Free Jane Austen Made Me Do It by Laurel Ann Nattress

jabbed her in the ribs with an elbow, hard.
    â€œDid you see that, Cate? Cate! Sod it, Cate!” Fred stamped a foot, grinding mud into the old Turkish carpet. “Now we have to re-tape that. Look alive, will you? We don’t pay you to daydream.”
    â€œSorry!” CNN. MSNBC. Even Bloomberg. How had it all gone so wrong? “Shall we do it again?”
    â€œWe’re going to have to, won’t we?” Fred mugged a quick turn towards the door, burlesquing shock and surprise. “Why, what’s—Cate! Did you see that?”
    â€œSee what?” she asked obediently.
    In the final version, it would be rendered in grainy black-and-white, shot in the quick, jerky movements for which Lenny wasknown. Cate wasn’t entirely sure they were intentional, but the result made Fred happy, and if Fred was happy, her bank account was happy.
    As Lenny prowled the room with the EMI, aka the electromagnetic indicator, making the occasional beeping noise, Erin stepped out into the center of the room, head flung back.
    â€œAre you there? We can feel your presence.…” Erin wandered in a circle, hands out, palms up, eyes raised soulfully to the ceiling. Cate waited for her to trip over the edge of the carpet, but she traipsed neatly over it in her high-heeled boots. “We know you don’t want to be here. We know you haven’t done anything wrong.…”
    â€œOf course I haven’t!” said an indignant voice in Cate’s ear.
    Cate slapped a hand to her ear. “What was that?”
    She whirled in a circle, but there was no one there.
    Fred winced. He moved the mike away from his mouth. “Nice try, but a bit much, hot stuff. Bring it down a peg.”
    â€œBut I—never mind.”
    Erin jumped in. “Oooh! Oooh! I’m getting something!”
    An STD at a guess. It was an open secret that Erin was sharing Fred’s bed.
    â€œWhat are you feeling, Erin?” Fred asked, in the deep, low voice he used for the camera. It made him sound a bit like Alistair Cooke after a few sleeping pills, but the audience seemed to like it.
    â€œI feel … I feel …”
    â€œNot so fresh?” murmured Cate.
    Hal stifled a snicker.
    Erin dropped pose long enough to shoot them both a nasty look. “
If
you would?” Throwing back her head, she returned to trance mode. “I feel … a presence!”
    Outside, lightning crashed. The chandelier overhead sputteredand sparked out. The EMI gave one last despairing beep before it, too, whined into somnolence. Even the red light on the camera had gone out.
    The sounds of the storm seemed closer, clearer. Cate could hear the tap, tap, tap of branches against the windows, the hard patter of rain on the stone sills, the strained breathing of her crewmates as they all stood frozen, listening. There was a strange, whispering noise, like the sound of a long dress sweeping across the wool of the carpet.
    The wind, of course. It had to be the wind. These old houses were riddled with drafts. Cate could feel it trailing across the back of her neck, stirring the painstakingly straightened strands of her hair.
    She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, cold with a fear she couldn’t even name.
    â€œOh, bugger,” said Lenny prosaically. “I’ve stubbed my toe.”
    His words broke the spell. Cate let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Fred cursed. Erin giggled nervously.
    â€œHow long do you think it will take to get the power back?” Hal asked.
    â€œGod knows,” said Fred crossly. “Old house like this—I doubt the old boy has a generator. It’s a fucking nightmare.”
    â€œDon’t you mean a fucking Northanger?” Erin giggled at her own cleverness.
    Someone let out a sharp gasp of disapproval. “Really!”
    There it was. That voice again. The breeze. The cold. The hairs on the back of Cate’s neck