Chapter 8: Buried Secrets

I reached under my clothes, gripping the cross—it was burning hot. I forced myself to stay alert and finish the shoot. Nothing else happened, and three hours crawled by.

By 3 a.m.—the witching hour—everyone was yawning, and the prop lights flickered, threatening to go out. Someone cracked a zombie joke, but nobody laughed. The generator’s hum was the only thing holding back the dark.

'Come on, everyone, perk up! Just one more scene and we can rest for two days!' the director shouted, trying to sound upbeat.

He clapped his hands, but I could tell he was desperate to get out of there too.

For the final scene, I was supposed to be buried in a pile of earth. The director had dug a pit for me, planning to film the whole thing and then dig me out. Just before shooting, Ace called. Public opinion was turning—viewers accused the crew of risking my life for hype. The underwater scene made people uncomfortable, and professionals online said there were safer ways to film. Complaints piled up, demanding refunds.

On Twitter, #SaveBenMason trended. Fans and critics alike called out the production. The studio started sweating—money talks louder than ghost stories.

Ace didn’t care about lives, but profits were another story. He told the director to prioritize my safety to calm things down. They ditched the original pit, brought in a stunt coordinator and medics, and set up a safer shot. I felt like I’d dodged a bullet, but the sense of doom stayed with me.

The next few scenes didn’t need me, so I hung by the pit to rest. I lit a cigarette and scrolled through fan messages. Someone had photoshopped my face onto a superhero’s body—#BenMasonLives. I couldn’t help but laugh, even with dirt still under my nails. Loyal fans organized to report the trending video, trying to protect me. It moved me more than I’d admit.

'Mr. Mason, you’re up next!' Maddie called, snapping me out of it. I stubbed out my cigarette, got up to walk over—then my foot slipped and I tumbled backward, rolling straight into the pit. The loose earth seemed to come alive, pouring down to bury me alive.

The world spun as I hit bottom, cold dirt pressing in from all sides. I tried to shout, but my mouth filled with soil. Above, the lights flickered—and then everything went dark.

As the earth pressed in, I thought: this is it—the 50th film, and maybe my last. But something cold and unseen brushed my ankle, and I realized I wasn’t alone down there.