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Doctor Ruth Westenhause stepped into the dimly lit foyer of the mansion, her sturdy frame weighed down by a bag full of documents and a sense of irritation. She had spent the entire day at her clinic, trying to help her patients overcome their sexual hang-ups, only to be met with a barrage of angry protesters outside. The air had their cries and the smell of homemade signs. As she dropped her keys into the bowl by the door, the echo of their accusations still rung in her ears. She sighed heavily, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink that clashed with her vibrant red hair.
Just as she was about to ascend the grand staircase to her room, the sound of laughter and upbeat music wafted through the corridor. It was coming from the direction of Shelly Duvette's room. The willowy blonde was known for her unorthodox approach to art, and today she was basking in the glow of a particularly successful project. She had directed a horror-themed workout video for the flamboyant fitness guru, Tony Tightpants, and it had become the talk of the town. The catchphrase "Pump 'Til You're Petrified" was on everyone's lips, and the video had started flying off the shelves.
Shannon Doggerty, the fiery redhead who aspired to be an actress but was currently serving fries at the Hollywood Diner, had stumbled upon the latest craze in dating: video dating. She had rented a camera and was eagerly setting up in the mansion's grand living room, surrounded by a sea of dusty furniture that had seen better days. She applied a thick coat of bright red lipstick, adjusted her hair, and practiced her smile in the mirror. It was a sad sight, really, but she was determined to find her prince charming.
Mr. Tombs, the mansion's comically vampiric landlord, emerged from the shadows with a dramatic flourish, his cape fluttering behind him. He cleared his throat, and the music from Shelly's room abruptly ceased. "Roommates," he announced in his thick, Eastern European accent, "my dear, peculiar, and utterly charming niece, Pazuzee, will be gracing us with her presence this weekend. She is a... how do you say? Free spirit. With an unusual affinity for our six-legged friends."
The mention of Pazuzee brought a shiver down Shelly's spine. She had heard whispers about Mr. Tomb's family, but never dared to ask for details. "P-Pazuzee?" she stuttered, "I-is she... normal?"
Mr. Tombs let out a hearty laugh that sounded eerily like a bat's squeak. "Normal? Dear child, in Hollywood, 'normal' is as elusive as a chastity belt in a brothel!" His eyes twinkled with mischief. "But fear not, she's as harmless as a butterfly with a taste for blood... mostly."
Shannon rolled her eyes, not in the mood for cryptic warnings. She was too busy trying to figure out the camera's settings. "Video dating is the future," she exclaimed, waving a script of cheesy pick-up lines she had scribbled down during her lunch break. "I'm going to find myself a man who doesn't expect me to serve him breakfast in a bunny costume!"
"There is nothink wrong with consensual roleplay," Doctor Westenhause said.
The doorbell chimed, and they all froze. Mr. Tombs' eyes lit up. "Ah, she must have arrived!" He glided to the door, opening it to reveal Pazuzee, a waif-thin girl with a head of jet-black hair and a cloud of flies buzzing around her. She was dressed in a tattered black dress that looked like it had been plucked straight from a gothic romance novel. The flies circled her like a living necklace, landing on her skin and taking off again as if playing a twisted game of tag.
Shelly and Shannon exchanged wary glances as Pazuzee floated into the room, her dark eyes scanning the space with a curious interest. "Hello, my dears," she cooed, her voice a cross between a child's giggle and a witch's cackle. "I've heard so much about you all. Uncle Tombs has told me all about his special little artists and starlets." She twirled, her flies creating a dizzying pattern in the air.
"Pazuzee," Mr. Tombs began with a proud smile, "this is Shelly Duvette, the avant-garde filmmaker who's going to make us all rich with her terrifying visions. And here is Shannon Doggerty, the fiery redhead who lights up the silver screen... or soon will, I'm sure." He paused, his gaze lingering on Shannon's camera setup. "And it seems you're preparing for a performance of your own?"
Pazuzee's eyes widened, the flies momentarily still around her head. "Oh, video dating! How quaint!" She clapped her hands together, sending a few of her winged companions into a brief frenzy. "I've always been fascinated by human mating rituals. May I watch?"
Shannon, ever the optimist, saw this as an opportunity for an audience and a chance to showcase her charm. "Sure, Pazuzee. Just don't scare off any of my potential suitors."
Before Pazuzee could respond, the sound of the door slamming echoed through the mansion. In burst Richard Simpson, a whirlwind of spandex and hairspray. His face was flushed, and his usual high-energy demeanor was dampened by a clear annoyance. "What's with the protesters outside?" he demanded, his voice strained. "They're waving signs about 'moral decay' and 'the devil's playground'. It's giving me terrible flashbacks to my high school gym class!"
Doctor Westenhause sighed. "It's those anti-sex prudes again. They've picked the wrong week to mess with my clinic," she grumbled, her German accent thickening with frustration. "Everyone's talking about Shelly's video, and now they're blaming me for their nightmares!"
Shelly looked up from her editing, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Maybe we should invite them to watch it. They might learn a thing or two about facing their fears."
Mr. Tombs chuckled, his fangs glinting in the low light. "Now, now, let's not give them a heart attack. Besides, we have more important matters to attend to." He gestured to Pazuzee, who was now inspecting a dusty painting on the wall with unsettling curiosity. "Pazuzee, darling, why don't you show Shannon some of your... hobbies? I'm sure she'd love to learn how to handle those pesky little flies of hers."
The flies around Pazuzee's head buzzed louder, and she giggled, sending a few of them darting towards Shannon, who swatted them away with a look of horror. "Thanks, but no thanks," she said, trying to keep her cool. "I've got enough on my plate with this dating thing."
But Pazuzee was insistent, her eyes shimmering with a strange excitement. "They're just misunderstood, like me!" She held out her hand, and a fly landed gently on her finger. "See? They're quite affectionate, really."
Shannon took a cautious step back, her script fluttering to the floor. "I'll, uh, just stick to my dating script, thanks."
"What should we do about the prude patrol out front?"demanded Richard. "Should we sick the cops on 'em?"
Doctor Westenhause waved her hand dismissively. "No need for that. I have a plan." She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a VHS tape. "My latest 'Sensual Yodeling for the Modern Woman' seminar. It's a hit with the open-minded. I'll play it at full volume and let them get an earful of true liberation."
The room filled with a mix of laughter and skepticism, but they all agreed it was worth a shot. Richard dashed off to grab a portable TV and VHS player from his room, while Shelly retreated to her own space, eager to escape the impending chaos. Shannon picked up her script, trying to ignore the flies that now buzzed around her as well. She took a deep breath and hit record.
"Hi, I'm Shannon," she began, her voice a tad shakier than planned. "I'm looking for someone who's not afraid of a little adventure. Someone who thinks outside the box, or at least doesn't mind sharing their fries." She paused, trying to sound more natural. "Oh, and if you're into eighties workout videos, I might just be your dream date."
Pazuzee hovered behind her, her flies now a constant presence around Shannon. She leaned in, whispering, "You know, I can make those flies do amazing things. They could be quite... entertaining on a date."
Shannon shot her a sideways glance, trying to gauge if she was serious. "Thanks, but I'll stick to my charm," she quipped, though internally, she couldn't help but feel a touch of creeping dread.
Meanwhile, Richard set up the TV in the window, aiming the speakers directly at the protesters. The mansion's walls began to vibrate with the sound of Doctor Westenhause's deep, sultry yodeling, and the protesters' shouts grew louder. Suddenly, a few of the more adventurous flies from Pazuzee's entourage decided to investigate the commotion. They buzzed out the window and into the faces of the protesters, who immediately began swatting and running in panic. The rest of the flies followed, creating a dark, writhing cloud that seemed to be taunting the protesters with every dodge and dip.
The chaos grew as the flies dispersed, some landing on the protesters' signs, while others got caught in their hair. The protesters' shouts turned to screams, and their neat little line of moral outrage disintegrated into a scene from a B-grade horror movie. The frenzy outside was too much for the video dating setup. Shannon paused her recording, watching in amazement as the protesters stumbled away, flailing their arms and slapping at the flies.
Doctor Westenhause chuckled from the doorway, watching her plan unfold. "I've always found that a little discomfort can be quite educational," she said to no one in particular. The flies grew bolder, swarming the protesters' homemade signs until they were forced to abandon them.
Richard, ever the showman, couldn't resist joining in. He leapedfrogged over the couch, landing in a dramatic pose with a fly-swatter in hand. "Let's show 'em what Hollywood is really about!" he exclaimed, swiping at the air. His flamboyant display was met with a mix of laughter and horror from the others.
The flies, seemingly enjoying the game, began to form patterns around the protesters, spelling out words like "love" and "consent" with their erratic flight paths. The prudes looked up in shock, their eyes wide with confusion. One by one, the words began to resonate, and the anger in their faces transformed into bewilderment.
"Maybe they're just trying to communicate with us," Shelly suggested, peeking out the window. "Or maybe they're just really into the art of the written word."
"Well, if they are, they're writing it in the most annoying font ever," Richard quipped, swatting at a particularly persistent fly.
Shannon couldn't help but laugh, the tension of her video dating endeavor dissipating. "Maybe we should take a break and go join the party," she said, turning off the camera. "I've got some ketchup packets from work. Who's up for a little target practice?"
Doctor Westenhause nodded, a glint in her eye. "Excellent idea. It's not every day one gets to be part of a spontaneous performance art piece."
The four roommates, armed with fly swatters and ketchup packets, descended upon the front lawn. The protesters, now thoroughly discombobulated, had started to argue among themselves. Some pointed at the flies as a sign of divine retribution, while others swore they saw the flies forming the image of a giant, leather-clad phallus.
"Look at them," Shannon giggled. "It's like they're in the middle of a surrealist nightmare."
Pazuzee, ever the gracious host, had followed them outside, her flies swirling around her head like a twisted crown. "Let's not forget to thank the flies," she said sweetly. "They're just trying to help us find love in our own... buzzy way."
Shelly couldn't resist filming the bizarre scene on her camera, while Richard did his best impression of a fly trainer, complete with a whip crack and a top hat. The protesters stumbled backward, their signs forgotten on the ground.
As the flies dispersed, Mr. Tombs appeared on the porch, his cape billowing in the evening breeze. "Ah, a successful evening," he said, clapping his hands together. "Now, let us retire to the drawing room for some refreshments. Perhaps a nice cup of... hemlock tea?"
The roommates shared a look, but before they could decline, Pazuzee giggled. "Oh, Uncle Tombs, you're always so cheeky." She winked at the others. "It's just Earl Grey with a hint of... something extra."
The evening passed in a whirlwind of laughter and strange stories about Pazuzee's travels with her flies. Despite their initial reservations, the roommates found themselves drawn to her peculiar charm. It was a rare moment of unity in the haunted mansion, a brief reprieve from their individual struggles.
As the night grew late, Shannon retreated to her room, feeling a strange kinship with the girl who talked to flies. She picked up her script, looking over the cheesy lines with a new sense of humor. Maybe Hollywood wasn't all glitz and glamour, but it certainly knew how to throw a curveball. And if her video dating adventure was anything like this evening, she was in for a wild ride.
With a renewed sense of excitement, she hit record again. "Hi, I'm Shannon," she began anew, her voice steady and her smile genuine. "I'm looking for someone who can handle a little bit of weird. Because let's face it, we're all a little weird in this town. And if you're cool with that, maybe we'll get along just fine."
The camera rolled as she told the story of the flies and the protesters, her words painting a picture of a life filled with unexpected adventures. And as she finished her monologue, she had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, she had found her niche in this strange, wonderful place.
The next day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the mansion's lawn, Pazuzee prepared to leave. Her flies grew still, their buzzing a silent farewell as she packed her meager belongings. The roommates gathered in the foyer, watching her with a mix of fascination and trepidation. They had grown used to her peculiar charm in such a short time, and the thought of her departure was bittersweet.
"Thank you for letting me stay," Pazuzee said, hugging each of them in turn. Her embrace was cold, like a chilly breeze from a crypt, but the affection was palpable. "Hollywood is quite... interesting."
Shelly, ever the artist, saw the potential in the peculiar situation. "Maybe we could use this in my next film," she murmured, her mind racing with ideas. "The flies could be a metaphor for freedom or... something like that."
"Freedom, indeed," Pazuzee said with a knowing smile. "They're like us, aren't they? Free spirits, misunderstood by the masses."
Doctor Westenhause nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But let's not forget, dear, that sometimes freedom comes with a price." She glanced around the foyer, her gaze lingering on the now-faded signs of the protesters, which had been shooed away by the flies the night before.
"Well, I for one am going to miss you, Pazuzee," Richard said, his voice a touch more serious than usual. "You've brought a certain... je ne sais quoi to our little haunted abode."
Pazuzee giggled, her flies buzzing in agreement. "I'm sure you'll find plenty of entertainment without me," she said, her eyes twinkling. "But remember, if you ever need a little... winged assistance, you know who to call."
As she stepped into the night, the flies swirled around her, creating a living chauffeur to escort her to her next destination. The roommates watched her go, feeling an odd sense of loss. It was as if a whirlwind had swept through their lives, leaving behind a trail of chaos and strange camaraderie.
"Should we hang the fly strips back up in the kitchen?" Richard wondered.
Doctor Westenhause snorted. "Let them be. They're more entertaining than most of my patients."
The next few days were a whirlwind for Shannon. Her video dating profile had gone viral, and she was inundated with messages from potential suitors. Some were charming, some were weird, and a few were downright terrifying. Her inbox was flooded with offers for dates, and she found herself playing matchmaker with the Hollywood eligible bachelors. The frenzy grew to the point where she had to set up a system to categorize the responses: "Maybe," "No way," and "Call the exorcist."
Shelly, on the other hand, was dealing with the aftermath of her hit workout video. Tony Tightpants had called her, begging for a sequel. She was torn between the artistic integrity of her horror-themed opus and the siren call of commercial success. "It's a fine line between genius and madness," she mused, staring at the blank canvas in her room.
Shannon, now the queen of video dating, found her schedule booked with dates for the next two weeks. She juggled her shifts at the diner with her newfound social life, her energy levels rivaling Richard's. Each date was more bizarre than the last, but she approached each one with the same enthusiasm she had for her work. After all, she was in Hollywood, where the line between reality and fantasy was as blurred as the lipstick on a clown's mouth.
Her first date was with a man who claimed to be a vampire hunter. He arrived at the diner with a wooden stake in his pocket and a garlic necklace around his neck. Shannon couldn't help but laugh, serving him a heart-shaped plate of fries with a side of ketchup. "So, do you get a lot of action?" she teased.
"More than you'd think," he said, his eyes scanning the shadows of the diner with a seriousness that was almost charming. "But it's not all glamour and bloodsuckers. Sometimes it's just... flies."
Shannon couldn't help but laugh, the memory of Pazuzee's visit still fresh in her mind. "Flies, huh? I think I might have had a taste of that."
The vampire hunter looked at her, his expression unchanged. "You never know where the supernatural may hide. Sometimes it's right under your nose."
Shannon couldn't argue with that. She had learned that lesson the hard way. As the date went on, she found herself enjoying the banter, the ridiculousness of it all a welcome distraction from the monotony of her usual life.
The second date was with a man who called himself the "Master of Puppets." He had brought an actual puppet with him, a ventriloquist's doll named Larry. Larry had a filthy mouth and a penchant for making lewd suggestions that had Shannon in stitches. The date ended with the man, red-faced and sweating, stuffing Larry back into his bag as the puppet hurled insults at passersby.
The third date was with a silent film enthusiast who communicated solely through charades. Shannon's frustration grew as she tried to guess his occupation (turns out he was a taxidermist), and she found herself miming a phone call to "explain" she had to leave early.
But amidst the weirdos and wannabes, there was one message that stood out from the rest. It was from a man named Steve, who claimed to be a special effects artist working on the set of a new horror film. His message was simple and sweet: "Your laugh is like music to my ears. Let's create some magic together?"
Shannon felt a flutter in her stomach. Maybe this whole video dating thing wasn't such a bust after all. She decided to give Steve a chance and agreed to meet him at a local dive bar that had a surprisingly good reputation for first dates. As she got ready, she couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. Would he be as charming in person as he was on tape? Would he like her without the fries and ketchup?
The bar was dimly lit, with the faint smell of stale beer and popcorn lingering in the air. The jukebox played a mellow tune that reminded Shannon of her mother's favorite record collection. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, her heart racing. The sea of faces turned to look at her, and she spotted Steve in the corner, sipping on a glowing green cocktail. He was tall, with a lopsided smile and a mess of curly hair that made him look like a modern-day Einstein.
He waved her over, and she approached with a mix of excitement and trepidation. As she slid into the booth across from him, she couldn't help but feel a spark of attraction. "Hi," she said, her voice a little shakier than she had intended.
Steve set down his drink and leaned in, his eyes alight with curiosity. "So, Shannon, tell me about yourself. What do you do when you're not scaring off protesters with flies?"
Shannon couldn't help but laugh. "You've heard about that?" She took a sip of her water, feeling the coolness soothe her dry throat. "Well, I'm an aspiring actress, currently paying the bills by serving food that's not fit for a zombie apocalypse at the Hollywood Diner."
Steve nodded, his smile growing wider. "Ah, the glamour of Hollywood. I can relate. Spent years making fake blood and guts look real before I got my big break."
Shannon leaned in, intrigued. "What's it like working on a horror movie set?"
"Chaotic, but exhilarating," Steve replied, his eyes lighting up. "It's like playing god with latex and fake entrails. You get to make people's nightmares come to life, but you've got to be ready for anything." He took a sip of his glowing concoction and winked. "Especially when your leading lady brings a pet fly circus to the set."
Shannon's cheeks flushed as she realized he was referring to her. "Oh, you heard about Pazuzee?"
"Who hasn't?" Steve chuckled. "But hey, it's Hollywood. Strange is the new normal."
Their conversation flowed easily, a mix of laughter and shared stories about the bizarre world of show business. Steve was charming and down-to-earth, his passion for special effects as contagious as Pazuzee's love for flies. They talked about their favorite movies, their hopes, and their fears. Shannon found herself opening up in a way she hadn't in a long time, feeling a connection that was more than just skin deep.
As the night went on, they moved to the dance floor, their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the '80s hits. Steve's hands were gentle on her hips, guiding her through the steps with a confidence that made her feel safe. His breath was warm against her ear, sending shivers down her spine as he whispered sweet nothings that somehow didn't feel empty. For the first time in a long time, Shannon felt seen, not just as the girl with the fly problem, but as someone with her own dreams and aspirations.
The hours ticked by, and the bar grew more crowded, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors across their faces. They stumbled out into the cool night air, their laughter echoing down the deserted street. Steve offered to walk her home, his hand warm and steady in hers. As they approached the mansion, the shadows grew longer, and the silence grew thicker, punctuated only by the distant howl of a coyote.
"This is it," Shannon said, pointing to the looming structure. "Home sweet haunted home."
Steve looked up at the mansion, his eyes wide with curiosity. "It's... quite the place you've got here."
Shannon couldn't help but agree. "It's definitely got character," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "And by character, I mean a vampire landlord and a revolving door of eccentric guests."
Steve chuckled. "Sounds like the perfect setting for a horror movie," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe I could help you with your next project?"
Shannon felt a thrill at the idea. "That's actually not a bad idea," she said, her mind racing with the possibilities. "I've been thinking of doing something a bit... edgier."
Steve leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Ever seen a man's head explode... on film?"
Shannon's eyes widened, a mix of horror and excitement. "Is that a promise or a warning?" she quipped, trying to keep her cool.
Steve grinned, revealing a set of teeth that were surprisingly normal for a man who talked about exploding heads so casually. "Both, perhaps," he said, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "But don't worry, I'll save the gory details for the big screen."
They stopped at the mansion's gate, the wrought-iron bars casting eerie shadows on the ground. Shannon felt a sudden jolt of nervousness. What if this was just another weird Hollywood encounter? But the way Steve looked at her, with genuine interest and affection, made her hope that maybe, just maybe, this could be something more.
"Thank you for a... unique evening," she said, her voice a little breathless.
"The pleasure was all mine," Steve replied, his eyes holding hers. "How about we do this again, but with fewer flies?"
Shannon couldn't help but laugh. "Deal," she said, her heart fluttering. She watched as Steve leaned in, his mouth meeting hers in a soft, gentle kiss that seemed to last an eternity. It was a kiss that held the promise of more than just a goodnight, a kiss that whispered of future collaborations and shared secrets.
As she watched him walk away, she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. Maybe the mansion wasn't just a place of oddities and eccentricities. Maybe it was a place where she could truly be herself, where she could find people who understood her, who didn't judge her for her quirks or her dreams. Maybe, just maybe, she had found her tribe.
"So, how did it go?" demanded Richard, when Shannon stepped through the front door.
Shannon's cheeks were flushed with excitement. "It was... amazing," she said, her voice trailing off as she thought about the kiss. "Steve's got this... this energy, you know? He's like a mad scientist and a poet all rolled into one."
Richard clapped his hands together, a broad smile spreading across his face. "Ah, love in the air! Or is it just the smell of latex and fake blood?"
Just as she was about to ascend the grand staircase to her room, the sound of laughter and upbeat music wafted through the corridor. It was coming from the direction of Shelly Duvette's room. The willowy blonde was known for her unorthodox approach to art, and today she was basking in the glow of a particularly successful project. She had directed a horror-themed workout video for the flamboyant fitness guru, Tony Tightpants, and it had become the talk of the town. The catchphrase "Pump 'Til You're Petrified" was on everyone's lips, and the video had started flying off the shelves.
Shannon Doggerty, the fiery redhead who aspired to be an actress but was currently serving fries at the Hollywood Diner, had stumbled upon the latest craze in dating: video dating. She had rented a camera and was eagerly setting up in the mansion's grand living room, surrounded by a sea of dusty furniture that had seen better days. She applied a thick coat of bright red lipstick, adjusted her hair, and practiced her smile in the mirror. It was a sad sight, really, but she was determined to find her prince charming.
Mr. Tombs, the mansion's comically vampiric landlord, emerged from the shadows with a dramatic flourish, his cape fluttering behind him. He cleared his throat, and the music from Shelly's room abruptly ceased. "Roommates," he announced in his thick, Eastern European accent, "my dear, peculiar, and utterly charming niece, Pazuzee, will be gracing us with her presence this weekend. She is a... how do you say? Free spirit. With an unusual affinity for our six-legged friends."
The mention of Pazuzee brought a shiver down Shelly's spine. She had heard whispers about Mr. Tomb's family, but never dared to ask for details. "P-Pazuzee?" she stuttered, "I-is she... normal?"
Mr. Tombs let out a hearty laugh that sounded eerily like a bat's squeak. "Normal? Dear child, in Hollywood, 'normal' is as elusive as a chastity belt in a brothel!" His eyes twinkled with mischief. "But fear not, she's as harmless as a butterfly with a taste for blood... mostly."
Shannon rolled her eyes, not in the mood for cryptic warnings. She was too busy trying to figure out the camera's settings. "Video dating is the future," she exclaimed, waving a script of cheesy pick-up lines she had scribbled down during her lunch break. "I'm going to find myself a man who doesn't expect me to serve him breakfast in a bunny costume!"
"There is nothink wrong with consensual roleplay," Doctor Westenhause said.
The doorbell chimed, and they all froze. Mr. Tombs' eyes lit up. "Ah, she must have arrived!" He glided to the door, opening it to reveal Pazuzee, a waif-thin girl with a head of jet-black hair and a cloud of flies buzzing around her. She was dressed in a tattered black dress that looked like it had been plucked straight from a gothic romance novel. The flies circled her like a living necklace, landing on her skin and taking off again as if playing a twisted game of tag.
Shelly and Shannon exchanged wary glances as Pazuzee floated into the room, her dark eyes scanning the space with a curious interest. "Hello, my dears," she cooed, her voice a cross between a child's giggle and a witch's cackle. "I've heard so much about you all. Uncle Tombs has told me all about his special little artists and starlets." She twirled, her flies creating a dizzying pattern in the air.
"Pazuzee," Mr. Tombs began with a proud smile, "this is Shelly Duvette, the avant-garde filmmaker who's going to make us all rich with her terrifying visions. And here is Shannon Doggerty, the fiery redhead who lights up the silver screen... or soon will, I'm sure." He paused, his gaze lingering on Shannon's camera setup. "And it seems you're preparing for a performance of your own?"
Pazuzee's eyes widened, the flies momentarily still around her head. "Oh, video dating! How quaint!" She clapped her hands together, sending a few of her winged companions into a brief frenzy. "I've always been fascinated by human mating rituals. May I watch?"
Shannon, ever the optimist, saw this as an opportunity for an audience and a chance to showcase her charm. "Sure, Pazuzee. Just don't scare off any of my potential suitors."
Before Pazuzee could respond, the sound of the door slamming echoed through the mansion. In burst Richard Simpson, a whirlwind of spandex and hairspray. His face was flushed, and his usual high-energy demeanor was dampened by a clear annoyance. "What's with the protesters outside?" he demanded, his voice strained. "They're waving signs about 'moral decay' and 'the devil's playground'. It's giving me terrible flashbacks to my high school gym class!"
Doctor Westenhause sighed. "It's those anti-sex prudes again. They've picked the wrong week to mess with my clinic," she grumbled, her German accent thickening with frustration. "Everyone's talking about Shelly's video, and now they're blaming me for their nightmares!"
Shelly looked up from her editing, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Maybe we should invite them to watch it. They might learn a thing or two about facing their fears."
Mr. Tombs chuckled, his fangs glinting in the low light. "Now, now, let's not give them a heart attack. Besides, we have more important matters to attend to." He gestured to Pazuzee, who was now inspecting a dusty painting on the wall with unsettling curiosity. "Pazuzee, darling, why don't you show Shannon some of your... hobbies? I'm sure she'd love to learn how to handle those pesky little flies of hers."
The flies around Pazuzee's head buzzed louder, and she giggled, sending a few of them darting towards Shannon, who swatted them away with a look of horror. "Thanks, but no thanks," she said, trying to keep her cool. "I've got enough on my plate with this dating thing."
But Pazuzee was insistent, her eyes shimmering with a strange excitement. "They're just misunderstood, like me!" She held out her hand, and a fly landed gently on her finger. "See? They're quite affectionate, really."
Shannon took a cautious step back, her script fluttering to the floor. "I'll, uh, just stick to my dating script, thanks."
"What should we do about the prude patrol out front?"demanded Richard. "Should we sick the cops on 'em?"
Doctor Westenhause waved her hand dismissively. "No need for that. I have a plan." She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a VHS tape. "My latest 'Sensual Yodeling for the Modern Woman' seminar. It's a hit with the open-minded. I'll play it at full volume and let them get an earful of true liberation."
The room filled with a mix of laughter and skepticism, but they all agreed it was worth a shot. Richard dashed off to grab a portable TV and VHS player from his room, while Shelly retreated to her own space, eager to escape the impending chaos. Shannon picked up her script, trying to ignore the flies that now buzzed around her as well. She took a deep breath and hit record.
"Hi, I'm Shannon," she began, her voice a tad shakier than planned. "I'm looking for someone who's not afraid of a little adventure. Someone who thinks outside the box, or at least doesn't mind sharing their fries." She paused, trying to sound more natural. "Oh, and if you're into eighties workout videos, I might just be your dream date."
Pazuzee hovered behind her, her flies now a constant presence around Shannon. She leaned in, whispering, "You know, I can make those flies do amazing things. They could be quite... entertaining on a date."
Shannon shot her a sideways glance, trying to gauge if she was serious. "Thanks, but I'll stick to my charm," she quipped, though internally, she couldn't help but feel a touch of creeping dread.
Meanwhile, Richard set up the TV in the window, aiming the speakers directly at the protesters. The mansion's walls began to vibrate with the sound of Doctor Westenhause's deep, sultry yodeling, and the protesters' shouts grew louder. Suddenly, a few of the more adventurous flies from Pazuzee's entourage decided to investigate the commotion. They buzzed out the window and into the faces of the protesters, who immediately began swatting and running in panic. The rest of the flies followed, creating a dark, writhing cloud that seemed to be taunting the protesters with every dodge and dip.
The chaos grew as the flies dispersed, some landing on the protesters' signs, while others got caught in their hair. The protesters' shouts turned to screams, and their neat little line of moral outrage disintegrated into a scene from a B-grade horror movie. The frenzy outside was too much for the video dating setup. Shannon paused her recording, watching in amazement as the protesters stumbled away, flailing their arms and slapping at the flies.
Doctor Westenhause chuckled from the doorway, watching her plan unfold. "I've always found that a little discomfort can be quite educational," she said to no one in particular. The flies grew bolder, swarming the protesters' homemade signs until they were forced to abandon them.
Richard, ever the showman, couldn't resist joining in. He leapedfrogged over the couch, landing in a dramatic pose with a fly-swatter in hand. "Let's show 'em what Hollywood is really about!" he exclaimed, swiping at the air. His flamboyant display was met with a mix of laughter and horror from the others.
The flies, seemingly enjoying the game, began to form patterns around the protesters, spelling out words like "love" and "consent" with their erratic flight paths. The prudes looked up in shock, their eyes wide with confusion. One by one, the words began to resonate, and the anger in their faces transformed into bewilderment.
"Maybe they're just trying to communicate with us," Shelly suggested, peeking out the window. "Or maybe they're just really into the art of the written word."
"Well, if they are, they're writing it in the most annoying font ever," Richard quipped, swatting at a particularly persistent fly.
Shannon couldn't help but laugh, the tension of her video dating endeavor dissipating. "Maybe we should take a break and go join the party," she said, turning off the camera. "I've got some ketchup packets from work. Who's up for a little target practice?"
Doctor Westenhause nodded, a glint in her eye. "Excellent idea. It's not every day one gets to be part of a spontaneous performance art piece."
The four roommates, armed with fly swatters and ketchup packets, descended upon the front lawn. The protesters, now thoroughly discombobulated, had started to argue among themselves. Some pointed at the flies as a sign of divine retribution, while others swore they saw the flies forming the image of a giant, leather-clad phallus.
"Look at them," Shannon giggled. "It's like they're in the middle of a surrealist nightmare."
Pazuzee, ever the gracious host, had followed them outside, her flies swirling around her head like a twisted crown. "Let's not forget to thank the flies," she said sweetly. "They're just trying to help us find love in our own... buzzy way."
Shelly couldn't resist filming the bizarre scene on her camera, while Richard did his best impression of a fly trainer, complete with a whip crack and a top hat. The protesters stumbled backward, their signs forgotten on the ground.
As the flies dispersed, Mr. Tombs appeared on the porch, his cape billowing in the evening breeze. "Ah, a successful evening," he said, clapping his hands together. "Now, let us retire to the drawing room for some refreshments. Perhaps a nice cup of... hemlock tea?"
The roommates shared a look, but before they could decline, Pazuzee giggled. "Oh, Uncle Tombs, you're always so cheeky." She winked at the others. "It's just Earl Grey with a hint of... something extra."
The evening passed in a whirlwind of laughter and strange stories about Pazuzee's travels with her flies. Despite their initial reservations, the roommates found themselves drawn to her peculiar charm. It was a rare moment of unity in the haunted mansion, a brief reprieve from their individual struggles.
As the night grew late, Shannon retreated to her room, feeling a strange kinship with the girl who talked to flies. She picked up her script, looking over the cheesy lines with a new sense of humor. Maybe Hollywood wasn't all glitz and glamour, but it certainly knew how to throw a curveball. And if her video dating adventure was anything like this evening, she was in for a wild ride.
With a renewed sense of excitement, she hit record again. "Hi, I'm Shannon," she began anew, her voice steady and her smile genuine. "I'm looking for someone who can handle a little bit of weird. Because let's face it, we're all a little weird in this town. And if you're cool with that, maybe we'll get along just fine."
The camera rolled as she told the story of the flies and the protesters, her words painting a picture of a life filled with unexpected adventures. And as she finished her monologue, she had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, she had found her niche in this strange, wonderful place.
The next day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the mansion's lawn, Pazuzee prepared to leave. Her flies grew still, their buzzing a silent farewell as she packed her meager belongings. The roommates gathered in the foyer, watching her with a mix of fascination and trepidation. They had grown used to her peculiar charm in such a short time, and the thought of her departure was bittersweet.
"Thank you for letting me stay," Pazuzee said, hugging each of them in turn. Her embrace was cold, like a chilly breeze from a crypt, but the affection was palpable. "Hollywood is quite... interesting."
Shelly, ever the artist, saw the potential in the peculiar situation. "Maybe we could use this in my next film," she murmured, her mind racing with ideas. "The flies could be a metaphor for freedom or... something like that."
"Freedom, indeed," Pazuzee said with a knowing smile. "They're like us, aren't they? Free spirits, misunderstood by the masses."
Doctor Westenhause nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But let's not forget, dear, that sometimes freedom comes with a price." She glanced around the foyer, her gaze lingering on the now-faded signs of the protesters, which had been shooed away by the flies the night before.
"Well, I for one am going to miss you, Pazuzee," Richard said, his voice a touch more serious than usual. "You've brought a certain... je ne sais quoi to our little haunted abode."
Pazuzee giggled, her flies buzzing in agreement. "I'm sure you'll find plenty of entertainment without me," she said, her eyes twinkling. "But remember, if you ever need a little... winged assistance, you know who to call."
As she stepped into the night, the flies swirled around her, creating a living chauffeur to escort her to her next destination. The roommates watched her go, feeling an odd sense of loss. It was as if a whirlwind had swept through their lives, leaving behind a trail of chaos and strange camaraderie.
"Should we hang the fly strips back up in the kitchen?" Richard wondered.
Doctor Westenhause snorted. "Let them be. They're more entertaining than most of my patients."
The next few days were a whirlwind for Shannon. Her video dating profile had gone viral, and she was inundated with messages from potential suitors. Some were charming, some were weird, and a few were downright terrifying. Her inbox was flooded with offers for dates, and she found herself playing matchmaker with the Hollywood eligible bachelors. The frenzy grew to the point where she had to set up a system to categorize the responses: "Maybe," "No way," and "Call the exorcist."
Shelly, on the other hand, was dealing with the aftermath of her hit workout video. Tony Tightpants had called her, begging for a sequel. She was torn between the artistic integrity of her horror-themed opus and the siren call of commercial success. "It's a fine line between genius and madness," she mused, staring at the blank canvas in her room.
Shannon, now the queen of video dating, found her schedule booked with dates for the next two weeks. She juggled her shifts at the diner with her newfound social life, her energy levels rivaling Richard's. Each date was more bizarre than the last, but she approached each one with the same enthusiasm she had for her work. After all, she was in Hollywood, where the line between reality and fantasy was as blurred as the lipstick on a clown's mouth.
Her first date was with a man who claimed to be a vampire hunter. He arrived at the diner with a wooden stake in his pocket and a garlic necklace around his neck. Shannon couldn't help but laugh, serving him a heart-shaped plate of fries with a side of ketchup. "So, do you get a lot of action?" she teased.
"More than you'd think," he said, his eyes scanning the shadows of the diner with a seriousness that was almost charming. "But it's not all glamour and bloodsuckers. Sometimes it's just... flies."
Shannon couldn't help but laugh, the memory of Pazuzee's visit still fresh in her mind. "Flies, huh? I think I might have had a taste of that."
The vampire hunter looked at her, his expression unchanged. "You never know where the supernatural may hide. Sometimes it's right under your nose."
Shannon couldn't argue with that. She had learned that lesson the hard way. As the date went on, she found herself enjoying the banter, the ridiculousness of it all a welcome distraction from the monotony of her usual life.
The second date was with a man who called himself the "Master of Puppets." He had brought an actual puppet with him, a ventriloquist's doll named Larry. Larry had a filthy mouth and a penchant for making lewd suggestions that had Shannon in stitches. The date ended with the man, red-faced and sweating, stuffing Larry back into his bag as the puppet hurled insults at passersby.
The third date was with a silent film enthusiast who communicated solely through charades. Shannon's frustration grew as she tried to guess his occupation (turns out he was a taxidermist), and she found herself miming a phone call to "explain" she had to leave early.
But amidst the weirdos and wannabes, there was one message that stood out from the rest. It was from a man named Steve, who claimed to be a special effects artist working on the set of a new horror film. His message was simple and sweet: "Your laugh is like music to my ears. Let's create some magic together?"
Shannon felt a flutter in her stomach. Maybe this whole video dating thing wasn't such a bust after all. She decided to give Steve a chance and agreed to meet him at a local dive bar that had a surprisingly good reputation for first dates. As she got ready, she couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. Would he be as charming in person as he was on tape? Would he like her without the fries and ketchup?
The bar was dimly lit, with the faint smell of stale beer and popcorn lingering in the air. The jukebox played a mellow tune that reminded Shannon of her mother's favorite record collection. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, her heart racing. The sea of faces turned to look at her, and she spotted Steve in the corner, sipping on a glowing green cocktail. He was tall, with a lopsided smile and a mess of curly hair that made him look like a modern-day Einstein.
He waved her over, and she approached with a mix of excitement and trepidation. As she slid into the booth across from him, she couldn't help but feel a spark of attraction. "Hi," she said, her voice a little shakier than she had intended.
Steve set down his drink and leaned in, his eyes alight with curiosity. "So, Shannon, tell me about yourself. What do you do when you're not scaring off protesters with flies?"
Shannon couldn't help but laugh. "You've heard about that?" She took a sip of her water, feeling the coolness soothe her dry throat. "Well, I'm an aspiring actress, currently paying the bills by serving food that's not fit for a zombie apocalypse at the Hollywood Diner."
Steve nodded, his smile growing wider. "Ah, the glamour of Hollywood. I can relate. Spent years making fake blood and guts look real before I got my big break."
Shannon leaned in, intrigued. "What's it like working on a horror movie set?"
"Chaotic, but exhilarating," Steve replied, his eyes lighting up. "It's like playing god with latex and fake entrails. You get to make people's nightmares come to life, but you've got to be ready for anything." He took a sip of his glowing concoction and winked. "Especially when your leading lady brings a pet fly circus to the set."
Shannon's cheeks flushed as she realized he was referring to her. "Oh, you heard about Pazuzee?"
"Who hasn't?" Steve chuckled. "But hey, it's Hollywood. Strange is the new normal."
Their conversation flowed easily, a mix of laughter and shared stories about the bizarre world of show business. Steve was charming and down-to-earth, his passion for special effects as contagious as Pazuzee's love for flies. They talked about their favorite movies, their hopes, and their fears. Shannon found herself opening up in a way she hadn't in a long time, feeling a connection that was more than just skin deep.
As the night went on, they moved to the dance floor, their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the '80s hits. Steve's hands were gentle on her hips, guiding her through the steps with a confidence that made her feel safe. His breath was warm against her ear, sending shivers down her spine as he whispered sweet nothings that somehow didn't feel empty. For the first time in a long time, Shannon felt seen, not just as the girl with the fly problem, but as someone with her own dreams and aspirations.
The hours ticked by, and the bar grew more crowded, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors across their faces. They stumbled out into the cool night air, their laughter echoing down the deserted street. Steve offered to walk her home, his hand warm and steady in hers. As they approached the mansion, the shadows grew longer, and the silence grew thicker, punctuated only by the distant howl of a coyote.
"This is it," Shannon said, pointing to the looming structure. "Home sweet haunted home."
Steve looked up at the mansion, his eyes wide with curiosity. "It's... quite the place you've got here."
Shannon couldn't help but agree. "It's definitely got character," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "And by character, I mean a vampire landlord and a revolving door of eccentric guests."
Steve chuckled. "Sounds like the perfect setting for a horror movie," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe I could help you with your next project?"
Shannon felt a thrill at the idea. "That's actually not a bad idea," she said, her mind racing with the possibilities. "I've been thinking of doing something a bit... edgier."
Steve leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Ever seen a man's head explode... on film?"
Shannon's eyes widened, a mix of horror and excitement. "Is that a promise or a warning?" she quipped, trying to keep her cool.
Steve grinned, revealing a set of teeth that were surprisingly normal for a man who talked about exploding heads so casually. "Both, perhaps," he said, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "But don't worry, I'll save the gory details for the big screen."
They stopped at the mansion's gate, the wrought-iron bars casting eerie shadows on the ground. Shannon felt a sudden jolt of nervousness. What if this was just another weird Hollywood encounter? But the way Steve looked at her, with genuine interest and affection, made her hope that maybe, just maybe, this could be something more.
"Thank you for a... unique evening," she said, her voice a little breathless.
"The pleasure was all mine," Steve replied, his eyes holding hers. "How about we do this again, but with fewer flies?"
Shannon couldn't help but laugh. "Deal," she said, her heart fluttering. She watched as Steve leaned in, his mouth meeting hers in a soft, gentle kiss that seemed to last an eternity. It was a kiss that held the promise of more than just a goodnight, a kiss that whispered of future collaborations and shared secrets.
As she watched him walk away, she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. Maybe the mansion wasn't just a place of oddities and eccentricities. Maybe it was a place where she could truly be herself, where she could find people who understood her, who didn't judge her for her quirks or her dreams. Maybe, just maybe, she had found her tribe.
"So, how did it go?" demanded Richard, when Shannon stepped through the front door.
Shannon's cheeks were flushed with excitement. "It was... amazing," she said, her voice trailing off as she thought about the kiss. "Steve's got this... this energy, you know? He's like a mad scientist and a poet all rolled into one."
Richard clapped his hands together, a broad smile spreading across his face. "Ah, love in the air! Or is it just the smell of latex and fake blood?"
