Chapter 113: The Bigger Bad
I took a moment to think. I didn't have much more than that.
We needed to set the stage for Samantha’s trope to activate. How did we set up a shift that large? We weren’t just trying to invite in another group of criminals; we were trying to change the genre completely, shifting toward a supernatural storyline.
“I have a plan,” I said. “Samantha, you said the men told you to go along with their plan and you and your dad would be okay. When we're On-Screen again, can you explain to the audience that you were going to do what the men demanded of you, that you weren’t going to run away and the only reason you did was because of the ominous premonitions related to the things you hear at night?”
She nodded.
Samantha had alluded to supernatural voices crying in the night that were a part of a different version of the script. We had to lean into that. It seemed pretty clear where this was going. The men were grave robbers. That was something we knew and might have even been established to the audience already before our characters entered the story. After all, they were all covered in dirt from their digging. Carousel would have to explain that to the audience, surely.
“Then start to really lay the warnings on thick, be emotional and scared. You’re trying to warn us of the things to come. But we aren’t listening. Antoine and I will be having a discussion… No… an argument. We'll be arguing, really laying into each other while you’re trying to get our attention.”
I thought for a moment.
“Bobby, you help her. Use any lines your character might have that are relevant and try to help her move things along,” I said. "Help make her look liker her warnings are falling on deaf ears."
Was that enough?
“Two characters are distracted arguing while danger brews in the background. That's a start, but it isn’t enough because we have the goons outside. Add in a woman frantically trying to warn them of a bigger threat, that should get the job done. Dramatic irony. The audience will know about the Bigger Bad approaching, but we will be none the wiser. So, Antoine, Bobby, and me, we just ignore it as long as possible. Really let the tension build.”
I nodded to myself. Trying to double-check my plan in my head.
“We ignore it and that makes it more likely to happen?” Antoine said, checking his understanding.
“A great director once said that if a hidden bomb blows up, the audience will be surprised, but they will have spent the entire scene until that moment not feeling anything. If you show them the bomb beforehand, though, let them know that any minute the characters will meet an untimely end, that is how you create suspense.” I looked at Samantha. “That’s how we activate your trope,” I said. “The Bigger Bad is our bomb. The longer we ignore Samantha trying to warn us about it, the more the audience sits on the edge of their seats. Carousel won’t be able to resist letting it explode.”
It wouldn't be enough on its own, but with her trope, it should work.
We went over our plan a few more times. It would have to work. We didn't have much time.
As soon as we were On-Screen again, I could hear one of the men yelling outside. It was the crazed one, the one who had pretended to be a deputy. Bradley Speirs. The corpse defiler. We were up on the second floor landing so I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he sounded more like he was having fun than anything else. It was disturbing.
“I was going to do what they said,” Samantha said through tears. “They said to just go along with it. They wouldn’t hurt me. They wouldn’t hurt you.” She looked at Bobby.
“I know honey,” Bobby said. “I was scared too. It’s okay. This isn’t your fault.”
“No,” Samantha said. “I was afraid of them, but I ran…” she got quiet. She looked into the distance. “I ran from the voices. I can hear them, crying in the dark of the night. They’re coming. I was afraid of them.”
Bobby looked perplexed.
“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re just scared. That’s all.”
Bobby was a passable actor if only he didn't pause to read the script every time he spoke.
Samantha pulled away from him, “No, Dad, you have to believe me. They told me to run. I can hear them when I am trying to sleep. I think tonight’s the night.”
Bobby and Samantha continued talking on this subject. Antoine and I had to ignore them.
“I could jump down and run for help,” I suggested.
“You’re not some action hero,” Antoine screamed, “You’ll break your leg. We just need to build up a fortress here.”
“And then what?” I asked. “They wait us out? They kill us in the morning instead? What’s the plan?”
Antoine crossed the room and got in my face. “No,” he said. “I’m going to wait for them to turn their backs, and then I’m going to make them pay.” His words caught in his throat. “For Kimberly.”
I didn’t want to say anything. I knew that Antoine was expressing real pain, but I needed to continue the ruse. That was the plan. I had to escalate the tension.
“That's gonna get us killed for sure,” I screamed. “You're not the only one who cared about Kimberly. We can't stick around just so that you can get revenge!”
“We aren't going to run out into the night and let them hunt us down!” Antione screamed. “Our only chance is to stay here and face them head on.”
“Guys,” Samantha said. “We really shouldn’t be arguing right now. I can feel them in the distance. We have to get ready. They’re coming.”
We ignored her.
Nothing makes the boogeyman come out like ignoring the person who warned you about him. The whole time we had been talking, the Off-Screen indicator would cut a way for a few moments at a time. I hoped they were cutting to show the audience the trouble to come.
I just hoped it would be enough. We were almost out of time. Her trope couldn't be activated after the midpoint revelation.
“Of course,” I said. “I'm not going to stay here and get shot to hell so that you can prove how much of a man you are. Do whatever you want but don't pretend that it's about Kimberly.”
Antoine pulled back his fist and punched me.
I couldn’t tell if he was taking it easy on me. It hurt.
"Everything is about Kimberly!" Antoine screamed with a tear.
I leaned forward and buried my shoulder into him, driving him back against the wall.
“Bullshit” I screamed. "We're never getting out of here. Not unless we run. I'm not going to die in this rotted out hellhouse"
“Please stop!” Samantha cried out.
Bobby tried to comfort her. “Everything’s going to be alright, honey,” he said nervously.
“I can hear them!” she said. “They’re angry. Listen to me!”
Still, we ignored her. It wasn’t enough yet.
“I don’t even know why I agreed to come here with you guys,” I said. “You don’t even like me!”
“Wasn’t my idea to invite you!” Antoine said as he pushed me back.
“Listen to me!” Samantha screamed. “We are going to die here if we don’t do something!”
She was trembling. I couldn't tell if she was just a good actress or if her fear was real.
I finally decided to look at her, to pay attention to what she had been saying. Couldn't ignore her forever. That wouldn't be realistic. I turned to her. She stood with her back to a window on the landing that faced the fields behind the house.
I could see, creeping in from the distance, a thick white fog. The dogs started howling in the distance.
The fog moved with a purpose, like a living thing crawling across the field or a blanket being pulled over the land by an unseen hand. I pretended I didn't see it.
“We need to block the stairwell now. We aren't leaving. Not until morning. We need to get ready,” she said. “Otherwise none of us will be—”
A loud crash echoed through the house as a window downstairs broke.
“You sons of bitches,” Bradley, the unhinged grave mutilator screamed. “I’m going to cut you into pieces!”
“We need to block the stairs,” Antoine said.
This was a welcome distraction. We needed to give the Bigger Bad room to make an appearance. Our characters couldn't suddenly believe Samantha. We would need proof and that would take a bit to show up. Focusing on the grave-robbing goons was just the opportunity we needed. They should distract our characters long enough.
“Bookshelf,” I said decisively.
Antoine stared down in the direction of the noise and then followed me over to grab a large wooden bookshelf that mostly housed phone books and one of those old encyclopedias with a different book for each letter.
The unit was large and heavy. Bobby pulled away from Samantha to come help us.
The three of us managed to drag it across the floor and tip it sideways across the staircase, creating the first of many layers between us and the men below.
Next, we stacked a side table and a cabinet. I wasn’t sure how much time we had before the fighting started. When it did, we would be in trouble. They had guns.
Moving furniture is notoriously noisy and we quickly drew the attention of the men.
“You can hide up there all you want,” Merritt said. “We don’t need to get to you as long as you can’t leave. You’ve trapped yourselves.”
“And we’re gonna burn this place to the ground with you in it!” Bradley added. Not exactly the tone his brother was going for.
That was one worry. I really hoped arson wasn't in the script.
“Oh hell,” the fake sheriff, Randy, said below as he slowly stepped up the stairs. “My friend wants you to be calm is all. He still can’t give up on all that money you were going to give us for letting you live. Guess I’m a little less trusting.”
He continued to walk up the stairs slowly.
As he walked, I could hear something hard scraping along the wall as he went. I wasn’t sure what it was until he got to the top of the stairs and I saw Antoine’s baseball bat swing high and come crashing down onto the backing of the bookshelf.
I couldn’t see him behind the stack of furniture, just the bat when he swung it over his head.
The shelving unit held firm. The baseball bat was no match for it. That, or the sheriff didn’t invest enough points in Mettle.
“Come out now or come out a week from now. It doesn’t matter,” he said.
He smashed the bat against the shelves again, as if to scare us.
“Move aside, Randy,” Bradley said.
I heard the gun cocking sound that you often hear in movies.
“Get back!” I yelled only moments before Bradley fired his gun up at the furniture.
The bullet hit the bookshelf with a splintering sound, but I couldn’t see any damage from my vantage point across the landing.
“What are you doing you idiot?” Randy screamed. “I’m right here!”
“I didn’t hit you,” Bradley said.
“Could have gotten hit by shrapnel or a ricochet!” Randy yelled.
Bradley fired the gun again.
That bullet had just as little of an effect.
“You bastard!” Randy screamed as he stomped down the stairs.
For a moment, there was silence.
Off-Screen.
“How long is this going to take?” Antoine asked.
“If it worked, then it won't be long,” Bobby said. “Midpoint of Rebirth is right now.”
He was right.
I cautiously looked outside toward the field. The fog had gotten even closer to the house. Whatever it carried, it would be here soon.
“Looks like we succeeded,” Antoine said, following my gaze.
“Yay us,” I said with an extra dose of sarcasm. “Now we’ve got to survive this too.”
I watched as something in the distance stirred. It was too far away to see clearly, but there were solid shapes emerging from the fog in the distance.
“They’re coming,” Samantha said.
“I hope you and our Friends upstairs know what you’re doing,” I said. “Cause it sure looks like you just made this whole thing a lot harder.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to save you,” she said. A tear fell from her eye.
I pursed my lips. I wasn’t ready to believe anything, but I was desperate enough to go along with whatever plan might have a chance at giving us some answers, at getting Anna and Camden back, at getting us out of here.
I could hear pounding on the door below. Then Tank started hollering. Within a minute or so, I heard them let him in. He must have been too big to fit through whatever broken window they had entered through.
“Something's out there,” he said. He sounded scared to death. “Get the guns.”
“What are you yapping about biggun?” Randy asked with a laugh.
Tank didn’t answer at first.
I could hear someone slamming cabinets and rifling through drawers downstairs.
The men sounded amused.
Those of us upstairs were only On-Screen for a flash here and there as we reacted to the sounds we heard downstairs. Other than that, we just hunkered down on the floor, dreading what was to come.
Then we heard them.
An orchestra, an absolute orchestra of moaning, groaning, growling, crying, and screaming start to play outside. The sounds grew closer.
The men downstairs got silent all of a sudden.
“What the?” one of them, I couldn’t tell which said aloud.
“Holy hell!” Randy screamed. “What the hell is that?”
The moaning got louder as the men started to panic.
The men started hurling expletives in a jumbled mess of panic. I couldn’t make out much of what they were saying because they had gotten quiet.
“Board up the windows,” Merritt commanded.
I could hear wood being moved around from the construction beneath. Then desperate hammering.
“What the heck is going on?” Bradley exclaimed. Suddenly he didn’t seem to be enjoying himself. “Are those… are those people or…”
There was silence for a few minutes. My heart beat so loudly I could hear it and nothing else.
Except for the orchestra of lethargic guttural noises outside.
I thought I knew what was out there, but I was afraid to look. Even knowing they would arrive, I wasn’t ready.
Whatever reward we got from this had better be worth it.
I could hear a woman crying outside. Her voice sounded... fresher... than the rest. I couldn't force myself to look.
I shot a glance at Antoine. We must have had the same thought. He mouthed “Dina?” at me.
I shook my head. It didn’t sound like her.
We didn’t have too long to focus on it because soon, a crash could be heard down below as a window was busted out.
“Randy!” Merritt screamed. “Randy just hold my hand.”
The whole time I could hear the fake sheriff screaming and glass breaking.
“Help!” he screamed. “It’s got me! Grab me! Please.”
I could hear scuffling down below.
He screamed in pain, he screamed from fear and then, suddenly, his screams got quiet.
“No! Why did you let go?” Merritt yelled. “You just let go!”
I heard a jingle of metal.
“I got his keys,” Bradley said. “His cruiser is right out there. We can make a break for it.”
“You let him go…” Merritt said again in disbelief at what his brother had done. I heard the pain in his voice.
Eventually, curiosity won out and I crawled over to the window to see the Bigger Bad.
What I saw was a horde of rotten corpses standing upright. Many were missing limbs, even heads. Most of them were dressed in the suits and dresses they had been buried in, though those had been tattered and stained. This wasn't unexpected but still, I was terrified.
There were hundreds of them.
They didn’t exist separately on the red wallpaper. They were a unit, all of them as one.
The Avenging Dead. Plot Armor 52.
In the distance, I could hear Randy screaming as the Avenging Dead dragged him further away in the direction of the cemetery.
I cowered down as their cries filled my heart with fear.
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