|On Holy Ground (standard:horror, 2210 words) [1/3] show all parts|
|Author: heather||Updated: Oct 13 2001||Views/Reads: 2386/1160||Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|5 teenagers in a film class decide to capture supernatural activity on camera in the most unlikely of haunted places...a church.|
The Assignment It was that end of the week feeling. It wasn’t quite Friday, but it was ninth period on Thursday and you got that relieved feeling that Friday was nearly here, and after Friday, there was the weekend. Thursdays often feel like the longest days of the week, and this one was no different. The day droned on and on-through history, through biology, through geometry, and finally, through film class. Shea didn’t usually feel this way about film class. It was her favorite class of the day, and usually she couldn’t wait for it to come. After discovering she had failed an exam earlier that day, however, she was not any kind of ray of sunshine by ninth period. She was inclined to stalk into the film production lab that day, and of course Mr. Peterson had to comment on it. “Whoa, there, killer!” he joked, warding her off with two index fingers in the shape of a cross. He was probably about forty years old, but still acted like he was twenty. Some speculated this was the cause of his scandalous divorce after two weeks of marriage, but most disregarded this rumor and just thought he was cool. Shea gave him a wan smile in reply to his wisecrack, walked over to one of the tables and slung her backpack onto it. She returned to the editing machine that Mr. Peterson was hovering over. “So what’s up today, Mr. Peterson?” she asked him. Mr. Peterson looked excited and waved absentmindedly to the other students who drifted in. “Today, my dear, is the day I assign your big quarter project!” he said, grinning mischievously. “Joy. Is it another infomercial?” Shea asked sarcastically. Mr. Peterson’s face dropped. “Oh, Shea. That hurts, really, it does. You’ll never let me live that down, will you?” he said with a frown, pretending to be offended. “Hey, if you were sixteen and you had to make an infomercial about a mop, you’d be a little disappointed, right?” Shea asked reasonably. “You’ve got me there,” Mr. Peterson agreed, nodding as if he was still sorry and ashamed about that whole scenario. “I couldn’t help it though! Remember that!” “Yeah, yeah, a likely story. You were probably just in a bad mood that day,” Shea teased him and walked back to her table, where her best friend Conor was sitting. “Hey, now when am I in a bad mood?” Mr. Peterson asked as the bell rang. *** “As some of you may already have heard, that some of you being Shea,” Mr. Peterson began in his casual fashion, “today will be the day I will assign your big project for the quarter.” “Is it another infomercial?” asked a boy from the back of the room. The rest of the students snickered and Shea grinned. “You kids are brutal,” Mr. Peterson commented. “No, it is not another infomercial.” “What’s he got in store for us this marking period?” Conor whispered to Shea. “I don’t know,” Shea said. “All he told me was what you’ve heard so far.” They turned their attention back to their teacher. “This project will be a short film,” Mr. Peterson finished. Shea hoped they hadn’t missed anything vital. Excited murmurs ran through the class like an electric current. “What kind of a film?” the same boy, whose name was Greg and who was Click here to read the rest of this story (256 more lines)
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