Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
He blows out an irritated breath. “I’m not opening with Welcome, foolish mortals. If that’s what you’re asking.”
“Rude,” Lucy scoffs. “That line is a classic.”
I smile to myself and tuck my hands into the pockets of my coat, listening.
Lucy swipes the script out of Declan’s hands and flips through it. “This is goofy. You need to set the proper mood.”
“I plan to. How about—” He clears his throat and drops his voice a few notches. “Crowsbridge Hollow may seem quiet at night, but the Hollow Hill asylum has never slept.”
Lucy wrinkles her nose. “Eh. Nailed the creepy voice but it doesn’t make sense. How does an asylum sleep?”
I snort, then cough to cover my laughter.
“See, Emery knows.” Lucy jabs a finger in my direction. “She writes compelling scripts for a living.”
“Uh, I don’t write scripts,” I correct, trying not to sound like I’m scolding her. “I write investigative stories based on facts I’ve uncovered.”
Lucy waves a hand. “Details. You tell scary truths. Similar skill set.”
“Yes, but I don’t dramatize,” I insist.
“I’ve watched tons of your videos.” Lucy snorts. “You absolutely dramatize. You just call it context.”
I roll my eyes but bite my tongue. There’s no point arguing with Lucy.
Declan holds up his hands like a ref worried we’re about to tackle each other. “Facts make more of an impact when you don’t overwork them. But like Emery said, nothing I’m saying tonight is factual.”
“I have faith in you, Big D. You’ll figure it out.” Lucy makes an exaggerated motion of twisting her wrist to check her watch. “Within the next thirty minutes.”
“Thanks,” he grumbles.
“Can I see it?” I ask, holding my hand out for the script.
Declan passes it to me with a sly grin but no comment. I step under one of the streetlights to scan the first page.
“Hmmm…this has potential, but you need to grab them from the beginning. Especially since it’s chilly and everyone will be shivering.”
“And your suggestion is…” Lucy asks.
I clear my throat dramatically and summon my best spooky narrator voice. “Welcome, weary travelers, to the shadowed streets of Crowsbridge Hollow—a quaint little upstate New York town where the Christmas lights flicker with holiday cheer and the whispers of the damned. On a bone-chilling December night, the unthinkable happened at Hollow Hill Sanitarium. One moment, the halls echoed with the muffled cries of the afflicted and the stern orders of the staff. The next...silence. Every patient, every doctor, every nurse—vanished without a trace. No bodies. No clues. Just empty beds, flickering lights, and doors swinging in the winter wind…”
“Wooo.” Lucy wiggles her fingers in the air. “Spooky.”
I hand the script back to Declan. “It’s still close to what Baxter wrote but a little more—”
“Chilling?” Lucy offers.
“I like it.” Declan holds out his hand. “Pen?”
The corner of my mouth tilts up as I scrounge around in my bag for my favorite purple ballpoint and hand it over. “It’s purple.”
“He’s manly enough for purple pens,” Lucy assures me.
Declan casts a side-eye her way but doesn’t comment. He scribbles a few notes, then flips the page. “I have to keep the story tied to where the ride will slow down for the actors to jump out at key locations,” he murmurs. “But this is a better start.”
Pride thrums through me. It’s just a silly story but I’m pleased I could help Declan.
“We’re going to be late,” Lucy says.
We hurry along the sidewalk. Most of the shops are closed with signs about the festival on the doors. The fudge shop and coffee house are both open with bright, inviting lights spilling onto the sidewalk.
“Smart,” I say as we pass. “It’s chilly, people will need food and warm drinks.”
We cross the next street, then turn right. Men in orange vests stand in front of wooden blockades at both ends of the library’s parking lot. Cars are lined up down the street, waiting for them to open.
Declan lifts his hand and waves. “Hey, Charlie. Mr. Baxter back there?” He points to the parking lot.
“Yup. He’s been asking about you every five minutes.” The man nods to the line of cars. “We’re sold out tonight.”
“Great,” Declan says without much enthusiasm.
Lucy snickers into her gloved hand.
“Wait.” I stop and open my bag, digging around for my camera. “I need to get a few shots of this. Go on, I’ll find you.”
“No, I’ll wait. Go ahead.” Declan plants himself right by my side.
“I’ll run ahead and let Baxter know you’re here, so he doesn’t send out a search party,” Lucy offers.
Anxious with Declan watching me and knowing he’s supposed to be somewhere else, my hands shake as I handle the camera.
“Emery, it’s fine. Take your time,” he says in a soothing tone.
I don’t bother with a voice over, just a quick note of what I’m shooting, panning to get the long line of cars and the library in all of its spooky glory.