Home > You Are Invited : A Ghost Story(3)

You Are Invited : A Ghost Story(3)
Author: Sarah A. Denzil

“Yeah. Felt that way at least!”

“You’re here now. You can relax. Most of us have arrived but Nathan is coming tomorrow.”

I pulled the suitcase over the threshold and joined her in the chilly corridor. Behind me, the large door thumped closed. Irene locked it with an old-fashioned key, the mechanism clunking into place as it finally hit me: I was sharing air with Irene Jobert, one of the most famous young women on the planet; an influencer with almost ten million Instagram followers; a cancer survivor; a model; a business mogul. My face warmed as I remembered feeling a tingle of excitement the morning I’d checked the post to find her invitation to The Event. Metallic card tucked in a black envelope, Irene’s sloping hand liquid silver, like stardust on the night sky. I didn’t understand why she’d chosen me out of so many, but chosen I had been, and now I was in Romania with her, standing close enough to smell her jasmine perfume.

“Are you hungry?” She ducked beneath another Gothic archway on our right and brought us into the next room. A laundry area or utility room, with two large washing machines and a huge fridge. I’m not an expert about which white goods are the most expensive, but these definitely appeared to be high-end. She pulled open the fridge door and offered me cooked meat and cheese. “This was where the nuns did all their baking. It was not easy getting electricity up here, believe me. We’re lucky to have this fridge. Come on, let me show you the kitchen.”

I took the packets of meat and the cheese and followed her through another doorway. The first thing I noticed was an abundance of white. From marble worksurfaces to the white tiled floor and walls. “Wow, this isn’t what I expected.”

“Wait until you step through to the dining room.” She raised her eyes.

The dining room was adjacent to the kitchen but had an open plan feel thanks to the large archway. It was vast. There was a chandelier hanging low over a long teak dining table large enough to seat a dozen people. Beneath my feet, a mosaic of colourful tiles spread into a religious image, my toes resting on the halo of a saint I didn’t recognise.

The mix of modern and traditional left me cold, but I had to admit it would be useful to have such a big space for cooking and dining.

“This used to be the refectory. It’s where the nuns would eat their meals. Loup did a good job with the restoration because there was nothing but dust here eight months ago,” Irene said. “Maman and I chose all the facilities. Modern comforts, but still the old, too. We did it well, didn’t we?” She spread her fingers over one of the bricks, long nails catching the mortar.

“Loup?”

“The investment company,” she said. “They had to bring solar panels up here for the electricity. The water system uses the old well as well as rainwater. It’s completely self-contained.”

“I had no idea so much money had been put behind this.” I took the food back into the kitchen and began searching for a plate.

She pulled away from the bricks and rested on one of the barstools. “They were smart. Once The Event is over, Sfântul Mihail will be opened as an Airbnb. Knowing all the social media stars stayed here will make it extra valuable.”

I found the plates in a cupboard next to the sink. “That is clever. Is your mother visiting us, too?”

“No. Just me. She’s not really involved, but she did help with the décor.” She stretched and yawned, revealing the strength of her toned muscles running along her upper arms. “The event begins officially tomorrow, and it’s late. If I give you directions to your room, do you think you could find it?”

“Umm, yes, I suppose so.”

“Good,” she said, standing up and wandering back to the door. “Because I need my sleep. Oh, and do not forget to read the rules.” She tapped a framed picture adhered to the one plastered wall in the kitchen.

I walked across to get a better view, all the while, Irene’s fingernail continued tapping the glass.


Remain

 

Engage

 

Represent

 

“You must sleep here each night,” she said. “Therefore, remain. At least one person must be engaging with fans at all times, either by providing content or using the message board to talk to them. We will take shifts for the night-time. This is a global event. We must cover all time zones. And remember you are representing Loup, and me, and every participant in this event. That means all content must be appropriate. Nothing X-rated or political or religious. You understand?”

“Got it.”

“Oh, and you should know that the internet connection is good, but the phone coverage not so much. You might not be able to make calls in the monastery. We had an aerial and a satellite dish put up, but we can’t force the telephone companies to build towers.” She shrugged. “You can email and send WhatsApp messages. The one other thing I recommend is not getting distracted. After all, you paid to come here. You won’t make your money back if you don’t follow the rules.”

She tapped the glass again.

“I meant what I said in the invitation. This was the best decision of your professional life.” She grabbed my shoulders and leaned closer. “Let me make you rich.” And then she smiled, told me where my bedroom would be, and left me alone in the two-hundred-year-old monastery.

*

I was already used to rules by that point. Entrants had to pay two hundred pounds up front to enter. Then, if chosen, there was a five-thousand-pound fee, not including travel expenses. All entrants had to have at least fifty thousand followers on Instagram, Twitter, YouTube or TikTok. I had sixty-five thousand followers at the time, more now. We also had to earn at least one hundred thousand US dollars per annum, after tax. I made over two hundred thousand.

And I was a nobody.

Irene Jobert had over ten million followers, a make-up company, a fan base—the Renees—and at least one corporate sponsor, the illusive Loup, who created this event. For four weeks, five social-media content creators would live-stream our retreat in the Carpathian Mountains. In order to see our content, users would pay for access. On top of that subscription fee, patrons could donate for special content. They’d pay, ask us to do whatever, and if it was a reasonable request, we’d do it.

It’s the new world. The internet has created thousands of entrepreneurs making money from their hobbies; from Etsy artists, to lifestyle bloggers; from make-up artists, to writers. This world is about sharing: knowledge, skill, humour. But most of all, it’s about monetising all of those things.

The truth is, I’ve never had a job. I finished my degree in English three years before The Event at the age of twenty-two and immediately wrote a book set in a fantasy world called Akarthis. When I self-published that book, I started to earn a bit of money through online sales. Those sales and the money grew every time I wrote and published another book, as did my number of readers and followers. When I started giving my followers the freedom to make suggestions for future stories, the Arkathis world grew in popularity again, with readers interested in the idea of having autonomy over their favourite characters.

But one day in the future, I might publish a book, and no one will buy it. Or I might find that the platform I rely on for my book sales has disappeared. One day it might all end. It wasn’t greed that compelled me to join The Event, it was anxiety about an uncertain future and a need to make hay while the sun continued to shine in my direction.

Hot Books
» House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1)
» A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire
» From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash #1)
» A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime
» Deviant King (Royal Elite #1)
» Den of Vipers
» House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2)
» Sweet Temptation
» The Sweetest Oblivion (Made #1)
» Chasing Cassandra (The Ravenels #6)
» Wreck & Ruin
» Steel Princess (Royal Elite #2)
» Twisted Hate (Twisted #3)
» The Play (Briar U Book 3)
» The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash #4)