Towards the end of December, my father, brother and I found ourselves in rare company. The exorcist was playing in the palisades that night. Which would make us one of the first to see it. Not only in our town, but the whole world. Another rarity would be the towns, first, early showing of a movie that wasn’t three to four weeks late.

Tonight was crowded, loud, and absolutely reeked of butter. I couldn’t stop moving and taking in the scenery. Ready to witness what critics were hailing as the scariest movie to date. My father, in full police garb, walked proudly up to the booth. His uniform, was what Charlie would call a golden ticket. A thing to change one’s life. Next to him were my brother and I marching proudly to the front of the line, where we were practically given the tickets out of respect to my fathers duties as a man of the law.

To the side of us were protesters, protesting the movies release, calling it the work of the devil. That this town would soon fall victim to a curse, brought upon the evils of horrid cinema. My father scowled, remarking that some of the men in the crowd would fit better in the factory’s that were low on production.

The leader of the lynch mob was, the Preacher himself. A man we, kids, detested. A bitter man, whose teeth were as rotted as his attitude to the world. We were told by adults to steer clear of him and that family if his. I wasn’t curious about the preacher man, but about what was behind him. The fantastical, vibrant movie posters that showcased the upcoming or in theatre movies showing. It was one of my favorite parts about the theatres. The pretty pictures lined up in rows, each showing a glimpse of the movies themselves. One of the movies showing tonight was previously hemmed as the scariest movie ever. Which was Psycho, by Hitchcock. I had the same poster, in my room, as the one up on the showcase.

When I slipped my brothers grip, as they waited in line for drinks and popcorn. I hurried over to the showcase, where I spotted a girl.

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Her red hair came down to the middle of her back, and she wore a giant white coat, that was pale in contrast to the skin on her hair and hands. She wore the same nurse shoes that my mother fashioned, and I thought it funny that my mother wore the same shoes as a child.

She turned, responding to the crowd where the Preacher was yelling with all his might. It seemed like she was responding to something the preacher was yelling. I noticed her eye downcast, glossing over her rosy cheeks where single strands of hair danced. Color, the same as her hair, blushed on her cheeks, and I found it fascinating.

My father, the towns local hero, the sheriff, called out to me, becoming for me to come back over. It was then that the girl noticed me staring directly at her. I blushed on my own, turning my gaze to the poster beside her. Night of the strangler was still up, and I thought the cover terrifying, but before I could really examine the movie poster more. I glanced back over and watched the girl look around, before trotting over towards me. In a moment of realization, I sensed a panic in her gaze, and a stiffness to her already ridged movements. Finding myself in the same panic, I wondered what could possibly be the matter. Then as if prompting her departure, she hurried over to me, which prompted Another shout towards her. It was a quick read, but I noticed how scared and fraught she looked. My father called out once again, before I noticed that me and the girl were face to face. Up close we were practically the same height. I also noticed what seemed to be dirt on the bridge of her nose. Above that her eyes were an unruly green.

She hurriedly and frantically looked around. The crowd was bustling making its way through and around us. Adults were wanting both our attention. When she brought her face close to mine; I thought she was going to yell or scold me like the hostile crowd was doing each passer by. Instead she whispered into my ear. My eyes widened, and when I saw her face once again, her glassy emerald eyes, were wet. I turned to face my father, and my brother was already pulling me by my hand. When I looked back for the last time, I found myself searching for the girl. To make sure what happened was real, what she said, was real. I didn’t spot her in the, already massive , outpouring crowd.