Growing up in a small town in Ohio, Viktor Donovan dreamed of the world beyond the wheat-fields of his father’s farm. It wasn’t until he turned twenty-two that his dream would, or in his mind at least, become a reality. On that day, a travelling merchant came through the town, and his most valuable possession was that of a vintage cranking video camera. Viktor could hardly take his eyes off of the device, following the merchant with a myriad of questions about how the camera worked.
“How much is the camera?” Viktor prodded the merchant. The merchant caught the glint of desperation in Viktor’s tone, his greedy, selfish nature working to earn a profit.
“Three-hundred dollars. No more, no less.” At this, Viktor’s expression fell. His parents had left him the farm after their passing, and it was all he had. There was no other way he could fetch the sum for the camera with the crops alone.
“Please, help me out. I—I need that camera. I want to be an artist.”
“Yeah? Well I want money, so either give me the three-hundred or I am gone. For good. You have two days before I leave for the next town.” When Viktor returned to the farm, his decision had already been set. He spent the next two days filing and signing the paperwork for selling the farm, which gave him the sum. When he returned to the merchant, he was given the camera for the money, without a home to come back to. He had traded his life for that camera, and now it meant everything to him.
“We are artists, you and I,” he said as he stroked the camera. “It is time to make our masterpiece.”
* * *
Soon, Viktor Donovan’s name was on every movie-producer’s lips. One producer in particular, Ian Browning, had taken a deep interest in the director, who had almost come out of nowhere. Donovan’s films were becoming a hit, though no more than a few minutes at length. Something about the way each of the actors showed true, sincere fear and terror captivated audiences. It didn’t long for Ian to pick up the phone and get a hold of Donovan. After all, the movie enterprise was all about connections.
“Hello, Viktor? I am Ian Browning, calling on behalf of Universal Pictures. We’re really interested in having you make a film for us.” The producer grinned at Viktor’s gasp from the other line. Universal was one of the biggest names in the business. Seeing that there was no other response from Donovan, Browning continued the discussion.
“We’d love to see the best of your work, horror, of course. I want you to scare us, Donovan. Make us want to run to our mothers and p*** ourselves, you hear me? Do that, and you’ll be a star.” There were a few rustling sounds, then soft whispers, as though Viktor were with someone else. Browning tried to listen in but could hardly make out the words.
“…You hear that…? We—artists now…Give them the scariest…ever,” suddenly, the voice was clear, as though he had remembered that the producer was on the line. “I’ll do it, Mr. Browning. I’ll make the scariest film you’ll ever see.”
“I look forward to it, Donovan.” With that, the producer hung up and placed the phone back on the receiver. Something about Viktor’s tone made him shudder, but he had a feeling he was going to get exactly what he wanted to see.
* * *
The call from Universal was all Viktor thought about on the flight to Los Angeles. This was the land of opportunity, and the film director was taking his by the horns. After a few more calls, Viktor soon found himself facing the desolate soundstage that the company allowed him to use, Soundstage Twenty-one. With a loud clang, he pushed open the door, particles of dust flying into the air and causing him to cough and wave his hand as he searched for the light switch. Once he had located it, the lights flickered on, a soft whirring sound being emitted as the soundstage came to life before him. There were plastic walls, haggard from wear and tear, leaning against each other. The room was bare, except for the one prop that stood in the center, a brass bathtub, like those used in the late 18th century. Already, Viktor’s mind raced with ideas and scenes, cranking up his camera to record the moment.
“The stage is set. All we need now, dear friend, is our big star.” The lights flickered once again, as though in agreement with what he said.
On one of the occasions when Viktor strolled the grounds of Universal, he came across a troupe of unemployed actors, their cries aimed at another director who already began waving them away. His eyes scanned the crowd for a potential star, almost giving up suit when his gaze fell upon the features of a blonde woman. She was whom he needed. She was the one. It was a matter of time before he found himself approaching her.
“Excuse me, madam, do you want to be in a picture? You certainly have the pretty face for it.” He knew what women liked to hear, his voice and charm drawing them in like flies to the fruit. His most notable features were his piercing azure eyes, which were now holding the blonde’s own gaze captive.
“I—Yes, I am, sir. Are you a director?” Her voice seemed to call out to him, her eyes hardly leaving his.
“Indeed I am, and I want to make you a star. What is your name?”
“I am Isabel.” His eyes glinted at the mention of her name.
“Isabel, I am Viktor Donovan, and I am going to make you a star.” With a bright grin, he held out his hand towards her, to which she hesitated a moment before taking and shaking it.
* * *
“I’ve never done horror before.” Isabel was talking from her dressing room, placing on the simple dress that Viktor instructed her to wear.
“Yes, my dear, and you remember what to do, correct? This will be a simple scene, just a short one. All you have to do is take off the dress and step into the bathtub, alright? I’ll take care of the rest.” Meanwhile, the director made sure that the camera was securely fastened on the tripod, his eye straining as he struggled to find the perfect view of the soundstage for the scene.
“Viktor, do I look nice?” Viktor’s eyes flickered towards the girl at her question, the smile on his lips widening.
“Yes, yes, perfect. Now, stand right there, where the ‘X’ is…no, a little to the…yes, right there.” He guided her with his finger, wrinkling his brows together in concentration until she stood exactly where he wanted her to.
“Remember, just take off your clothes and step in the tub. It’ll be filled with water, like a normal bath. I’ll do the rest. And remember, sweetheart, I want to see your fear.” She nodded at him, awaiting the signature cue for her to begin the act.
“Alright, Isabel, here we go. Lights. Camera. Action!” Viktor quickly activated the camera, its whirring sounds filling the room as he stepped back to watch the scene unfold. His actress, in the most natural fashion, slipped one strap of her dress off her shoulders at a time before shimmying her hips to lower it onto the ground. As she began to step into the bath, Viktor slipped on a doctor’s mask and a pair of latex gloves before turning back towards her. The light from the brass tub danced with the pale of her skin exactly how he wanted it to. After one last glance through the camera’s lens, Viktor stepped towards the tub, taking a pair of restraints from the side table.
“Relax, dearest, this just part of the scene.” He cooed, applying the restraints on her wrists. Isabel shook her arms, only to cause the clang of metal and the grunt from her restrained movement.
“Yes, Viktor.” At her compliance, Viktor shook his head. There was a tint of worry in her voice, but he needed more.
“No darling, I need you to be afraid.” Without warning, he gave the tub a hard kick, causing a loud ringing sound. Isabel gasped and let out a soft, brief shout.
“Viktor, I—I think I need a break.” She shook the restraints once more, to which the director couldn’t help but smile at.
“You want to leave? You’re afraid, aren’t you? This is good.”
“No, Viktor, I want to leave. Now!” She raised her voice, the sound of it shaking only encouraging Viktor to continue.
“You’re not going anywhere just yet, my sweet Isabel.” Though his voice was calm, the girl reacted in a sudden fit of frenzy, her screams resonating throughout the soundstage. It was music to his ears. He moved towards the table once more, picking up another tool that was plugged into a socket in the ground. It was a metal iron rod. At the sight of it, the girl thrashed and screamed, causing water to tumult out and onto the floor.
“Viktor! Stop! Please! I am done! I don’t want to do this anymore!” Unfazed by her pleas and cries, Viktor bent down and stroked her cheek with his gloved hand, catching a few of her falling tears.
“The show must go on.” With a cold smirk, he tossed the metal iron into the bath, hearing a bzzzzzt sound as the water and the tub were overcome with electrical currents. Isabel’s eyes widened, her mouth open and agape as her body convulsed and thudded against the copper tub. Moments passed before the body became still, her eyes still wide with fear. Viktor then turned to face the camera, his smile now forming into a grin.
“And cut.”