Final Girl by Michelle Schusterman (beach books .TXT) 📕

a whole lot of people apparently think I’m a terrible father. I’ve got some trolls of my own now.”

Aaaand here came the guilt again. But this time, I was right to blame myself. “I shouldn’t have joked about dying on the finale,” I said. “It was . . . I didn’t think about what people would say about you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not like we couldn’t have edited it out,” Dad told me. “But we didn’t anticipate so many viewers taking it so seriously . . . as if I’d actually put your life in danger. Point is, it’s not your fault, sweetie.”

I tried to smile at him, but I knew he was wrong. And not just about it being my fault.

I might actually be in danger. I hadn’t thought about it until Dad said it, but so far, everything the Thing had done had been to try to convince Dad to move back to Chelsea. He was pretty much ready to do it, too. If something bad happened to me on the finale, that might be just the push he needed.

CHAPTER TWELVE SO YOU THINK YOU CAN BLOG

P2P WIKI

Entry: “Poltergeist”

[Last edited by Maytrix]

A poltergeist is a particularly wicked type of ghost intent on wreaking havoc on anyone who comes into its space. Unlike ghosts, they are not typically human in origin, and reasons for their manifestations can vary greatly.

AFTER a late lunch, Dad and Grandma headed out with Jess and Lidia to conduct a few interviews about the asylum we’d be investigating tomorrow. Oscar and I did a short algebra lesson with Mi Jin, who seemed a little distracted. After giving us an essay assignment for social studies, she pulled out her laptop and started typing furiously, brow furrowed. Working on her screenplay, I realized with a pang of guilt. She was probably nervous about showing it to Grandma. And the Thing’s notes couldn’t have boosted her confidence.

“Time!” she said an hour later, snapping her laptop closed. “Hand ’em over.”

Oscar and I dutifully handed her our papers. I turned to Oscar, tossing my pen down on the desk.

“Grandma’s suite has a pretty nice TV. Want to see if anything good’s on?”

“Um . . .” Oscar glanced at the time on his phone. “Maybe later? I’m gonna use Aunt Lidia’s laptop while she’s out.”

“’Kay.” I stifled a yawn. “Text me when you’re done. Bye, Mi Jin.”

“Bye, Kat!” Mi Jin gave me a quick smile before turning back to her screenplay.

Up in the suite, I kicked off my shoes and dumped my bag on the couch before flopping down on Grandma’s bed. Five minutes later, I’d found what looked like a pretty decent Korean horror movie with English subtitles. Five minutes after that, I was sound asleep.

The next thing I knew, a shriek woke me up with a jolt. Disoriented, I stared frantically around the suite before remembering the movie. On the TV screen, a screaming girl was climbing a ladder with some sort of grayish demon-creature right on her heels. I grabbed the remote and hit mute, then tried to go to sleep again.

But adrenaline was still racing through my veins. I lay perfectly still, watching the demon claw at the girl’s calves and eventually drag her down into the darkness below, listening to my too-quick heartbeat. Then I realized that wasn’t the only sound I could hear.

Click. Click-clack click click. Click.

I didn’t move. Just looked slowly, deliberately around the room, searching for the source of the soft clicking. My eyes fell on the laptop, which sat open on the desk. The dashboard to my blog was on the screen, opened to a new post. Words I couldn’t see from here were appearing in the blank space.

Someone—something—was typing.

An odd calmness settled over me. My pulse slowed, my hands were cool and dry. Quietly, stealthily, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed over to the couch. I pulled the Elapse out of my bag and flipped it on, making sure it was in video mode before making my way over to the desk.

I trod as softly as possible, my eyes flickering between the laptop in the viewfinder and the laptop itself. As I closed in, I could read the words in the blog post. Just two words, typed over and over again.

SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF SAVE YOURSELF

It was mesmerizing, watching letter after letter appear. So mesmerizing that several seconds passed before I noticed movement in my peripheral vision. I glanced at the mirror, and my breath caught in my chest.

The Thing sat at the desk, typing methodically on the laptop. It was wearing a nightgown this time, its long braid—the one I’d cut off, the one my mother loved—hanging over its shoulder. It didn’t notice me at all; or if it did, it didn’t show it.

I took a step to the side, framing the whole scene in the viewfinder. The empty chair in front of me. The other version of me in the mirror. And the reflection of me, the real me, next to it, capturing both of us on camera.

This was unreal. It was even more shocking than the footage Jess got on the bridge. Me and my “doppelganger,” side by side.

A few seconds later, the Thing stopped typing. It stood, and I took another step back. I watched the mirror closely as it walked past me, turning to capture as much of it as possible before it disappeared beyond the frame. I hurried to the other side of the mirror, but it was gone.

My hands trembled as I removed the memory card from my camera and slid it into the laptop. As the video uploaded, I scrolled down to the bottom of the blog post. After thinking for a moment, I added:

Everything above this was written by my doppelganger. It’s been leaving comments online for the last few weeks as “The Real Kat Sinclair.” Watch video below for proof.

Once the