Arc II, Chapter 62: A Close Shave

Living in Carousel was odd in so many ways, but the thing that stuck out the most to me wasn’t the constant feeling of impending doom or the mysterious residents; it was the petty thievery.

Everywhere we went, we found ourselves reaching out and grabbing things we wanted and shoving them in our bags. Chapstick for sale at a neighborhood newspaper stand? Better grab it.

Hand sanitizer in the bathroom at the diner? I think I’ll take it.

Pillow from the nice hotel we stayed at? It goes in the bag. Pillows don’t weigh much and our magical luggage tags only cared about weight. Unfortunately for me, I had used my luggage tag in my hoodie pockets, which made pillow pilfering impractical.

Still, I always had everything I needed with me. Off-brand candy bars from the hotel mini bar? Mine. Carousel demanded coin for items at its special stores like the psychic emporium or the pawn shop. Even the Eternal Saver’s Club took money for bulk purchases unless you beat the storyline there.

Set dressing, though, it could be pillaged cautiously.

Roxy was said to have been so good at stealing from storyline sets that watching her go through movies was like watching a spy get chased through an open-air bazaar. She picked up a scarf here and sunglasses there. Before you knew it, she had a total wardrobe change between scenes.

I mostly used thievery to get toiletries, candy, and batteries for my off-brand Walkman.

That was what I was thinking about as I woke up over a month after the factory fire. It hadn’t actually been a month, but the calendar said it had. February 12th, 1984. The set disaster would soon be upon us.

I was sleeping on the couch of my character’s rented home, looking toward the Carousel Hills—not quite in the Carousel Hills, but the upper-middle-class neighborhood closest to it. Yes, my character had an overpriced, modernist home that would make a miniature Bond villain proud.

It was one of those places with a flat roof and glass walls. I hated it. We lived in a horror movie hellscape. I couldn’t leave lights on because I knew I was getting stared at by things that went bump in the night.

I couldn’t sleep in the bedroom of the house either because that was where Ramona slept. She liked to have a locked door between herself and the world at night. I didn’t blame her. She was a nice enough roommate, but we weren’t friends yet. When we talked, it was friendly but distant. As odd as she was to me, I was even odder to her.

The couch I slept on was on the second story, and I got a great view of the open wilderness. I didn’t see much of Ramona. I could hear her strumming on a guitar in the bedroom below my couch pretty regularly. It was my character’s guitar, but it didn’t look like he played much. Like most of his possessions, it was meant to suggest a rich and fulfilling life that I didn’t believe he actually had. He was shallow, even for an NPC.

As I stretched, I rubbed my hand over my face and jolted awake at the realization that something was there that shouldn’t have been. It was dark outside. Glancing at the wall-sized clock in his house, I saw that it was three in the morning.

I felt around my mouth and chin. It was a goatee. I had a goatee.

What the heck, Carousel?

Where was my hoodie? I hoped and prayed I had stolen more shaving cream recently. I was going to need it.

A month before I woke up with new facial hair, I was just coming to terms with how this storyline was going to work.

Much of the time between the fire and the film set disaster was spent actually making the movie for Carlyle’s production company. I had a shooting schedule in my car, along with my house key and a complete itinerary for making the film.

I had to actually do work for this story.

Kimberly appeared in her trailer—the kind movie stars get on film shoots—the day of my first shoot. I was nervous as heck when I arrived, and all eyes were on me. I had a whole team of NPCs at my beck and call.

Carousel really wanted me to make the flick.

We were in the production lot shooting on a sound stage that contained an entire neighborhood and the impression of a forest behind the houses. This place was recycled for different movies. Today, we were shooting the inside shots for the scene Carlyle and I had discussed previously—the heroine talking to her mother as the killer stalked outside.

“Gather around people,” one of the NPCs said. Her name was Beverly. She was the film’s Assistant Director.

As the cast and crew gathered, I saw Kimberly stagger out of her trailer and take in her surroundings. An NPC urged her to join the huddle. When she saw me, a calm came over her.

Beverly, the Assistant Director, continued calling people over to herself. Then, she said, “Everyone, this is Riley Lawrence, our new director. Everyone give him your attention.”

Then they all turned to me.

Wait a second, wasn’t my character already the director? We weren’t on screen, so I guess that was okay, but it was weird to introduce me when “I” had already directed the first part of the movie.

Whatever.

What was I supposed to say?

“Folks, we all know what we’re doing. We’re going to all hit it hard and get things done on schedule,” I said, willing it into existence. “Now, let’s get ready for the shoot. Has the new script been distributed?”

“It will be soon,” Beverly said. No sooner did she say it than an assistant of some kind came from an office in the distant corner of the lot and started distributing the rewritten version of the scene I had talked to Carlyle about. The pages said I had rewritten them. I didn’t remember doing that, but the end result was pretty close to what I would have done.

“Alright, people,” I said, looking over at Kimberly. “We’re going to take ten.”

They obeyed, giving Kimberly and me time to talk.

“This is the movie set,” Kimberly said. “The news article about the film set accident—do you think that’s what this is?”

She was a little behind.

“It isn’t right now,” I said. “But it will be.”

We were barely into the Party Phase. She didn’t know of everything that had happened the day or so before at the factory. I did my best to explain it to her.

“We’re Off-Screen,” she said. “The NPCs are still in character.”

It was strange enough. We were Off-Screen for all of this. Scenes that wouldn’t make the final film were usually just not done at all. It would be a few moments before I realized the reason.

Carlyle was on set. He had to be. The Geists seemed to be unaware of Carousel’s nature. The NPCs didn’t turn off around them. It was that simple. Everyone was in character around the Geists.

“The Geists are living the plot of The Truman Show,” I said. “We can’t let them know this is all fake or… I don’t know what will happen.”

“I’ve heard of The Truman Show,” Kimberly said. “Was it a horror movie?”

“Yes,” I said. “Just in disguise.”

“I’m an actress?” she asked.

She was taking it all in and trying to project calmness. Still, it was a lot to be told all at once.

“Yes. I told Carlyle you’re good, so do your best,” I said.

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “You know I was in an ad on YouTube once.”

The author’s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“I didn’t know that,” I said.

“It was for a skin cleanser. They wanted us to film ourselves using it. I shot a whole demonstration. They only used a shot of it where my face was covered in suds,” she said. “I hated that cleanser. It was sticky.”

“Hmm,” I said. Our lives back in the real world were so far behind us I had forgotten about Kimberly’s whole mini-influencer thing. “If Carlyle asks, tell him you’ve been in more than that. There is a headshot over in the office with your films on it. He’s also seen at least some of our storyline performances.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Wait, which storyline?”

“The underground lab one, Subject of Inquiry, is all I know. I guess he was told it was a real movie.”

She nodded nervously.

I couldn’t blame her. I was nervous, too. Normally, knowing the audience is watching was something you could push out of your mind. Heck, I was so angry at them for whatever role they played in getting us stuck here that I didn’t care if they were entertained beyond what was required for our survival.

Carlyle was different. I felt nervous about whether he would like my work. It felt so unlikely. I had only worked on a few student films back in college, and those were just assigned projects. Directing a real fake movie was a huge step up.

“Riley,” Carlyle called from the distance. He sounded hoarse.

“Mr. Geist,” I said. “I was wondering where you were.”

“Crawling out of a thousand tons of molten metal,” he said. “Metaphorically, if not literally. How’s the script? Did you get that scene rewritten?”

I nodded and handed him my copy of the revised script.

He started reading it immediately. Kimberly and I just watched as he tore through page after page.

“Wonderful,” he said. “Now, if the rest of the script gets this treatment, I think we’ll be onto something.”

“This is Miss Madison,” I said. “Our leading lady.”

“Kimberly Madison, of course,” he said. “You will have to forgive my manners. I have a one-track mind sometimes. I am very excited to see what you can do.”

“So am I,” she said. “I’ve got to go run my lines. If you’ll excuse me.”

She made a beeline for her trailer. Some NPCs pointed her out like she was a celebrity.

“I will see you on set. I am expecting a phone call about that nasty business last night,” Carlyle said.

He wandered off with my copy of the script. Moments later, that same assistant from earlier returned and placed a new copy in my hand. Carousel was always watching.

“Now remember, Kimberly,” I said. “We can’t hear what you’re saying in this shot. We are focusing on the shot from the outside. You’ll sound distant. You’ll be doing all of your acting with your face and your body here.”