Travis often wondered where Nish got his ideas. Was there a closet somewhere in the Nishikawa home that held every stupid, ridiculous, impossible thought every twelve-year-old kid had ever dared think?
No, Travis thought, it wouldn’t be a closet. It would have to be a toilet.
But what amazed Travis most was Nish’s ability to get other people caught up in his dumb schemes. Even people with common sense, like Data, who’d figured out how to get Nish’s bare butt up on the big Times Square television screen at New Year’s.
The horror-flick idea proved even more popular than most.
Fahd, of course, had the camera. Simon and Sarah thought they could write a script. Data could edit the movie on his computer. Everyone – even Travis, he finally had to admit to himself – wanted to play a part in it. Any part at all.
Nish couldn’t decide whether he wanted to direct or be the star – and finally settled it by saying he would do both.
“That’s not fair,” Sam had protested.
“Lots of big stars direct themselves,” Nish had said. “Sylvester Stallone, Clint Eastwood.”
Fahd and Data, who knew a lot more about movies than Nish did, said the whole idea wasn’t nearly as far-fetched as some of the others thought. Fahd knew about all sorts of cheap productions that had gone on to huge success. “The Blair Witch Project was a horror movie made by a bunch of students,” he told them. “It cost sixty thousand dollars to make and pulled in 140 million – so it’s not impossible.”
Nish instantly decided that 140 million dollars would be the minimum they would make with their movie. A movie that, at the moment, had one used camera, no script, no plot – not even a title.
No matter, Nish was already spending his millions. A new bus for the Screech Owls, of course, with complete stereo and video controls at every plush leather seat. Perhaps even a team plane to take them around the world. “I want to play in Australia,” he said, “and in China and in Africa and, for my good buddy, Wilson, in Jamaica.”
Wilson laughed. “There’s no rinks in Jamaica.”
“So?” Nish asked with a shrug. “I’ll build one.”
“Shouldn’t you think about the movie first?” Sam asked. “You’re spending the profits and you don’t even know what the movie’s going to be about.”
“I have people to do that,” Nish said, with a wave of the hand towards the rest of the Owls.
And so the debate began. They gathered around a picnic table in the park, and for more than an hour talked about possible plots.
Simon and Fahd wanted to make a movie about aliens who land in Tamarack but make the mistake of dropping their flying saucer through the arena roof in the midst of a Screech Owls hockey game and are sliced to tiny, bloody bits by the skates of the hockey players.
“Stupid,” said Nish.
Andy wanted to make a vampire film, with plenty of bloodsucking and graveyard scenes and open caskets and people walking around town with garlic bulbs hanging around their necks.
“Can’t stand garlic,” Nish decided.
“Frankenstein!” Jenny shouted. “Someone builds a monster in science class and it wakes up at night and terrorizes the town.”
“Been done too many times,” said Nish.
“The flesh-eating Windigo!” Jesse offered. “It comes out on snowy nights and scares people half to death.”
“Where would we get snow?” Nish asked.
“Good point,” Jesse said, disheartened.
They talked about invasions of deadly bacteria, about how they’d stage exploding bodies, about how they’d film spaceships. Every suggestion seemed to have a huge strike against it. Too expensive. Too difficult. Too corny. Too un-scary.
Nish slammed his meaty hand down on the picnic table. “We need something original. A story no one has ever done before.”
Travis found himself speaking even before he knew what he was saying. He couldn’t believe it. Here he was, the one who knew best how impossible Nish’s schemes could be, the one who had seen a thousand Nish brainstorms wash out in their execution.
“There is one,” he said, quietly.
A silence fell around the picnic table. Travis could almost hear the heads turning towards him, the eyes all waiting.
“And that is …?” Sarah prodded.
“Tamarack has its own horror story,” Travis said, “only I’m not that sure about it.”
“What do you mean, not sure about it?” Sam asked.
“I just remember my grandfather and one of his friends once discussing something terrible that happened out on the River Road – something really awful that my grandfather said was the worst thing that ever happened here.”
“Well,” Nish said impatiently, “what was it?”
“I don’t know. They stopped talking about it when I came in the room.”
“Well,” Sam said, “find out.”