Just another night, in another creepy, foreboding castle with rumours of debauchery. It should be totally fine, should being the operative word – yet something will go wrong. She couldn’t pce her finger on it, maybe it’s the coffee that’s burning out the st of its reserves in her belly, her weary eyes seeing things bounce around in the windows of her car. Perhaps it’s the trees hanging low, and her imagination running wild, seeing silhouettes moving between the trunks with glowing eyes and long, daggerlike fingernails. Not having a healthy sleep cycle is a hell of a drug – this time it’s three hours of counting sheep and getting in the car.

  This trip is the longest by far. She’s been on the road for ages, being the better part of two hours. She should pull over – she’s falling asleep at the wheel. Vukosava rubs her eyes, trying to avoid messing up her eyeliner, the painstaking work of standing in front of a mirror regretting her dedication to being a sad bitch who writes intricate poems and lyricisms on the woes and miseries of life. Great choice, Vukosava, absolutely stunning! A sharp drop in the road gives her a rude shock and she curses loudly, banging her head on the ceiling. The road ahead is the same, a straight, unbending line.

  It shouldn’t be long, if the road is getting bumpy now, she must be close. She leans forwards in her seat, pressing the accelerator down. She flicks on the high beams, seeing the castle and its grand walls. Finally, her suffering is over, she pulls over to a temporary carpark or more accurately, a gravel and dirt lot. Vukosava chucks the car in reverse, hearing the gravel crunch as she backs up to the main entryway going into the ancient collection of stone houses and buildings that flow down from the castle like an avanche, dripping with moss and vines.

  As the boss of the Lore in Tales Youtube channel, she needs to set a good example and be there on time. She steals a gnce down at her phone, bad move. Mum and Dad, they’re on her case. They could never leave her alone. Vukosava directs her attention back to parking correctly. It wouldn’t be a good look, ramming the back of her car into a tree. She should be first on the scene, yet she’s the st to arrive.

  She kills the engine, shuffling out of her car.

  “It took you long enough.” Harley walks up, with her scribbling book in hand. The blond medium of her special team. “Where have you been?”

  “Getting here.” Vukosava answers shortly.

  Amber rushes up, hugging her tightly before backing away. She’s holding up her sketch in hand. “Hey, Vics. You’re here! I’ve done up the design for the video. I think it looks pretty good.”

  “It’s nice to see you too, Amber.”

  “It’s the one thing that’s saving us.” Marcus tucks his mouth into his elbow, yawning into it.

  “From plummeting in views. Not that we need help with that.” Harley isn’t giving a snide smile this time. “What’s the point of doing the same old shit over and over?”

  “I want us to be informative, not performative.” Vukosava tries to hold back her groan.

  “Not performative.” Harley sneers, waving her hands through the air dramatically. “Of course.”

  This again. It never stops.

  This is the team. Amber the artistic extraordinaire, Marcus the cameraman and constantly on his knees getting exclusive action shots of his crew. Finally, closing off the group with fir and graceful poise is Harley, the blond dress-up darling and medium.

  Vukosava’s got the pn id out, what they’re going to do. Graveyard. Ancient City. Castle. Tackle the mysteries from long ago. Uncover the truth. It should be easy.

  “Oh yeah, one thing, Vics, we’re not alone. We’ve got some company.”

  “Company? Someone else got a permit?” Vukosava snaps around to look at Harley.

  “They’re not the type to bother about that. The boys are fun and hip like that.” Harley goes back on her heels. “Look, they’re getting into it now.”

  Vukosava follows the direction of her gaze. It’s a bunch of frat boys, with their flicky hair and bright attire yelling into a high-definition camera. “Welcome back! To another horrifying video!”

  “Yes, sir!” They’re causing a real racket.

  Everything these jerks have is upper echelon. Camera, lighting, paranormal investigation equipment. All state of the art.

  “I’m done standing here. I’m going to talk to them.” Harley starts marching towards them.

  “Wait, we’re still going over things.” Vukosava tries in vain to stop her. “Get back here.”

  Amber and Marcus watch her go, mouths slightly agape. Harley’s getting more rebellious with each passing moment.

  “Shouldn’t we go after her?” Amber finally manages to ask.

  “No. There’s no way I’m following her in there.” Vukosava takes out her phone immediately.

  “Yo, who are you?” In the centre of the pack, with dashing looks and an irritable smile is the main man himself.

  “I’m Harley. Do you want to do a colb with us?”

  “A colb with you? That sounds pretty sweet.”

  Vukosava rings Harley’s phone. She doesn’t even look at the screen before hanging up.

  “What do we do now?” Marcus is watching on, seeing Harley ingratiate herself with the enemy.

  “We check over our equipment. Besides, she’s one of ours.” Vukosava goes back to her car, to check over their camera. A piece is missing. No freaking way. The lighting equipment, of course that’s it.

  “So, did you get the whole thing?” Marcus is right on her tail.

  “No. I forgot the lighting. I knew I left something behind. I just didn’t know what the hell it was!” Vukosava seethes, Amber and Marcus jump back slightly from her anger.

  “That’ll make it harder for us to film things properly. I suppose we could make do with our phones.” Amber ponders aloud. “We’ve made it look decent before.”

  “Yeah, after I had to edit out all the gre. Or at least what I could edit out.” Marcus sighs heavily. “Damn it. You know what, why don’t we ask them for a spare to borrow?”

  “You’re thinking of doing what?” Vukosava explodes. “No, we don’t need their help. We don’t need their shoddy equipment. We’re one hundred percent authentic.”

  “Not if no one can see anything. What’s the worst that can happen?” Marcus holds out his arms appealingly. “We borrow it once and it’s a done deal.”

  “It’s going against our principles.” Vukosava snaps back.

  Amber’s head is on a swivel going back and forth between them. “C’mon guys, that’s enough.”

  “Wow, you weren’t lying, your boss is crazier than me.” It’s the enemy leader, making his way over with Harley in tow.

  “She’s got principles.”

  “Well, well, well, joyous night and salutations, dies and gentlemen! Miss Doom and Gloom is on the case. You going to do to give me a historical breakdown on this pce?”

  He looks at her expectantly.

  “Haven’t you done that yourself?”

  “I like getting a second opinion.” He points a thumb at his own chest. “Johnny Maxwell can’t do everything himself. C’mon, I want to hear one of your breakdowns.”

  Vukosava is still. It can’t be him. Shit. He’s actually Jonathan Maxwell, an online sensation and showman.

  “What are you doing here?” Vukosava hisses. “Where’s the rest of your gang, have they run off into the woods?”

  “I got all my boys on deck; we’re the kings up in this beast. No one’s gone missing – not on my watch.”

  “I feel safer already.” Vukosava remains where she is.

  Falling behind John and Harley is the rest of his crew.

  “Seriously? The same get-up as st time?”

  “Why do you care, John?”

  John gives her a beaming smile. “Don’t you think the fans want to see something a bit different? You just can’t get away from the deep, dark and mysterious, can you?”

  Vukosava’s outward appearance. Dark eyeliner. Round gray gsses. Silver horseshoe neckce. Bomber jacket. Medium dress with a skeletal white dragon flying along the front with purple and bck highlights. A belt of knuckle bones. Her boots have small cartoon ghosts around the heels. “What’s your vibe then – wearing the same jumper over and over until it falls off of you?”

  John’s boys start hooting and ughing at this.

  “Hey, the boys and I reached a decision. The vibes and sponsorships make money. They make dough.” John starts rubbing his fingers together in front of Vukosava’s nose.

  His channel online is Project: Terror.

  “You should get a refund.” Vukosava replies dryly. “Now, do you have any idea what this pce is actually about or are you blockheaded?”

  “I know what this pce is, I did a google search.” John crosses his arms with pride.

  “So, you’ve done no research at all? That’s hardly surprising.”

  Marcus steps in. “Hey, John, I’m a big fan of your work. Our camera is missing a little something. Could you help me out?”

  Vukosava gres at Marcus, but there’s nothing she can do. Is this what life is – getting mocked left, right and center? John flicks his head towards his own cameraman, rocking a hair style straight out of the 80s, with a red jumper sporting bold text along the front, reading Terror Weather, even Vukosava admits that the guy’s got good fashion sense.

  “Yeah, I can help you, dude, what’d you need?” Marcus follows John’s cameraman towards his car.

  “It’s a good thing we’re here, right?” John asks with another infuriating grin. “I feel you owe us for fetching a missing piece for your camera.”

  Vukosava restrains herself firmly, from pulling the hoodie over his head and giving him sps left and right.

  “I got the fill on these guys, chief. The most accurate investigators on the ptform.”

  “Thanks, Fred.” John takes his boy’s phone. “Oh boy, what have you been doing?”

  Vukosava’s palms are starting to burn slightly from the force she’s exerting.

  John starts shaking his head in disappointment. It’s hard to tell if it’s real or not. “Rough patch, huh?”

  “You need some fresh content – you’ve been circling around the same ‘hotspots’ over and over and using the same thumbnails.” John starts flicking through his top-rated videos. “If you need some pointers, I’m happy to oblige.”

  “Pointers – from you of all people? I’m good. Believe me.” Vukosava snorts, brushing the phone away.

  “So, why did you stick in your safe space then?” John veers off. “If you really wanted to nd on trending. Why do the same old routine?”

  “Because those locations were considered safe. This location isn’t reguted at all.”

  “Who gives a shit? What’s going to happen, do you think the ghosts are going to py with us?”

  That’s what they’ve been chasing, hotspots of supernatural activity – she’s been reading reports and articles on the castle. The head-honcho of his own group, John put it down on his personal list to reach five million subscribers. For all the work she did, all the hours of sving away in front of her computer, she’s only got twenty thousand. She didn’t have the power to refuse him – everyone went over to his side. Friends within friends – hierarchies guarantee a pressurising agent. Compliance or exclusion.

  She goes around to the boot, intent on ignoring his talk. John follows her. “You see, that’s the problem with you and your caterpilrs. You want to follow the rules and stick to convention, that’s fine. You do you. But if you really want to show your folks what we’re doing is real and profitable. You gotta be ready to py the game.”

  “All you do, John, is get more and more daring.” Vukosava knuckles turn white again. She didn’t like reminders, not one bit. “Daring equals possible danger.”

  “You’ve done the math on it?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if it was an 80% chance or a 55% chance. You’d all carry through anyways.”

  “We’ll be safe. You got to stop worrying and be happy.” John tilts his head to the side.

  He’s probably got a read on her. Fine. He can have it.

  The groups are getting in deep. Chatting with each other easily. Too easy for Vukosava’s liking.