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raw chicken up by its legs.
    “I take it that someone’s a cooking fan,” Midge says.
    It’s true. I’ve been cooking pretty intensely since my parents were murdered. Not
     only is it a distraction, but it also makes me feel in control—wielding knives; the
     excuse to cut, slice, grate, chop.
    “Ivy?” she asks.
    I go to take a breath, but the air gets stuck in my chest, deep in my lungs. I sit
     down on the edge of the bed and silently count to ten, wondering what the hell I’m
     doing here and what I was even thinking. I touch the aromatherapy pendant around my
     neck, telling myself to relax. I unplug the cork and close my eyes, breathing in the
     cedarwood oil, reminding myself of its ability to induce tranquility.
    “Do you need some water? Are you not feeling well?”
    “I’ll be fine,” I say, finally able to catch my breath.
    “Well, as you can probably guess, the winners’ rooms are tailored to each of your
     individual tastes and interests, based on the personality profiles that you filled
     out.”
    I gaze over at the other side of the room. It’s Barbie pink and suited for a dancer,
     with a ballet bar and a rack of dance shoes. A cursive sign over the mirror reads Dance with Me . “Is someone else sharing this room?” I ask, spotting a leopard-print suitcase at
     the foot of the other bed.
    “Yes. Taylor. You’ll be meeting her soon. She just went out for a walk. It’s such
     a glorious day, isn’t it?” Midge opens the drapes wide, letting in the light. It’s
     late afternoon, and the sun’s orange glow sinks down through the tree limbs, casting
     a strip of light over my bed, illuminating a copy of Deena Diddem’s latest book, Dare to Diddem. (Note: in Deena-speak, diddem means to throw together random ingredients from your fridge and pantry and end up
     with a tasty new dish.)
    “Just a little gift from Mr. Blake,” Midge says. “I assume you’re familiar with Deena’s
     work?”
    Deena Diddem, thirty-three years old, born in Toronto, the only child of Chuck and
     Nancy, climbed the culinary ladder, starting her career in the prepared foods section
     of her local supermarket. She’s now the Food Channel’s number one–rated chef.
    I take the book and open to a flagged page. Not only has Deena signed the copy, but
     she’s also written me a note.
     
    Dear Ivy,
     
    A little bird told me that you’re a big fan of my show. I’m so flattered. Thank you
     so much!
    I also heard that you love to cook. Who knows, maybe one day our paths will cross.
     In the meantime, keep on diddeming! Best of luck!
     
    Love,
    Deena
     
    I run my fingers over her words.
    “You like?” Midge asks.
    “More like love .”
    “Great.” She smiles. “Now if you don’t need anything else, I’ll leave you to settle
     in. You’ll notice the itinerary for the weekend on the night table.”
    “Thanks,” I say, reaching to take it, more excited about this weekend than I ever
     thought possible and more hopeful than ever before.
     
     
     
     

WEEKEND ITINERARY
     
 
FRIDAY
     
2–7 p.m.
Dark House Dreamers arrive
8 p.m.
Creepy comforts dinner—dining room
9 p.m.
Final Cut—theater
9:30 p.m.
Ghoulish desserts—dining room
     
SATURDAY
     
10 a.m.–2 p.m.
A brunch to die for—dining room
4 p.m.
Hearse leaves for the set—lobby
     
SUNDAY
     
9 a.m.–noon
Dead End Brunch for any remaining survivors—dining room
2 p.m.
Hearse returns Dark House survivors to the airport—lobby

INT. ENTRYWAY, DARK HOUSE — DAY
     
    ANGLE ON
     
    WOMAN, 50-something, dressed up as Midge Sarko, one of Justin Blake’s most villainous
     characters; a chambermaid from Hotel 9 , who kills her guests with household items (a turkey timer, a toilet bowl plunger,
     soap scum remover).
     
    MIDGE SARKO
    Welcome, you must be Parker.
     
    ME
    And you’re obviously Midge. Anyone ever tell you that you look just like Tina Maitland,
     the actor who played Midge in the movie?
     
    I move CLOSER on the POCKETS OF HER