Page 33 of Haunt the Mall
I sucked up the drink. Lemonade. Super sweet, a nice balance to the savory.
The projector glimmered with the opening shot: a harrowed moon loomed in a bleak, starless sky. Howls rang out. A nervous man whispered to his sultry mistress. “What was that?”
“They’re the creatures of the night,” she purred.
The conversation was too formal for a modern movie. Yet the camera prowled a semi-contemporary suburban block as if searching for the lovers fighting and delighting in one another.
What was this?
I tilted my head. A flash of static colored the screen like an old TV. Moans and heavy breathing brewed under the lovers’ conversation. It was a scene within a scene. Someone was watching something or had it on in the background while they got busy.
Maybe Victor was into subliminal messaging.
“What a beautiful neck,” the affected mistress voiceover purred.
Oh my god, this was a vampire movie.
I scooted forward and flexed my butt to get blood circulating. This wasn’t a recent release. The colorization skewed 80’s. But it referenced Dracula with the creatures of the night thing.
Victor’s gaze bore into the side of my face. He was waiting.
Fuck. I furrowed my brow. The title would come to me. I knew scary movies, or at least the mainstream ones. Would he try to go indie?
One of the houses in this suburban neighborhood was not like the rest. It was an overgrown, stained-glass tribute to crypt-y mansions amid cookie-cutter Americana. But the camera slipped into the open window next door. Inside, an old TV set played the black and white vampire flick. It was the only light in a dark bedroom. A couple writhed on the floor beneath it.
Talk about mood. How long until Victor and I gave this movie that treatment?
The mistress on-screen bared her fangs and prepared to feed.
An overdramatic British accent pierced the scene. “Stop, you creature of the night.”
“Oh my god,” I whispered, grinning.
A ridiculously confident man in a Victorian suit drew himself up to full height. The vampire hunter. Fake, tacky, and fabulous. Of course he’d jog my memory.
I turned to Victor. “Fright Night, OG?”
He blinked slowly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with approval. I’d gotten the reference and unraveled the mystery before opening credits could spoil it. What kind of brownie points would that get me?
I popped the rest of the pretzel into my mouth, shifting it so the steam warmed the inside of my cheek. “It’s a great movie. Not bad-good like whatever B-flick they’re watching. Or, um, not watching.” I giggled and fished another pretzel out as the main character fumbled for his girlfriend’s bra. “They’ve got their priorities.”
“Right.” Victor flexed his fingers around his pretzel bite and focused on the screen. Why was he frowning? He held his pretzel-guarding fist to his mouth without popping it inside.
The main character’s girlfriend came up for air to watch the TV, urging him to do the same. A fight ensued with Mr. Entitled Grabby-Hands, who didn’t care about horror movies when he had hypothetical boob access.
Victor ate without fanfare. No savoring.
Odd. I grazed the snack across my lips. I’d half expected him to suck the cheese off his treat. Was he trying to be polite or something?
The formerly amorous couple glared at the TV, not wanting to look at each other.
Victor wasn’t looking at me. Well, I guessed that made sense. We were watching a movie.
I rolled my shoulders.
We were fine. It was early.
The girlfriend instructed the main character to turn around so she could take off her own bra. Good for her. As the guy went to close the curtains, he noticed two men carrying a coffin towards the house next door. He snatched his binoculars—because surely a teen boy was such an avid bird-watcher—and honed in on our to-be antagonists.