And so they walked on through the fair, almost fully reunited, until they spotted the one thing that made the picture whole.
No matter how much fun surrounded them, the human eye always drifted back to The Haunted House. Because fear beats joy every time. Joy is fleeting. But something dark, creaking, and falling apart in the distance? That grabs you. Especially when you've eaten too much cotton candy and your soul is already half gone.
Because really — what else is there to shake your nervous system in a world where real tension has been surgically removed? Where the worst breakdowns are caused by a selfie with bad lighting or a glitchy Wi- Fi connection.
(This quote was included for dramatic flair. Let's be honest — no self- respecting, or completely trashy, production goes without one.)
Which is why it was entirely unclear what Costume had been thinking when he decided to freeze next to a pair of monster mannequins standing outside the - Nightmare Gallery.
The werewolf and the tentacled goo- blob made perfect sense — they were textbook fear. But Costume? He hadn't earned a spot in the human subconscious. He wasn't archetypal terror. He was... just weird.
So really, he shouldn't have been surprised when two kids — a boy and a girl, siblings by the look of it — started tugging at his folds and casually stomping on his cowboy boots. With spurs. Their parents watched on, silently approving. They were probably thinking, - Look at our brave kids!
Conquering their fears! Therapy through stomping!-
Flora, however, disagreed. So did the others — but for entirely different reasons.
When the team saw their long- lost acquaintance — the one they'd left crumpled on the sidewalk — now posing as a haunted house prop, they all burst into noise. Of course they did! Their lost talisman had been reborn as a living statue. The best part? The kids kicking and poking him had no idea he was sentient.
Auntie, I hope you're filming all this? — Vanna — Most of this is going straight into our gonzo reel. Always working, darling. Even when the sweat stains start to talk
Being the screenwriter too, Flora couldn't help imagining how perfect it would be if Costume suddenly snapped and tripped one of the little gremlins. Or at least gave them a polite shove.
But she shut down that maniacal urge right away. First: hurting kids is, well, a bad look. Second: you can't include scenes like that — audiences hate child- endangerment. Especially the kind that doesn't come with a superhero and a three- act arc. You won't get an Oscar, only a cancellation.
Manners! What a foreign concept to these parents! — Hissed a voice in her It was Copy. The director flinched.
The duplicate film guru had vanished the whole way to the fair. She hadn't shown up during the walk either. Flora hadn't missed her much. But now Copy was back — and clearly had thoughts.
From a visual standpoint, this would be a prime opportunity for conflict. The audience loves conflict! If that freak in the costume knocked out one of those tiny provocateurs? Instant buzz. But yeah, yeah. You're technically right. Ratings suicide. And the censors would skin us.
For once, Flora agreed with her clone. Though Copy, ever the visionary, narrowed her eyes and mused:
But if he started a public beef with the parents? That, my dear, could be
The rest of the team seemed to share her thoughts. The actors stared at Costume, waiting for an emotional explosion.
But... it never came. The statue remained still. The kids eventually wandered off, distracted by a man selling candy floss.
Sadly, that wasn't the end for our unfortunate friend. First, Peyota chimed in:
Yo, wassup with this Balkan drip? You fresh outta Soviet Fashion Week, ma boy? And then, as if summoned, Vanna added—innocently: Guys! I actually know Tommy Cash Been dying to dress him for a gig. And I swear he had something just like that in his prop room. Absolutely priceless, — snorted — That thing was designed to repel women. Virginity guaranteed till death! Hee- hee- hee. Did you borrow that from your dad's closet?
Suddenly, Costume moved. He stepped toward the demon and its host. The imp shrieked. And then the costume spoke — its voice echoing eerily through the space:
It was in your father's closet. And they switched places. Now he's the one gathering dust on a shelf.
The demon's host turned pale. The laughter died like a record scratch. Evelyn took the silence as her cue:
Great, now that we're all shut up, can we maybe listen to the director? Where are we headed? Flora cleared her throat and tried to sound confident. It came out as a squeak: Our first scene is over in that It's the beginning of a new era in our lives. Sorry, I don't do big speeches. Let's just start. Be yourselves. Say whatever comes to mind. No lines. No acting instructions. Just go with it.
And what are we supposed to do at the fortune teller's tent? — Manu
We're going to ask her if our film will be a Please. Let's just go.
She waved invitingly and rushed ahead — mostly to avoid any more questions. Spoken word wasn't really her thing.
(And if she was honest, she wasn't so sure about the written kind either.)
Incredible Really stirred the soul. Now everyone will want to be in your cinematic masterpiece, — Copy said, walking beside her, dripping with sarcasm.
Oh shut Where did you even go?
I'm not you. I have other business, you Unlike this delightful gaggle of lunatics dragging me through every two- bit carnival.
It's a fair, — Flora muttered
It doesn't matter! I run multiple businesses and have to check in on how they You should learn how to manage your time better and stop clinging to that cheap misunderstood- loner image you wear like a badge.-
Copy's words often pierced Flora's practically non- existent mental defenses — probably because they came partly from within herself. After all, Copy was, in a sense, her spiritual twin. And so, those little jabs hit deep, leaving the director with significantly less fire in her eyes as she stepped into the fortune teller's tent. She suddenly felt very, very down…
However, the interior design quickly dispersed her looming self- pity thanks to its… radical uniqueness. The entire fabric of the tent was covered in something that looked suspiciously like… bathroom tiles.