connection to connect.

"Boris?" he said into the receiver. "It's Clive. Did I wake you up? Oh, you haven't gone to bed yet, so you're just like me!" He chuckled. "Get your friends, I have a job for you." He listened for a moment. "What's the matter?" He frowned, wondering how to phrase the sentence. "Will you help me... clean up! I'm at the forester's lodge. I came with friends, I'm leaving on my own. Do you know what I mean?" He paused, letting the other man react to the offer. "It's nothing major, really," he said after a moment. "Just a small job that will pay you handsomely. Two cars and filming equipment. Cameras, spotlights, a monitor, a laptop. I'll throw in a couple of cell phones too. You'll get a good deal, I promise. Just bring a can of gas and shovels. We'll make a small fire and bury the remains." He paused to hear Boris's response. "Man, what's gotten so timid?" he snorted. "It's completely isolated here, no one will notice a thing. What? The victims' families? Do you think I'm an idiot? I checked everything beforehand. No one knows they came with me. They kept the trip a secret; they wanted to shoot a film here. It was supposed to be a surprise, and they were also afraid of competition from envious filmmakers, so they didn't say a word to anyone. I talked them into it myself, che che. So, what time will you be there?" He listened, his face twisted in distaste. He sighed deeply, as if this conversation had exhausted him. "Boris, how long have you been serving my family?" he asked, impatience evident in his voice. "Have we ever deceived you? Do we not reward your loyalty? You should feel honored to serve us, the Chosen. Most people don't even know we exist, and for those who do, it's usually too late, like for my friends." The interlocutor clearly didn't seem entirely convinced. Clive's face hardened, his jaw clenching until it cracked. "I'm not blackmailing you!" he growled. "And where exactly is it getting worse? You're all the same! Carrion! Are you coming or not?" The answer satisfied him. A dismissive smile appeared on the boy's face. "Okay, do you know how to get there? I'm waiting."

He turned off the phone, settled himself more comfortably on the swing, and pushed hard against the floor, making the chains holding the seat squeak. Swinging, he began whistling one of his favorite tunes, along with the birds singing greetings as the sun rose over the forest.