I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 97: Manny the Blackmailer
Jon's Perspective
The morning after what Jon could only describe as the Great Backyard Sprinkler Escape, the Pritchett breakfast table was wrapped in an unusual and somewhat eerie sense of calm. In fact, it was the kind of suspicious calm that only comes after chaos—a calm that feels like the eye of a storm, not its end.
Jon sat across from Manny and Gloria, with Jay seated beside him, the two of them nursing their morning beverages with the quiet solemnity of soldiers who had lived through a battle they would never speak of again. Jay had his usual black coffee in front of him, steaming like a freshly opened portal to another dimension of grumpiness. Jon had opted for orange juice, though his appetite hadn't quite caught up with him. The backyard—scene of the previous night's ill-fated curse burial—was now just a normal backyard again, at least on the surface. The infamous necklace was gone. Gloria was blissfully unaware of any late-night supernatural shenanigans. And nothing had spontaneously burst into flames or summoned a ghost. Everything, for once, appeared to be fine.
That is, until Manny decided to open his mouth.
With the casual air of someone commenting on the weather, Manny spooned a bit of yogurt into his mouth and spoke.
"I had the strangest dreams last night," he said, his tone light but his eyes sparkling with something far more dangerous than curiosity—intent. "Dreams filled with visions of ancient jewels buried beneath the earth... and water cascading from the heavens like divine judgment…"
Jon froze, spoonful of cereal suspended in midair like a paused movie scene. His jaw tensed. His heart might have skipped a beat.
Jay, ever the master of denial, didn't flinch. "You writing poetry now?" he asked, voice flat, eyes fixed on the sports section.
Manny nodded with a dramatic flair worthy of a Shakespearean understudy. "Indeed," he said grandly. "In fact, here's a little something I've been working on:
By moonless night, a pact was laid,
In dirt, a gleaming curse was stayed.
And as the garden wept with spray,
Two shadows swore they'd hide the day."
Gloria blinked at him, clearly unimpressed. "That's not a good poem, Manny," she said, wrinkling her nose as if the words themselves had an unpleasant smell.
"It's an acquired taste," Manny replied smoothly, eyes glinting as they landed on Jon. "You need to read between the lines. You agree, don't you, Jon? Jay?"
Jon swallowed hard. "Very... evocative," he managed. "Deep."
Jay gave a noncommittal grunt. "Sure. Symbolic. Real artsy."
Gloria pushed back her chair. "I'm going to go get ready. I have to pick up tamales for lunch," she announced, clearly uninterested in deciphering adolescent verse. With a flourish, she disappeared upstairs.
The moment her footsteps faded out of earshot, the air at the breakfast table shifted like a trapdoor swinging open. Jay turned to Manny with a look that said he'd just realized the car was gone from the garage and the kid knew where the keys were.
"Alright, kid. Spill it. How do you know?"
Manny didn't even pretend to play innocent. Instead, he reached beneath the table with a magician's sense of timing and pulled out a small handheld camcorder. He held it up like a police detective producing evidence in a courtroom.
"I heard suspicious noises last night," he said calmly, the picture of self-satisfaction. "So I did what any responsible, creative, and highly inquisitive young filmmaker would do—I investigated. And, naturally, I brought a camera."
He pressed play.
The tiny screen came to life with grainy night-vision footage. Jon watched, mortified, as the events of last night unfolded before them in low-definition horror. There they were—he and Jay—stumbling around the backyard like amateur grave robbers. Jon was digging with all the grace of someone who had never seen a shovel before. Jay was fumbling with a flashlight like a dad trying to find the bathroom on a camping trip. And then, of course, came the dramatic sprinkler ambush that had turned their escape into a soggy disaster.
Jon winced. "Please tell me this is a very vivid dream sequence."
Manny paused the footage, the frozen image of Jon mid-stumble looking especially damning. "Could be," Manny said with a cryptic smile. "But only if you give me a good enough reason to think so."
"Delete it," Jon said, deadpan.
Manny shook his head slowly, enjoying every moment.
Jay leaned in, narrowing his eyes. "Alright, let's cut to it. What do you want? Chocolate bars? A new video game? Bribes? Cash? Just tell us."
Manny leaned forward, his tone suddenly serious. "No. I don't want any of that. I want something better. I want you two to help me make my documentary. A real one. About the cursed necklace."
Jay gagged on his toast. "Are you completely out of your mind? We nearly lost our sanity trying to get rid of that thing! There were sprinklers, mud, potential ghost curses—and now you want to make a movie about it?"
Manny shrugged. "If that's too much trouble... I guess I'll just show the footage to Mom. I'm sure she'd be very curious about what the two of you were doing in the backyard at one in the morning."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jon and Jay blurted in unison, both of them practically lunging across the table like synchronized swimmers in a panic.
Jay threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine! We'll help you make your little horror film. But let's get one thing straight—we are not digging that thing up again."
Manny sighed, mildly disappointed but clearly satisfied. "Okay. I suppose I'll have to settle for your first-hand accounts. Interviews. Reenactments. You know—the good stuff. Adds to the air of mystery. Let the audience use their imagination."
Jon pushed his chair back and stood, groaning. "I can't believe I'm about to produce a haunted documentary directed by a eleven-year-old."
"Eleven and a half," Manny corrected, already on his feet and buzzing with ideas. "Now, I'm thinking we open with a slow pan across the backyard at dusk. We'll need moody lighting. And voiceovers. And definitely dramatic music…"
Jay groaned. "Whatever. Lead the way, Scorsese."
As Manny marched ahead of them toward his room, rambling about camera angles and ominous soundtracks, Jon leaned toward Jay and muttered under his breath, "We went from cursed jewelry to being blackmailed into a film."
Jay sighed heavily. "We should've just mailed the necklace to Phil."