Chapter 11: Horror show
Shit. This was genuinely terrifying.
I took a step forward, heart pounding in my chest like a warning bell. Around me, the forest stretched endlessly into the dark, shrouded in a heavy fog that curled at my ankles and blurred the path ahead.
The towering trees swayed gently above, their silhouettes reaching like skeletal fingers into the moonlit sky.
I was completely alone. The only sounds were the rustle of branches and the occasional flutter of wings overhead.
Every noise felt amplified in the silence. When a flock of birds suddenly burst out from a tree, I jumped and flinched hard.
My breathing picked up, and I reached into my pocket, pulling out my inhaler. Shaking it briefly, I brought it up to my mouth, ready to take a puff.
Then, everything exploded into chaos.
A stampede of deer burst through the fog, charging straight at me. The forest floor shook beneath their hooves. My eyes went wide, and instinct kicked in. I dove backward, landing hard on the damp leaves. The inhaler flew from my hand and vanished into the underbrush.
"No, no, no!" I muttered.
I twisted and rolled, trying to avoid getting trampled. The deer stormed past, leaping over me, skirting just inches away.
Their sheer speed and power left me frozen in place. When the last of them finally disappeared into the trees, I remained motionless, staring up at the foggy canopy.
"My inhaler," I whispered, frantically patting my jacket and pants.
Nothing. It was gone.
Panic crept in. I was a severe asthmatic, and without that inhaler, I was in serious trouble. Every breath already felt thinner.
I pulled out my phone and turned on the screen light, waving it slowly across the forest floor. The beam flickered against the fog, barely cutting through it. My eyes scanned rapidly.
And then I saw it.
A body. Or rather, half of one.
Dismembered.
A woman's head lay just beyond a fallen tree, lifeless eyes staring up into the sky. My breath caught in my throat. My legs moved before my brain could react.
I stumbled backward in shock, slipping on a patch of wet leaves. My foot caught on a root, and suddenly, I was tumbling. Over the edge.
I slid down the steep embankment, hitting rocks and branches as I went. Dirt filled my mouth. I tried to stop myself, grabbing at anything that would slow the fall. But gravity had its way. I hit the bottom with a dull thud.
I coughed and groaned, body aching. Slowly, I rolled over and pushed myself upright using the trunk of a tree. My palms were scraped, and every movement felt stiff.
And then I heard it.
A low growl.
I turned my head, just a little. Then a bit more. My eyes adjusted to the dark.
It stood there. Massive. Hunched. Its eyes locked on mine.
A wolf.
But not any ordinary wolf. This one was impossibly large, its form almost unnatural, its breath visible in the cold air.
Before I could move, it lunged.
I screamed. A raw, instinctive sound. The creature collided with me, knocking me into the ground. I felt teeth tear into my side. The pain shot through my body like fire.
Then, just as fast, it was gone.
I didn't wait. I pushed myself to my feet, stumbling. One hand clutched my side, the other reached ahead, guiding me. I could hear it somewhere behind, growling.
I ran.
Branches slapped against my face. My lungs burned. The fog clung to my skin like sweat.
Then, headlights.
A car.
Tires screeched as the vehicle skidded across the slick road. Rain began to fall in fat, cold drops. I narrowly avoided the car, collapsing to the side of the road.
I pulled up my hoodie and looked down.
Blood. A clear bite mark etched into my skin.
"CUT!" the director shouted.
And the entire world went still.
As the director shouted "Cut!" everything snapped back to normal.
The lighting rig shifted, the atmosphere eased, and I was reminded once again that I was just standing on a set. The tension slowly began to drain from the space around me, but not from within me.
Damn it. It happened again.
I had been too immersed in the acting.
During moments like that, especially in scenes that were emotionally or physically intense, I didn't just perform—I lived it.
I didn't even remember I was acting. There was no mental division, no awareness of the cameras or crew.
It was as if I had been transported, not just pretending to be Scott McCall but becoming him entirely.
And in that scene, I hadn't changed anything. I followed the original flow to the letter. The script played out exactly as it was meant to.
I was beginning to regret that. I had the opportunity to make subtle changes, add a layer of depth or realism that only someone with foresight could offer.
But this time, I was so swept up in the fear, the atmosphere, the growl in my ear, that I lost the thread of control.
The fear hadn't left me either. Even as the set lights dimmed slightly and crew members resumed their chatter, it stayed in my chest, in my throat.
I looked around, startled, unsure for a moment of what was real and what wasn't. My breath was heavy. I reached under my hoodie, checking the side of my abdomen.
Just makeup.
But the emotional scar lingered. The sensation of being bitten, of teeth sinking into my skin, was too vivid to ignore.
That pain?
That had been real. And the creature—that massive, hunched-back wolf—felt real, too. I saw it. I heard it. Its low growl still echoed faintly in my mind, like a sound memory that wouldn't fade.
I knew logically that nothing had actually been there. The crew likely shot the entire scene with placeholder markers and would fill in the monster with CGI later.
And not even particularly good CGI, considering it was 2012. I remembered that. The visual effects in early Teen Wolf were... rough, to say the least.
But not for me.
To me, that wolf had been as real as anything else I'd ever seen. Its breath, its eyes, the wet soil under its paws—I could still sense it all.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jerked back instantly, heart hammering.
"Huh?" I gasped, breath short, turning quickly.
One of the production assistants stood there, looking concerned.
"Yo, are you okay?" he asked, his eyes scanning my face. "You're kind of… panicking."
"Yeah, yeah," I said, nodding too fast. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, you're sweating all over. You sure?"
"I just did a running scene," I said with a short laugh, trying to sound more casual than I felt. "That'll do it."
He paused, then nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense."
Just then, the director's voice echoed through the nearby megaphone.
"Everything okay over there?"
The assistant turned to me again, as if double-checking. I nodded.
"Yeah," he called back. "Everything's okay."
"Alright," the director announced, "that's a wrap. Well done again. See you all tomorrow. Nights out for tonight."
There was a cheer from some of the crew. People started packing equipment, folding chairs, and unhooking cables. The forest set began to dissolve back into its mundane components.
But I stood still, one hand still hovering over my stomach. The fear was slow to leave. Too slow.
This was just the beginning. Teen Wolf was filled with supernatural horror. Creatures, transformations, betrayals, death. And if this was how real it all felt now, then I was going to have to live through every single one of those horrors.
I had signed up to act in a show. But what I got was far more immersive than I ever could have imagined.
…
The week passed fairly quickly. It was my first full week of acting, and I was gradually adjusting to life on set and the rhythm of stepping into character. I hadn't made any major changes to the script—nothing drastic, at least.
Just small tweaks that made certain lines or reactions feel a bit more natural, more fitting for a modern teenager. They weren't the kind of changes that raised eyebrows, and the directors seemed fine with it, perhaps even pleased with how organic things felt.
After seven days of shooting, I was still staying on set. It wasn't that I couldn't go home—nobody was keeping me here against my will.
But given how intensive the shooting schedule was, the production team preferred I remained close by.
It made sense.
I was the main character, after all, and most of the scenes required my presence. Staying nearby just made everything run more smoothly.
By the end of the week, we had wrapped up shooting for the entire first episode. That felt like an achievement in itself.
Long days, dozens of takes, costume changes, and scene resets—it all added up quickly. But we got there.
The first episode was officially done.
And with that came my first paycheck.
The gross amount for the episode was $17,500. My agent took a standard 10%, which came out to $1,750.
Then there were taxes.
Since I was working in the U.S., I had to deal with federal and state taxes. I calculated an estimated 34% deduction, which meant another $5,355 was going to the government.
That left me with a take-home of approximately $10,395.
Of course, this didn't include the accountant's fee yet, which I knew would come into play at the end of the fiscal year.
Still, a five-figure paycheck for a week's worth of work?
It was hard to wrap my head around that, especially coming from a life where money was always tied to long hours and pressure-driven meetings.
The first thing I did with the money was pay back someone who had helped me a lot.
Sam.
He had supported me without question—offering me a place to stay, helping me get my part-time job, and being the one constant during this whole adjustment.
I knew he wasn't expecting anything, but I wanted to show my appreciation. So I transferred $2,500 to his account. Just a small gesture, a way for him to live a bit more comfortably.
Not long after, my phone buzzed.
"Was this about?" Sam asked. I could hear the background noise of the fast-food restaurant he worked at. Clearly, he was in the middle of a shift.
"Why did I just get a notification from my bank saying you deposited $2,500?"
"Nothing, dude. I just got paid finally, and—"
"I'm not friends with you because I want your money," he cut in, his voice firm but not unkind. "If you want to show you appreciate me, that's cool. But this isn't how you do it."
That stopped me in my tracks. I had thought the gesture would be welcomed, maybe even expected.
But Sam wasn't that kind of person. He helped because he cared, not because he was looking for something in return.
Before I could explain, he added, "Look, I'm busy. We'll talk when you're back. I'm not mad—what kind of friend gets mad over something like this, when you clearly just are helping me.
But still, don't do it again. I'll send it back."
And sure enough, the money was returned to my account later that evening.
I sighed.
It wasn't a bad thing. Just a reminder that not all appreciation needed to be monetary. There were other ways to show someone you valued them. I'd figure something out—something that made more sense for someone like Sam.
I just was trying to not make the same mistake as I did in my past life.
For now, though, I had another matter to take care of.
It was time I called my parents.
(Authors note: Whom would you guys like to see as the Female Lead for the future? Just curious, do not assume I will use it. Basically asking whom your celebrity crush is )
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Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator