Director's Cut Read online

  Copyright © 2016 by Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

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  Darby Creek

  A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  241 First Avenue North

  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

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  The images in this book are used with the permission of: © iStockphoto.com/pboehringer (houses); © iStockphoto.com/Jürgen François (ghosts); © iStockphoto.com/mustafahacalaki (skull); © iStockphoto.com/Igor Zhuravlov (storm); © iStockphoto.com/desifoto (graph paper); © iStockphoto.com/Trifonenko (blue flame); © iStockphoto.com/Anita Stizzoli (dark clouds).

  Main body text set in Janson Text LT Std 12/17.5. Typeface provided by Adobe Systems.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Acton, Vanessa, author.

  Title: Director’s cut / by Vanessa Acton.

  Description: Minneapolis : Darby Creek, [2017] | Summary: “An abandoned movie set is said to be cursed after a film shoot gone terribly wrong. Disaster befalls those living on or near the set, and rumor has it the curse is to blame”— Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2015047188 (print) | LCCN 2016020994 (ebook) | ISBN 9781512413243 (lb : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781512413519 (pb : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781512413526 (eb pdf)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Blessing and cursing—Fiction. | Motion pictures—Production and direction—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.A228 Di 2017 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.A228 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2015047188

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1-39783-21321-3/18/2016

  9781512419443 ePub

  9781512419450 ePub

  9781512419467 mobi

  For A.H. May you never be abandoned in a corn maze.

  Chapter 1

  This isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had.

  My friend Ahmed would probably disagree. But only because he hasn’t known me that long. “We shouldn’t be here,” he says.

  If it were up to him, I think we’d never leave the base. And yeah, Edmonds Air Force Base is a great place to live. Bowling alley, pool, gym, movie theater, park. Endless bike-friendly streets.

  But seriously. An abandoned movie set trumps all of that.

  “It’s fine,” I tell him. The four of us—Ahmed, Destiny, Gabby, and me—stand in a line, straddling our bikes. We’re all staring at the fence. Or at least Ahmed and I are. Destiny and Gabby are probably straining to see what’s beyond the fence. The distant outlines of deserted buildings. The sun in our eyes doesn’t help.

  We can see the fence just fine, though. It’s taller than I expected. Maybe twenty feet. But it’s just an ordinary chain-link deal. No barbed wire. No electricity. No fancy security, like the base has. And why would there be? There’s nothing here worth protecting. Sanford’s Folly is just a ghost town. A fake ghost town. An old, forgotten movie set that’s been closed for thirty years. Out in the middle of the Arizona desert. Barely within sight of the one road that runs past it. Nobody will know or care if we sneak in. Sure, there’s a NO TRESPASSING sign. But it’s old and worn-out looking, hanging slightly crooked. It clearly doesn’t take itself seriously anymore.

  Ahmed shakes his head. “I’m just getting a really bad feeling about this.”

  Gabby lets out an irritated grunt. “Thanks, Han Solo.” She never misses a chance to make a movie reference. Usually she goes for something way more obscure than Star Wars. Gabby’s what you would call a film nerd. Which is why she’s here. Destiny came along because she loves a good case of paranormal activity. She’s heard the rumors about Sanford’s Folly and wants to see if they’re true. Me, I’m just in it for a change of routine. And Ahmed . . . well . . .

  “You didn’t have to come,” I tell him. Which isn’t fair. I mean, it’s true. He didn’t. But I know he was afraid to turn down the invitation. Afraid I’d judge him. Afraid I wouldn’t want to hang out with him anymore. He and his family have been at Edmonds way longer than Mom and I have. Almost a year. But he didn’t have a core group of friends here until this past month, when I brought the four of us together. Gabby and Destiny definitely didn’t hang out with him before. So I know he’s feeling the pressure.

  I’ve been there. I know it’s a gut-eating feeling. Even worse, in a way, than being totally alone. And I’ve been there too. “It’s fine if you want to go back,” I add. “Or if you just want to wait here with the bikes. For real, man. But I’m doing this.”

  “So am I,” says Destiny. Like anyone was in doubt. Her silver charm bracelet slides down her arm as she lifts her hand to wipe the sweat off her forehead.

  “I’ll go first,” declares Gabby. She lets go of her bike, which slumps sideways into the sand. By the time I engage my own bike’s kickstand, she’s climbed halfway up the fence.

  “But what if it really is . . .” Ahmed trails off.

  “Cursed?” Destiny finishes for him. She takes a last swig from her water bottle and settles it back in the basket between her bike’s handlebars. The little charms on her bracelet clink together like mini wind chimes. Minus the wind. The desert air is dead still. “That’s what we’re here to find out. Whether it’s cursed or not.”

  This is why they wouldn’t be hanging out if it weren’t for me. Destiny thinks the idea of a curse is cool. Ahmed, not so much.

  Still, Ahmed follows the rest of us to the fence. I grab a handhold between the metal links and start hoisting myself up. Destiny and Ahmed are right behind me. In two seconds, Destiny passes me. She almost overtakes Gabby, who’s swinging a leg over the top of the fence. I suspect she let Gabby get a head start just so she could outpace her. They have that kind of half-respect, half-rivalry thing going on.

  A few seconds later I reach the top. The fence sways a little under our combined weight. Up here, that swaying feels more dramatic. I sneak a glance back over my shoulder. Our bikes wait in a cluster. Beyond them, there’s nothing but sand all the way to the horizon. The road isn’t far away, but I can’t see it from here. The late afternoon sun is at that mellow point before sunset kicks in.

  I face forward again and swing my right leg over the fence. Once I find a new foothold on the other side, I bring my other leg over. Below me, I hear Gabby’s feet hit the ground. Then Destiny’s.

  Mom would kill me if she knew about this. I try to ignore that thought. Mom isn’t some military stereotype, barking orders at home, saying things like “I want your room clean by Oh-Eight-Hundred-Hours.” She’s actually pretty chill. Except when I, well, break the law.

  Soon I’m on the ground. Ahmed lands next to me. We all start walking. Sanford’s Folly comes clearly into view.

  Like I said, it’s a fake town, built in the 1930s to look like an old-style frontier settlement. Lots of famous cowboy movies got filmed here. Gabby can probably name most of them, even though she hates Westerns.

  Now, though, the place looks like a construction site that got hit by a tornado. A few crumbling stone buildings line each side of the wide “main street,” which is really just a bare stretch of packed sand. The street eventually dead-ends in front of a big, whiteish stone building with a peaked roof. There’s an empty space where its front door used to be. From here, it looks as if that doorway is staring us down. Daring us to walk all the way up to it.

  “All the way” isn’t actually very far. The whole stretch of the town is only as long as a football field, tops. But we’re taking our time, shuffling past the wrecked structures. Destiny keeps pausing to snap pictures with her phone.

  Every so often there’s a pile of rubble where a wooden building used to be. Charred, rotting timber. Two or three sagging walls guarding a gutted foundation. Caved-in ceilings. Window frames full of sky. Glinting fragments of metal buried in the wreckage.

  Random things stand out to me. A jagged piece of a sign with the letters SHER still readable under the scorch marks. A soot-blackened metal pot—I think it’s called a spittoon. Half of a saloon door.

  “When was the fire?” I ask Gabby. “The one that shut the place down for good?”

  I don’t know why I’m whispering.

  “Eighties,” Gabby whispers back. She dodges a tumbleweed that rolls into her path.

  “That’s what I thought. Weird that they never, like, cleaned up afterward.”

  Gabby shrugs. “The studio probably didn’t want to spend the money for that. The guys in charge decided right away that they wouldn’t film here again.”

  “Yeah,” says Destiny. “Since the fire pretty much clinched the whole ‘curse’ thing.”

  “Nothing clinched the curse thing,” says Gabby, rolling her eyes. “There just happened to be plenty of other movie sets. And Westerns were getting less popular by then anyway. Fixing up this place wouldn’t have been worth the trouble.”

  Another knotted ball of tumbleweed blows past us. Weird. There’s not any wind right now. What’s making it move?

  “What is the curse, exactly?” I ask. “I mean, supposedly.” I’ve only heard the vague rumors that a curse exists.

  “Eternal bad luck for all who enter here,
” says Destiny over her shoulder. Casually, like she’s telling me the time.

  Gabby makes a dismissive noise in her throat. “Yeah. Nothing specific. Nothing you can actually measure or prove. Convenient, right?”

  Destiny steps closer to a collapsed building. She climbs over the closest layer of stone chunks and warped wooden planks. “Let’s check out some of the side streets,” she says, pointing like an explorer in a textbook.

  “But Main Street was where they did all the filming,” protests Gabby.

  “So what are the other buildings for?” I ask.

  Gabby shrugs. “Eating. Applying the actors’ makeup. Storing the costumes and props and film equipment. All very important. Just not as interesting as the actual film set.”

  More tumbleweeds gather around us. Three, four, five of these feather-light, dried-up plants. This time they don’t seem to be just blowing by. They roll to a stop and sit there. Like they’re watching us.

  The others haven’t noticed. “Come on,” says Destiny. She’s already scrabbling deeper into the mess of the demolished building. Never mind that we could easily cut between buildings to get to a parallel street. Destiny loves a challenge. “Isn’t the behind-the-scenes stuff the most interesting part anyway?”

  “Sure, when it hasn’t all burned to a crisp,” says Gabby. “But it’s not like there’ll be a bunch of old costumes or props to discover. They cleared out anything they could salvage years ago. Besides, I want to see the mission.” She points toward the far end of the street. The whitish building. A mission, huh? I guess it does look kind of like a church. That peak at the top must be the bell tower.

  “Yeah, let’s finish our tour of Main Street first,” I say.

  “Feel free,” says Destiny. She’s reached the back end of the building’s foundation. She steps over the last clump of broken-up stone. “You can meet me when you’re done. I’ll be over this way.”

  I’m not an expert like Gabby, but I’ve seen enough horror movies to know splitting up is a bad idea. “Um, are you sure . . .?”

  Destiny glances back now. “You’re not scared, are you, Alex?”

  “No, I just . . .”

  I glance around and realize the tumbleweeds have disappeared. I must be losing it. Thinking that tumbleweeds are stalking us.

  “Look, guys, I gotta be back by sunset,” Ahmed says. Sunset is one of his prayer times.

  “Don’t worry,” Gabby tells him. “It only took forty minutes to bike here. If we leave by . . .” She pauses to check her phone. “If we leave by five, we’re fine.”

  She grabs me by the arm and drags me toward the adobe building. Ahmed follows us.

  “Maybe I should go with Destiny,” I say. I don’t like the idea of her wandering off alone. Andrea Milton never forgave me for ditching her in that corn maze in fourth grade.

  “Or maybe you should chill out,” says Gabby. “Destiny can take care of herself.”

  About five seconds later, we hear Destiny scream.

  Chapter 2

  We take off running, following Destiny’s voice.

  We cut between two buildings and come out on the next street. Here, we see more fire-hollowed structures. No obvious sign of Destiny.

  We’re yelling her name and “Where are you?” But she’s not answering. Gabby tries calling her. Straight to voicemail.

  “She couldn’t have gone far,” said Ahmed. “Where’s the spot where she crossed over? Back there, right? So let’s check the buildings closest to that spot.”

  Something I didn’t know about Ahmed until this moment: he’s good in a crisis.

  “We stay together, though,” I insist.

  “Agreed,” says Gabby. Then she starts shouting “Destiny!” again.

  We go from building shell to building shell. These buildings are more modern than the ones on Main Street. But they’re in even worse shape. In the fourth place we check, there’s a massive hole in the middle of the floor.

  “Destiny?” I call out like it’s a question. I can’t make myself go near the hole. This was all my idea. If she’s hurt, it’s my fault. Gabby steps up to the hole and peers in. Shakes her head. “Nothing down there except bits of the floor that fell in.”

  “Hold on. Something has to be down there,” says Ahmed. “Or the floor wouldn’t have caved in. It wouldn’t have had anything to cave in on.”

  Gabby looks back down into the hole. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s some kind of basement. But it’s empty. She’s not there.”

  I finally work up the guts to crouch down next to the hole and look in. Gabby’s right. Except . . .

  Among the fragments of plaster flooring, I spot a tiny glimmer of silver.

  “Her bracelet’s down there,” I say. “Her charm bracelet.” My voice comes out scratchy and deep.

  Gabby swears softly. She dials her phone again. Under her breath she mutters, “Come on, come on, pick up . . .”

  “Maybe we should call 9-1-1,” says Ahmed.

  I have a different idea. I sit down and let my legs hang over the edge of the hole.

  Gabby lowers her phone. “What are you—”

  “Alex,” says Ahmed. “No. No way, man.”

  “That basement is bigger than what we can see through the hole,” I say. “She could be down there, out of our line of sight. She could be unconscious.”

  “Can we not assume the worst?” Gabby says. “She might be fine.”

  Then why isn’t she answering her phone? Why didn’t she respond when we shouted her name? I don’t insult Gabby by saying any of that. I just go with, “We have to check.”

  “You are not going down there,” Ahmed says sternly.

  “It can’t be much more than a ten-foot drop from here,” I say. Like that’s not far enough to break any bones if I land wrong.

  “And how are you planning to get back up?” demands Ahmed. “We don’t have a rope.”

  “I bet you could find a pole or a metal bar or something,” I say. “Or I guess you could call 9-1-1 at that point.” If I find Destiny down there, injured, he’ll have to do that anyway.

  Before either of them can stop me, I drop down. It’s not the smartest way to go. I could’ve faced the other way and lowered myself more slowly, dangled by my hands. But I’m in a hurry.

  I land hard but not too hard. I snatch up Destiny’s bracelet and look around. It’s dark. I pull out my phone and shine it in front of me, first on the ground. I’m holding my breath, terrified I’ll see Destiny’s crumpled body on the floor. I don’t. For a second I’m relieved. Until I think, But if she’s not here, where . . . ?

  That’s when I see it.

  “Uh, guys . . .”

  “What?” asks Gabby. She and Ahmed are down on their knees, leaning over the edge of the hole.

  “There’s an opening in the wall down here. It looks like . . .”

  I take a few steps closer. Shine my phone light into the darkness. Yeah. Definitely.

  “Looks like what?” barks Gabby.

  “A tunnel.”

  Chapter 3

  We know it’s a bad idea for all three of us to jump through the hole into the basement and follow this tunnel. But Gabby doesn’t want me going alone. And Ahmed doesn’t want to be left behind by himself.

  So now we’re all walking through the tunnel. Our phones offer some feeble light, but we can’t see very far in front of us. I keep my free hand pressed to the cold clay wall, feel my way along.

  “I wonder if this was the tunnel Earl Morrison used to meet up with Simone DeVray,” whispers Gabby.

  “Who and who?” I say.

  “Earl Morrison. Western movie mega-star? He filmed, like, six or seven movies at Sanford’s Folly. And he costarred with this actress named Simone DeVray a few times. And they had this big affair.”

  One good thing about movie trivia: it helps you forget that one of your friends is missing.

  “Why wouldn’t they just meet up in their trailers?” I ask.

  “A guy like Earl Morrison didn’t have a trailer,” sniffs Gabby. “He rented entire hotels. He had whole buildings set aside for him on studio lots. Rumor had it that he liked to have secret tunnels built on movie sets, so that he could go places without being followed and watched by a zillion people. He was a huge deal, back in the thirties and forties and fifties and—”