“No. Actually, that’s all Dex.”
My mother didn’t look too impressed. She exchanged a vague glance with my father and looked back at the screen.
Dex’s voice went on, giving a short and rather sinister history lesson before the stock footage of old ships and wild storms ceased and suddenly my big fat face filled the screen.
“Oh, Jesus.” I put my hand over my eyes again.
“Perry,” my dad warned, his religious side irked by my choice of words.
Ada reached over and pulled my hand off my face.
“Oh come on, you look great,” she said excitedly. I cautiously peered at the screen again.
I definitely did not look great. I had enough problems dealing with my body and face on a daily basis, just looking into the mirror often sent me off into a tizzy. So obviously with the camera (which, really does add ten pounds) zoomed in it wasn’t doing me any favors.
I remembered the scene like it was yesterday (or a few weeks ago). Dex and I were on the beach near the lighthouse, battling the ferocious wind and attempting to get a few good setup shots. I got nervous with the camera in my face and Dex’s rather brusque way of directing, so I suddenly started spouting off all this knowledge about the lighthouse and its morbid history. It sounds crazy, but somehow I knew everything there was to know about it. For a while there it was like I was living it, moving through and witnessing its past like a ghostly observer. And for some strange reason, Dex chose those scenes to put in the show. I watched my round, blank face stare stupidly at the ocean with my black hair flying all over the place.
“You look haunted,” Ada said quietly.
“I don’t get it,” said my mother. “Are you having a seizure?”
The camera froze on my face as Dex’s narration explained how the host, me, felt something dark and horrible about the lighthouse.
“An internal warning or a message from the grave?” Dex said dramatically.
My dad snorted in laughter. “I think she just forgot her lines.”
I glared at him and sank back into the bed. This was not starting out well at all.
Thankfully my face faded from view and the story began to move in a more linear fashion. A lot of the shots that I wouldn’t have thought were useable worked great at creating atmosphere, and the music that Dex used (or composed) added to the creepiness.
We had watched the show for about ten minutes when I realized that although the video thoroughly intrigued and scared me, it didn’t have the same effect on my parents. I had actually lived through everything – I knew the end to the story, which was more horrifying than anything captured on film. But did your average person, who didn’t know the things that I knew, get anything from it?
I looked over at my mother. She was staring at her fingernails. At least my dad watched, though I could see an impatient look in his eyes. Even during the part where Dex filmed (shakily) the hallway flooding and the fire creeping up the walls of the lighthouse, and me, their daughter, getting dragged underwater, neither of my parents seemed moved or concerned. Even when the screen went blank as Dex chucked the camera out of the window. Nothing.
Ada, on the other hand, bit her lip hard, fully engrossed. That would have been a great sign, had she not already known the real danger involved.
Needless to say, an uncomfortable silence filled my room as the show ended.
“Well, Perry,” said my dad. He got up and didn’t finish his sentence.
My mother got up too. “That was interesting. You looked good.”
Ada gave our parents an annoyed look and turned to me. “That was fantastic.”
It wasn’t fantastic. I don’t even know if it was interesting. And I definitely didn’t look good.
“So,” my dad cleared his throat. “Do you really think people are going to buy that?”
“What?”
He chuckled. “Perry, you’ve based a whole show on a lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” I said incredulously.
“So you’re telling me that a ghost set the lighthouse on fire? Because the last time I checked, you, Al, and the police were blaming the explosion on faulty wiring or something of that matter.”
“The police said it must have been faulty wiring,” I told him.
“And now you’re saying it’s the ghost of the lighthouse.”
“I’m not saying that now, I’ve always said that. I just didn’t tell you guys that because you wouldn’t believe me.” I felt my cheeks flush and gave Ada a helpless look. She shrugged, not wanting to get dragged into a senseless argument with our dad.
“You’re right about that,” he sighed. “Look, pumpkin, I don’t care what you do in your spare time, so as long as it doesn’t interfere with your job. Your career.”
Eek.
“But don’t get your hopes up on…this. I honestly don’t see it going anywhere. I’m not saying that to be mean sweetie. I’m just being your dad. This was…fun.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled and looked over at my mom who edged silently towards the door. She caught me looking at her and pasted on a sympathetic smile.
“You know your parents…we’re too old for this kind of stuff. You know ghosts and the internet and things aren’t really made for us. But your writing was good. And you looked good. And that’s what’s important.”
Of course my mother, being an ex-model from Sweden and all, would say that.
“You didn’t even read my writing!” I never saw her glance once at the blog I had written, which was posted beside the video in plain sight.
She looked embarrassed. “No, not yet but I know it would be good anyway. Stick to your writing and your job Perry and good things will happen.”
“We’re going to go watch Desperate Housewives.” My dad waved and shut the door behind them.
“Fuck,” I moaned and flopped back on the bed.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Ada chided.
My eyes flew open. “Excuse me?”
She got up and walked over to the computer.
“It wasn’t bad at all, Perry. Seriously, my friends would find this shit scary.”
“Ugh.”
“Well they would. They are your demographic, aren’t they? Little tweens and teens?”
“I was kind of hoping everyone would find it scary.”