“It would be easier to leave,” I say frankly. “Conduct your research outside of Kisapmata. The corpse tree isn’t an accident.”

A long silence follows. Hemslock breaks it by laughing. Armani and the other producers join in. “I’m afraid we can’t do that, kid,” Hemslock says with a chuckle. “We’ve put in too much money to pull out now, and some withered old corpse in a pit isn’t going to scare us off. We’ll take our chances. So spit it out. Regale us with your scary stories. You do want money for your father’s treatment, right? Is fishing going to be enough to support you both if we fire you?”

I look around, at the smiling faces, the amusement in their eyes. This is how Americans make threats, I think. “Fishermen have reported seeing a woman near shore. They also hear screaming from within the island.”

“And have you seen and heard both?” Hemslock asks intently.

I meet his gaze. “Yes. Cortes, Key, the cultists—they still suffer here.”

Leo Gries looks nervous, the others uneasy. I can see some hesitation on the three producers’ faces. Only Hemslock and Armani receive this with delight. “Then it’s our duty to know why they are being punished,” Hemslock says. “Free their souls if we gotta.”

“You’re going to point us to where this so-called lady has been sighted,” Armani adds. “We’ll have you on tape to explain as well. We don’t want to coach you on your responses, by the way—gives the anecdote a more authentic feel. Do you know what the riddles surrounding the last three deaths mean? Sixth to consume, seventh to lure, eight to wake?”

I shake my head.

“At this rate,” Armani says, chortling. “I may as well ask for volunteers to be the last three victims so we can finally find the treasure and get the curse lifted. All the life insurance they can get. Heck, I’d pay for their kids’ college if it comes down to it. I believe that—”

I never find out what he claims to believe, because at that moment, the power goes out.

Six

Don’t Look

Shouts echo as people stumble into each other in the darkness. I can hear chairs overturning, plates and utensils clattering as they fall to the floor. I hear Leo stand up, his chair falling. I hear Chase’s startled cry beside him. “Dad?”

“I saw her,” Leo Gries whispers. “I saw her—at the window—”

Armani is once again irate. “Who’s in charge of the set?” I can hear him hollering. “Someone get the lights back on!”

“The generator should be functioning,” comes the stupefied reply. “We did multiple checks—we have backups—”

“Then bring in the replacements! I want everything up in the next hour, or someone’s going home without pay!”

Flashlights flicker in and out of the gloom. Leo Gries has a pocket light, and his terrified face is illuminated in the glow. Hemslock carries a much more powerful version, splaying the room with its beam. The screens before us are now blank gray slates, the producers wiped clean off their surfaces.