The cabin was packed tight with people, cables running like vines across the floor. A false mattress had been rigged on a raised frame, a hole cut for Craig to slide his head through. From the neck down, the body was foam and latex, Jerry's handiwork painted pale and clammy under the lights.
James didn't want to risk starting with the rig. Too many things could go wrong.
"Alright," he said, script folded in one hand. "We're opening simple. Craig, real body this time. Just you lying on the bed, cigarette in hand. You see the drip, react, then we cut. Coverage first...insurance for the edit."
Craig flopped back onto the mattress, cigarette between his fingers. "So basically I play myself, only less cool?"
"You were never cool," Jerry muttered.
Linda snapped the slate and ducked out of frame.
"Quiet, everyone. Scene twelve. Take one. Action!"
Craig inhaled, exhaled toward the ceiling. A fat red drop splashed onto his cheek. He frowned, blinking upward in confusion, hand half-rising as if to brush it off.
"Cut," James called. "Perfect. That's our safety."
Paul adjusted the Panavision, nodding. "Clean."
Now it was time for the real deal. Craig slid his head through the hole in the false mattress, his body replaced with Jerry's painted dummy.
"Feels like I'm a jack-in-the-box waiting to pop," Craig muttered.
"Less popping, more dying," Jerry said, crouched beneath the frame with the arrow rig.
James leaned down. "Remember smoke, drip, bewildered, then the hand grabs. Hold the shock until the arrow comes up."
Craig raised an eyebrow. "So: puff, drip, grab, stab. Got it."
"Messy, not rehearsed," James reminded him.
Take One.
Craig exhaled, the drip landed, the hand grabbed but the blood tube sputtered weakly, spitting a mist onto his cheek.
"Cut," James said. "Jerry, that looked like a faucet."
Jerry grunted. "Line was jammed. Reset."
Take Two.
Craig blinked up, hand clamped down, but the arrow jammed halfway through the torso, sticking at a crooked angle.
"Cut!" James barked. "That looks like a bad carnival trick. Reset!"
Craig groaned. "Death by carpentry."
Jerry growled from under the bed. "Next one works."
Tale Three.
Blood drop, forehead grab, then the arrow punched clean through the foam chest with a wet crunch, spurting in a sharp arc. Craig's eyes went wide, face locking in shock.
"Hold… hold…" James whispered. Then: "Cut!"
The room exhaled all at once.
Paul grinned behind the camera. "That's the one. Brutal."
Craig twisted his head against the sticky hand grip. "Next time warn me about the grab. Nearly pissed myself."
Jerry snorted. "That's the point."
James clapped his shoulder. "Looks great. First kill in the can."
Craig raised his juice box. "Cheers to that."
James pulled Terry aside while the crew reset.
"We need B-roll," James said. "Scenery, texture shots. Mountains, forest, lake anything we can cut between kills."
Terry straightened, eager. "What about the roads coming in?"
"Exactly. Take Joel and Devon with you. Get the T-junction at the fork, wide shot of the asphalt. And I want a clean pass of the wooden signpost 'Welcome to Crystal Camp Lake' shoot it from a moving car. Make it feel like arrival. signpost is within the cabin three, Take a extra from props team ask jerry."
Terry nodded quickly. "On it. Should we go handheld or mount it?"
"Mount if you can, handheld if you have to. Just keep it steady."
James turned back toward the cabin. "We'll need those cuts in editing. Nothing sells a place like the place itself."
The trio hustled toward one of the rented vans, camera gear balanced between them.
Paul, still by the Panavision, gave James a sidelong look. "You're making them work like a second unit already."
James shrugged. "Cheap insurance."
They moved outside after lunch, setting up near the service shed. The plan was simple: shot the Ralph warning scene before night.
The rented bicycle leaned against the shed, a little too shiny to look "local," but Joel rubbed dirt along the frame until it passed. Dennis, the older day-player, adjusted his cap and squinted at the crew.
"Line's still the same?" he asked.
"Yep," James said. "Straight into camera. You're not chatting, you're warning them. Old, Whimsical, a little off."
Dennis cleared his throat and wheeled the bike into frame. Sam, Craig, and an extra stood in the doorway, waiting.
"Sound?" James called.
"Speed," Mike answered.
"Camera?"
"Rolling."
"Action."
Dennis rasped, "You're all doomed if you stay here. This place… it's cursed!"
The line echoed too much, bouncing off the cabin. Sam, supposed to look unsettled, burst out laughing.
"Cut," James said, fighting a smile. "Sam, why are you cracking up?"
She covered her face. "He sounded like my math teacher warning us about finals."
Denis dropped into a gravelly voice: "If you don't study, you'll all be doomed!"
The extras laughed; even Paul cracked a smile.
James shook his head. "Okay, reset. Dennis, less Shakespeare. More guy with one too many whiskies."
"Got it," Dennis said, loosening his shoulders.
They ran it again. This time Dennis leaned closer, muttering like half a warning, half a secret like a crazy old man.
"Cut," James said. "That's the one."
Jerry muttered from behind the prop box, "Took him long enough."
Dennis shot back, "Don't make me curse you too."
The crew chuckled.
By late afternoon, they were back inside the cabin for pickups. A bathroom setup was scheduled, but the actors were loose now, not stiff like morning.
Sam missed her line three times in a row, fumbling the same sentence.
"It's not funny!" she groaned.
"Sure it isn't," Craig said. He flipped her script upside down and handed it back. "Try it this way."
James finally raised his voice, more amused than angry. "Both of you, enough. Say the line, Sam. Just once, clean."
She did...straight-faced...and nailed it.
"Cut," James said. "See? Easy."
"Not easy," Sam muttered. "Humiliating."
Craig winked. "Humiliating is you snorting into the mic on take two."
Mike raised the boom pole. "Confirmed."
The room broke into laughter again.