James came into the office late the next morning. Not by much maybe twenty minutes but late enough that Linda raised her eyebrows when he walked in.
"You die on the way here?" she asked without looking up from her typewriter.
"Almost."
He set his bag down gently, took off his jacket, and moved without saying much else. No coffee. No small talk. He pulled the script binder from the drawer and sat down at his desk like it was just another Thursday.
Linda watched him for a second. Then went back to typing.
James opened the binder. He didn't read it like a writer. Not this time. He read it like someone about to be stuck in the woods with a film crew, no time, no cover, and maybe one generator.
He grabbed a pen a blue ballpoint and started circling things.
Scene numbers. Angles. Transitions that felt like a headache waiting to happen. Dialogue that would need perfect timing to not sound stupid.
He was just figuring out what could go wrong.
He circled any line that required specific props. Any scene that was complicated. Any death that would need more than a bottle of fake blood and a good camera angle.
After twenty pages, he looked up.
"How many night scenes are too many?" he asked.
Linda blinked. "For what?"
"Shooting in the woods. We'd need lights. Generators. Permits if it's public land."
She thought about it. "I don't know."
James marked too many in the margin and underlined it.
She tapped her pencil. "Any trouble?"
"No. Just checking if we can actually shoot what's on the page."
Linda leaned back. "Good."
"That obvious?"
"No," she said. "But you walked in like someone told you Santa wasn't real."
James scratched his head, looking down at the script. "I just want to make sure I'm not walking into a mess."
"Too late for that," she muttered, flipping to the next page in the ledger.
They worked in silence for the next couple of hours.
James had marked up nearly the whole script by mid-afternoon. He knew where the cracks were now places where he'd need help, workarounds, or just luck.
That was something.
And clarity was more than he had last week.
Friday morning, the coffee tasted like it had been filtered through an old sock. Linda took one sip, frowned, and set the mug down with a wince.
"I think it's developing a personality."
James glanced over. "Might be the same pot from Tuesday."
"Then it's legally a resident now."
She got up and dumped it in the sink near the back. James grinned and went back to work. He was too busy redrawing the crew board, this time with a few tentative names and a rough three-week prep calendar penciled in.
James tapped the corkboard with the side of his pencil. "We've got camera, possibly. Sound guy's a maybe. Blood effects guy seems dependable but wants fifty percent upfront."
Linda sat down, sipping her coffee carefully. "What's left?"
"Lights. Insurance. Locations. Probably someone to haul equipment unless I grow four arms."
James went through his crew notes again and crossed off two more names both guys who never returned calls. Then he circled one. A film student he hadn't followed up with. No experience. No credits. But enthusiastic.
He hesitated.
Then circled it again.
At this stage, enthusiasm mattered more than a resume.
"Paul Keenan still hasn't said yes," James said, half to himself.
"Still hasn't said no either," Linda replied.
"Is that better or worse?"
"Depends. You paying him in actual dollars or theoretical exposure?"
"Depends how much this budget bleeds."
By Monday morning, the corkboard wasn't blank anymore.
Paul Keenan was tentatively down as cinematographer penciled in, Mike Lenner was still a maybe for sound, and Jerry Franks was down for makeup and gore. Linda had drawn little asterisks next to each name, with a line underneath that read:NOT CONFIRMED. DO NOT PAY ANYONE YET.
Linda updated the schedule mock-up to reflect a ten-day shoot, with three possible buffer days marked in yellow. There were still blanks assistant director, production assistant but for the first time, the pieces looked like they could move.
Linda came in, balancing a donut box on one hand and her bag on the other.
"They were two for one," she said, dropping the box on his desk.
James lifted the lid, selected the least-smashed one, and took a bite.
"You've got your crew," she said, chewing.
"Kind of."
"You've got more than you did a week ago."
He nodded.
Then he stared at the board a little longer.
"You know what we don't have?" he asked.
"Optimism?"
"Actors."
She blinked. "Right."
James sat back down and opened his binder. The cast list wasn't long. Six campers, a cook, a cop, and a mother. That was it.
"We can't afford too many known actors." James said.
Linda looked thoughtful. "There's a college up the road. Theater department. Probably full of people who want to be in movies."
"Think they'd work for scale?"
"They'd probably work for food."
James flipped a page and started writing down what a casting call might need headshots, monologues, availability. He had no experience casting. In his past life, casting had always been someone else's job. He was used to voice actors auditions in booths, not cold reads in folding chairs.
This would be different.
"I'll call the college," Linda said. "See if we can add audition call up on bulletin board or whatever."
"Ask about space," James added. "We might need a room for auditions."
"We can't hold auditions in here?" she asked, glancing around.
James looked at the cramped little office, with its squeaky chairs and bad lighting.
"Not unless we want the movie to look like a hostage video."
Linda picked up the phone and started dialing.
James sat back, staring at the character list. It was the last major piece of the puzzle the faces of the film. The voices that would sell the fear. Or kill it.
He tapped his pen once, then underlined the word CASTING.
They weren't ready to shoot.
But they were getting close to starting.