The Horror Film Killer: A Film Milieu Thriller, #2

Table Of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The Horror Film Killer

(A Film Milieu Thriller)

Copyright © 2021 by Michael J. Bowler

All rights reserved.

First Edition: 2021

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7333290-3-3

eBook ISBN: 978-1-7333290-4-0

Editor: Loretta Sylvestre

Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

The First Murder

T

ony staggers and nearly topples

before reaching the park bench and collapsing into a seated position. His backpack leaks random food wrappers from a ragged gash up the side and his shoulders slump so sharply he nearly tumbles to the grass at his feet. Exhausted and barely able to stay upright, he lies back the bench and within moments falls into a deep sleep.

Wind kicks up leaves around the bench, and thick shade trees obscure most of the illumination cast by the nearest streetlight. The park is empty, the adjacent street devoid of movement, and no city sounds penetrate this deep in the suburbs.

Tony slumbers on, arms draped across his chest as though he’s posing for the part of a corpse in some murder mystery. Shadows surround him, shifting in the meager light, trembling in the wind.

Tony’s face is twisted with pain, yet serene, as though this minor respite is the best thing that’s happened to him all day. He doesn’t look more than twenty-three or four, but the ravages of street life have taken their toll, and he could easily pass for thirty-four if given a cursory inspection.

So sudden it’s almost too fast to follow, a gloved hand shoots out from under the bench from beneath and clamps down on Tony’s mouth. His eyelids flip open like window shades and the whites glow bright with shock. Before he can even struggle, the sharp tip of an arrow exits his throat from beneath, tearing through the skin with a sound like ripping cloth.

Blood erupts from his trachea as his eyes bug out in anguish and stunned horror. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as the tip of the arrow dribbles dark red blood into a rapidly growing pool, spilling through the slats of the wooden bench beneath him. He twists and flops, but the hand keeps his forehead pinned to the bench until all movement stops and his mouth ceases its desperate attempts to suck in air. The eyes remain open, the pupils etched with terror and disbelief. Slowly, the gloved hand slips off his face and vanishes beneath the bench. The metal spear remains in place, blood bubbling from the jagged flesh around it like lava from a volcano.

Footsteps run away and Tony remains pinned to the bench, finally at peace.

Cut! Ashley leans away from the monitor and applauds with gusto. That’s a wrap for tonight, everyone. It looked fantastic!

The teen who’s been filming lowers his camera as the twenty-something actor on the bench sits up and grins.

Somebody help Grant get that arrow out of his throat, Ashley adds with a laugh.

Grant chuckles as several teen crew members scurry over and set about removing the apparatus that encircles his neck.

This Karo syrup is nasty, Ashley, Grant says, twisting his face into a grimace. And cold, too.

Ashley saunters over. What, you expect me to heat it up for you? You’re just an expendable extra so get over yourself.

He sticks out his tongue and she laughs.

The image freezes and then goes black.

Okay, I’m going to stop here since the bell’s about to ring.

Bright light fills the room as Mr. Ketchum flicks on the overheads. Cassie beams with pride as the class of high school seniors applauds. A bank of open windows opposite the door allows a slight breeze to waft through the room, partially offsetting the warm spring temperature outside.

On the white board behind Mr. Ketchum’s desk is scrawled in large red letters, HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13TH. Also, in the upper right corner are the words Filming Always Permitted in this Classroom, and beneath that two signatures—Mr. K and Mrs. K.

Cassie flips an errant strand of auburn hair off her freckled face and tosses Donovan a smile of triumph. That sequence, including the kill, was lensed just last weekend, which means they spent long hours in the school’s editing room to have it ready for today. Watching that particular murder on Friday the 13th is especially delicious since the kill is an homage to that very movie.

The applause dies down as Kristen Corte, playing Ashley in the film, stands and bows. Thank you, thank you.

Two rows over, attractive brunette Olivia Taylor scowls. "We’re clapping for the kill scene, not you, Kristen."

Kristen loses her gloating smile. I keep hoping they’ll rewrite the script and kill you off sooner.

Mr. Ketchum holds up a hand. Enough behind the scenes drama, ladies. He sends each of the girls a serious look that says, I mean business here, and they back down. Kristen retakes her seat and grabs Diego Bernal’s hand, pulling him closer and mad-dogging Olivia.

Cassie sighs to herself. Another typical day in film class. Kristen and Olivia are probably the prettiest girls at school, and that’s the problem. Cassie doesn’t care enough about stuff like that to be jealous, but the other two girls are so much alike they can’t stand one another.

Blonde hair tumbling past her shoulders, small nose, blue eyes, soft features, and a figure to kill for, Kristen is eye candy for every boy who sees her. Olivia is almost the opposite with short brown hair, sharp features, and piercing brown eyes, but her flirting skills are legendary and could easily give Kristen a run for her money if Kristen ever broke up with Diego, her steady boyfriend of the past two years.

I, for one, am very impressed, Mr. Ketchum goes on, turning his attention Cassie’s way. Your footage looks professional. The lighting and camerawork—great job, William.

Tall, skinny William Webster grins from ear to ear from behind long bangs swept across light brown eyes, his barely visible mustache stretched to pencil thin status.

And that opening drone shot as the victim staggered into the park and plopped onto the bench was flawless, Mr. Ketchum goes on, his deep voice filled with pride. Your precision with that drone astonishes me, Baxter. I can’t even keep one of those things in the air for two minutes without crashing it into something.

Baxter Jacobs—known as the class nerd for his large glasses and pudgy physique—basks in the glow of the compliment, lowering his eyes in embarrassed pride.

Your sound was clean too, Baxter, Mr. Ketchum adds. That’s very difficult during location shooting. He scans the class. Any comments or suggestions for the directors, cast, or crew before we leave for spring break?

Cassie’s least-favorite classmate, Robert Wilkins, leers at her. Gonna tell us who the killer is, Cass?

Not on your life. Not even the main actors have seen those pages.

I’m the only one privileged to know that secret. Mr. Ketchum grins and pulls an imaginary zipper across his lips. But my lips are sealed under penalty of death.

The class laughs.

I’m sure it was Cassie who threatened you. Robert smirks. We all know Donovan’s too feeble to intimidate a fly.

Ahem! Mr. Ketchum tosses a ball painted with a frown face to Robert, who deftly plucks it from the air it with his left hand. He eyes the frowning face and shrugs.

Sorry, Mr. K, but it’s true.

Mr. Ketchum is not amused. If you end up with Mr. Frown one more time, Robert, I’ll dock you some serious class participation points.

Robert looks suitably chastised, but Cassie tosses him the dirtiest look she can muster. Tall, dark-haired, handsome, and narcissistic to the max, Robert loves displaying his chiseled physique at every opportunity. Today, he’s wearing shorts and skin-tight tank top that might as well be invisible.

Cassie hates arrogance, especially when people flaunt it. Robert has haughtily hit on her multiple times this year, clearly assuming his charm and hot bod are all he needs to conquer her.

Considering he could have practically any girl at school, she doesn’t understand his persistence—unless he considers her a challenge. She’s turned him down as forcefully as possible and, in his self-absorbed mind, Robert assumes it’s because of Donovan.

Donovan lowers his eyes to the floor under the scrutiny of the class. A shadow from his yellow fedora covers his face and gives him a tragic-figure look that sends Cassie’s heartbeat into raging overdrive.

How dare Robert!

She bites her lip, fighting the urge to cuss him out right then and there!

Even I’m not privileged to know the identity of the killer, comes a husky female voice from the back of the room. And I’m married to the producer. She tosses off a throaty laugh and the class chuckles.

What did you think of my performance, Mrs. K? Kristen chirps, her tone indicating she expects a compliment. Do you think I might play Lady Macbeth one day like you did?

Mrs. Ketchum, the school’s acting teacher, brushes a loose strand of brown hair back over one ear and appears to consider the question.

I know you’ve always fancied that performance of mine and I confess I’m rather proud of it. But sometimes I fear you aspire to be like Lady Macbeth in real life.

Of course, I do, Kristen asserts in her usual take-no-prisoners tone. She was a take-charge woman, the kind you’ve modeled for us.

May I point out, Mr. K adds, that she was also an accessory to murder. But we’re getting sidetracked here.

I’m proud of every one of you, Mrs. K announces in her most dramatic tone. The performances are stellar, especially you, Kristen. You are, after all, playing against type as a nice girl, am I right?

She smiles and everyone joins her, including Kristen, who may be self-absorbed and conceited, but at least makes no pretense of being otherwise.

Cassie has always considered Mrs. K one of the most beautiful women she’s ever known, possessing true movie star attributes. Brunette with shoulder-length, wavy hair swept just off the face, full lips accented by understated lipstick, lovely green eyes beneath luxuriously long lashes. Even her high cheekbones give her that star quality, like a modern-day version of Sophia Loren.

Mr. and Mrs. K used to be active in Hollywood—he a director and she an actress—but drinking, drugs, and partying derailed both their careers. They’ve never tried to keep their pasts a secret—Google has all the dirty details—and Mr. K, at least, has always asserted that he loves teaching more than directing any day. Cassie can’t imagine that being true, but she doesn’t argue the point.

Mrs. Ketchum looks across the room at Cassie and Donovan. You two are going places in Hollywood, I’ve no doubt of that. Perhaps you can convince my husband to produce your next feature.

Cassie’s mouth drops open. Are you thinking of going back to making movies, Mr. K? That would be awesome!

Dressed in his usual sloppy wrinkled pants and long-sleeved pullover, Mr. Ketchum looks nothing like how she pictures a Hollywood producer.

That’s just my wife’s wishful thinking. I prefer nurturing the talent in this room. You and Donovan will do just fine on your own. I agree with Mrs. K on that score.

He nods at his wife and she smiles back. But something about the smile seems off to Cassie, as though Mrs. K thinks Mr. K embarrassed her in front of the students.

I, uh, I agree about Donovan and Cassie, pipes up a timid voice from the back corner. It’s an honor to work with them.

Cassie turns toward the back of the class.

Jaden Merton slouches in his usual seat, black hoodie partially covering his perfectly woven cornrows, peeking out at them as though afraid he’ll be attacked at any moment.

Donovan smiles at the compliment. Thanks, man, he says in that calm, quiet tone that’s soothed Cassie’s bull-in-a-china-shop nature since they were children. You’re a great help on the set, and I mean that. You have, like, a photographic memory for details.

Jaden cracks what for him could pass for a smile, but he doesn’t respond to the compliment. He seldom says anything at all, but the film crew would be minus its most valuable member if he decided to quit.

It had taken Cassie and Donovan more than a few pleading sessions before Mr. Ketchum agreed to let them co-write and co-direct a feature film for their senior project. Everyone else is making short films, but Cassie and Donovan hope to enter their movie in the local Shriek Festival, one of the oldest and biggest horror film festivals in the country. Final deadline for submissions is in July. Since their film has to be finished and polished before the June graduation date, submitting on time should be a breeze. And they both live in the San Fernando Valley, so attending the nearby Hollywood-based festival will be a cinch.

Mr. Ketchum studies Jaden a long moment, but the lanky African American boy refuses to make eye contact.

I’ve heard good things about your work on this film, Jaden, and I’m happy to see you enjoying yourself.

He enjoys himself too much, Kristen spits out, squinting at Jaden from across the room. He gets a little too into his role as the guy in the skull mask.

He’s the killer? a longhaired girl exclaims in shock.

Mr. Ketchum shakes his head. He’s the body double for the killer. That way, none of the other actors know which character is really doing the killing.

The girl nods in admiration.

Jaden withers beneath Kristen’s verbal assault.

Kristen, Mr. Ketchum intones, his voice sounding as annoyed as Cassie has ever heard from him. I agreed to you not having to make your own film because you’re the lead in this one. Don’t push me. If I get reports that you’re playing the prima donna on set like you do here, you’d better come up with an Oscar-caliber film of your own if you want to pass this class.

Olivia bursts into applause, and surprisingly Jaden joins her. Now it’s Kristen who withers—slightly—and Cassie is pleased to note that she doesn’t argue or even respond. She merely pulls Diego in closer and he whispers something—no doubt words of comfort—into her ear. That’s all he ever seems to do.

Diego Bernal has been called the hottest boy at Performance Arts Academy High School by most of the girls Cassie knows. She agrees that he has that smoldering Latino look and he could easily be a model with his wavy black hair, smooth features untarnished by acne or beard stubble, and soft brown eyes. But he’s not her type. He’s too… beautiful.

One thing she does know—he could do a helluva lot better in the girlfriend department that Kristen Corte. Cassie can’t imagine what he sees in her beyond beauty. That must be all he wants.

Kristen is practically a Hollywood stereotype, the obnoxious drama queen everyone hates. That’s why it was too tempting to pass up the opportunity to cast her as the good girl in this film. She’s not joking when she crows about being a great actress. She really is stellar and will no doubt have the Hollywood career she craves if she can keep her attitude in check.

Mr. Ketchum continues the discussion for a few more minutes and then quizzes other class members about the status of their scripts or film projects.

Cassie tunes out to think about the week ahead. She and Donovan have lined up some pretty cool locations and the weather promises to be clear. Since it’s already April, Daylight Savings Time is in play. That means longer days, but also a longer wait for night shooting to begin. They’ve discussed the schedule so often they have it memorized, and plan on making the best use of every shooting moment they have.

When Mr. Ketchum dismisses the class, Cassie gathers up her backpack and smiles as Donovan assembles his stuff. The class files out, several students wishing them success on the rest of the shoot.

Asher, the smallest boy in the senior class despite having just turned eighteen is, in Cassie’s opinion, one of the cutest boys in the entire school. He’s around five foot five, with a ’fro of thick curly brown hair that wraps itself around his head like a Chia pet, pale blue eyes the color of Forget-Me-Not flowers, and soft, delicate features that make him look much younger.

See you tomorrow, Cassie, he says in his typically upbeat voice as he passes her desk.

Yep. She smiles at him as he leaves the room.

Asher volunteered for the cameraman role in the film because he looks up to William, who also aspires to be a Director of Photography after high school. Cassie loves having Asher on set for two reasons: he’s one of the nicest kids around and he’s gorgeous. Even in a small role, he’ll be additional eye candy to lure in female viewers. Cassie is feminist to a point, but recognizes the usefulness of having good-looking people, both male and female, in a film. That’s just good business.

She glances around for Jaden, but he was likely the first one out, as always. Jaden isn’t like Asher and, if Cassie is honest, he creeps her out a little. He gives new meaning to the word shy; he