The hall was spacious, with a perfect incline that allowed a clear view of the screen from any point. The 250 seats, upholstered in dark velvet, were arranged in impeccable rows.
The lights were dim, not yet fully turned off.
Festival ushers guided the arriving audience with low-intensity flashlights, while soft ambient music filled the space in a constant murmur.
The first two central rows, directly in front of the screen with a privileged angle, were reserved for the film's team and their personal guests. Owen, Matt, Sophie, their families, the rest of the Paranormal Activity crew, and close friends took their seats there. Also present were Cristian and Martha from A24.
In total, about twenty-five people.
Owen sat in the middle of the second row, with Matt on one side and Sophie on the other. Elizabeth, Edward, Sarah, and the others filled the nearby seats, blending with Sophie's parents.
After about fifteen minutes, the general audience began to enter.
The festival staff guided them with faint flashlights, and the murmurs grew louder. Every time someone walked in, it seemed as though there couldn't possibly be any seats left and yet people kept coming. The theater was filling at a pace unusual for a midnight screening.
A young couple, passing by row 6, whispered that they had come because of the trailer. A friend had shared it on Reddit and, according to them, "it had gone kind of viral in a niche of horror and found-footage fans." They knew nothing about the director or the cast, but the trailer had piqued their curiosity more than other midnight films from studios like Blumhouse.
In row 8, a group of four friends talked about how strange it was for a film like this, without press coverage or known names, to be stirring up such interest and pulling such a crowd.
Further ahead, two young women sat down in row 4. One whispered to her friend, "This one's a horror film… it's going to be very different from Paperman."
"I know, but it stars the same actors from Paperman, and I was left wanting to see more of their romance," her friend replied.
It had lasted just over six minutes, but its impact had been immediate. On social media, YouTube channels, and small independent review forums, everyone was talking about the same things: the sensitivity, the story, the aesthetic, and the chemistry between the actors.
And with the views it racked up in its first 24 hours, it was already on its way to becoming the most watched video from Second Take Films.
"Oh, look. There are the actors from Paperman. The guy is Owen, and next to him is the girl. They must be a couple in real life, right?" one of them suddenly said, lowering her voice further and discreetly pointing toward the first rows.
"I think so, or at least they seem like it," her friend nodded. "What a shame," she murmured, her gaze lingering a moment too long on Owen's face.
Both kept staring at them as if they had just seen in person a fictional couple who had stolen their hearts. They had no idea that what was about to happen would shatter that illusion completely.
The hall was practically full.
All 250 seats had been taken barely five minutes before the official start. That fact could not go unnoticed by those familiar with the inner workings of the festival.
In contexts like Palm Springs, filling a theater is not common, much less during the midnight slot.
Usually, screenings have between 40% and 80% occupancy, depending on the day, the time, and the level of public interest.
Only 10% to 20% of screenings manage to fill the room to 100%.
And most independent productions, without studio backing, press coverage, or recognizable names in the cast or direction, fall well below that average. Except in special cases where viral marketing takes hold in full force, as with Paranormal Activity.
"Shit, It's packed…" Matt muttered, glancing around and seeing no empty seats.
"Now you're nervous just because the theater's full?" Owen asked beside him.
"No, no… well, maybe a little," said Matt with a faint smile.
The lights dimmed gently. The last murmurs faded away like an echo dissolving among the seats.
From one side of the stage, a festival staff member appeared, dressed formally, and positioned himself at the center so everyone could see him.
"Good evening, everyone. Welcome to this midnight screening on the second day of the Palm Springs International Film Festival," said the festival member, and the audience responded with brief applause.
"The film you are about to see is an independent production with a budget of only twenty thousand dollars, made by a young team, full of passion, and without studio backing. What they achieved is, honestly, admirable. Please welcome with applause its producer, writer, and lead actor: Owen Ashford, and its director: Matt Rogers."
The audience applauded again, many surprised by the mention of such a modest budget, which only added to the film's prestige for having made it this far. Everyone knew how fierce the competition at this festival was.
Owen and Matt stood up. Sophie whispered, "Good luck," with an encouraging smile, as the two of them walked toward the stage.
Owen took the microphone handed to him by the festival staff member and looked out at the audience.
"Thank you for being here. To everyone who came out of curiosity, because of the trailer, because of the short films, or just because someone insisted, thanks for giving a chance to this film that was made with the bare essentials."
The audience responded with warm applause. Owen smiled and passed the microphone to Matt, who took it with a mix of nerves and excitement.
"And if you don't like it… just remember one thing: When you get home tonight, if you hear footsteps in the hallway or a door closing on its own… don't blame us. You've been warned," Matt joked.
The theater burst into soft laughter and another round of applause.
Owen and Matt gave a slight bow and returned to their seats.
The lights went completely out, and silence, this time absolute, settled in. The screening had begun.
From the very first minutes, Paranormal Activity captured the audience's attention.
The presentation was sober, without unnecessary flourishes. A black screen, a couple of brief lines explaining that the recorded events were real, and then the first image of Drake with his new camera.
At first, everything seemed ordinary. Katie and Drake, the young couple who had just moved in together, had a natural, believable dynamic. The dialogue was quick but not improvised. It flowed with the ease of two people who had known each other for years, yet were still learning how to live under the same roof.
Drake, played by Owen, carried a relaxed charisma, playful, with a clear tendency to treat everything lightly. Early on, the audience laughed at some of his comments, his skeptical attitude toward the first noises, his somewhat clumsy way of handling tension.
But little by little, as the nights went on and the activity intensified, that humorous shield began to crack. Owen knew exactly when to stop being charming and start being unsettling.
Katie, played by Sophie, not only conveyed vulnerability without seeming weak, but her gradual emotional breakdown was carefully crafted.
Her gaze, her voice, the way her movements grew more erratic as the nights passed.
The screenplay's structure, unlike the original, laid out clear rhythms and a logical emotional progression.
Every scene had a purpose.
Every night captured by the surveillance camera raised the level of unease without relying on cheap jump scares.
Sound was crucial, and the mix was impeccable, making the tension resonate in the chest.
And when the more physical manifestations began, the audience held its breath.
An oppressive atmosphere built steadily, snowballing larger with each scene, and, presented in documentary style, it all felt disturbingly real.
The chemistry between Sophie and Owen was undeniable, but it wasn't just romance. It gradually turned into tragedy.
This wasn't easy shock-horror. It was psychological. More atmospheric. And that made it even harder to endure. Because the audience didn't just feel fear, they felt sorrow for the characters.
Then came the final scene, the last night.
The fixed camera in its usual place kept recording. The couple slept until, around three in the morning, Katie stirred and rose from bed.
She walked over to Drake and stood watching him silently for several minutes. Motionless. And then, without making a sound, she left the room.
For a few seconds, the camera continued filming the empty bedroom. Until a piercing scream ripped through the theater.
It was so sudden, so sharp and real, that several people in the audience audibly gasped in shock.
Drake woke instantly, terrified. He sat up, disoriented, searching for his partner.
"Katie!?" he shouted as he bolted out of the room without hesitation.
The recording showed him leaving through the doorway and vanishing into the darkness. Then came thuds, shouts, and a sharp crack. And finally, a brutal, inhuman scream, one that clearly didn't belong to either of them.
After that, silence. A silence many in the audience found more terrifying than any sound before.
The camera kept rolling. Then came footsteps. Slow. Uneven. One after another, approaching from the hallway.
Suddenly, Drake's body was hurled into the room, flung toward the camera with unnatural force.
The camera fell. First facing the ceiling. Then the floor, where it landed at a crooked angle, capturing the scene from below.
Drake's body was barely visible.
And then Katie appeared. She stepped into frame out of the darkness.
Her white blouse was completely stained with blood. She moved slowly, crouching beside her boyfriend's body. She touched him, sniffed him, like a curious animal, or something far worse.
Then, in that unstable position, she began crawling toward the camera. Her bloodied face came into view, a smile stretching across her features in a way almost inhuman.
On her face, the demon began to take shape. A flicker. A subtle but disturbing effect: her features distorting, creeping closer, pushing past the frame. And in the very last instant, just before filling the screen completely…
Impact.
A sharp, distorted sound. The image jolted for a split second before vanishing into complete black.
In the theater, several people gasped aloud. Others turned their faces away or shut their eyes on reflex. Many gripped their armrests with white-knuckled tension.
And as the audience's hearts struggled to return to a normal rhythm, the final text appeared on the black screen, white letters, silent, blunt:
[Drake's body was found by police on October 11, 2006.
Katie's whereabouts remain unknown.]
When the words faded, the credits began to roll.
For several long seconds, the theater remained in absolute silence. Until, from the back of the hall, one person began to clap. Then another joined in.
And another.
And another one. Within seconds, the applause became collective, as if everyone suddenly remembered they were at a festival screening.
"Shit, that smile was creepy," said a guy in a cap from row 7, still clapping, though visibly tense.
His friend sitting next to him nodded, "Yeah, when she crawled toward the camera I almost pissed my pants."
"Come on, don't you think you're exaggerating?" asked another, now more relaxed.
"Not at all. Want proof? I'm sure something came out."
All around them, groups whispered among themselves, everyone commenting on the film: the scares, the atmosphere, the acting. The murmurs blended with the last few claps, which were slowly dying down.
Closer to the front, James turned to his younger sister with a raised eyebrow and a half-mocking smile.
"Hey, Sarah. What happened? Why'd you close your eyes?" James asked in a neutral tone, clearly enjoying exposing her.
Sarah shot him a death glare.
"I didn't close my eyes. I just… blinked long. And that's not the same," she justified herself with a very poor excuse.
"'Blinking long'?" James repeated with mock disbelief. "Interesting defense strategy to avoid looking like a coward."
Emily chuckled softly from her seat. "Don't laugh too much, James. I saw you squeeze my hand hard the moment Katie smiled in that last shot."
Sarah immediately turned to Emily, a mix of surprise and teasing in her expression.
"Seriously? James, the stoic lawyer? Squeezing his wife's hand?" Sarah said, covering her mouth in feigned shock.
"Me?" James replied, trying to keep a calm façade. "That was a show of support for my wife. Don't be ridiculous."
Amid all this, while the audience began to rise from their seats, Owen remained sitting for a moment longer.
He watched the faces.
He listened to the scattered comments, the nervous laughter, the whispered awe. He saw satisfaction. That was a good sign. He had managed to make the film that originally came out in 2007 work in 2022, fifteen years later. Of course: by adapting, modifying, and improving the script.
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You can read 15 chapters in advance on my patreon.
Link: https://[email protected]/Nathe07