“Then let’s mess him up,” Brenda said, and she pressed every button at once.
In the right speaker, the exact same actress, in a completely different tone, said in Hindi: “I’m going to check the basement, which is statistically where death occurs.”
They ran out into the night, leaving the broken theater behind. Behind them, the screen flickered one last time. In English, it played the end credits theme. In Hindi, it laughed.
In the left speaker, the dumb blond screamed in English: “I’ll be right back!”
Cindy looked at the plastic knife in her hand. “Dual audio is scary, Brenda. Real scary.”
“Why are we here, Brenda?” Cindy whispered, clutching a plastic knife she’d found in the parking lot. “There’s a killer on the loose.”
She had dragged her cousin, Cindy Campbell, to the abandoned, flickering Cineplex 9 on the edge of town. The theater smelled like old popcorn and regret. They were the only two people in the room.
Brenda Meeks was not in the mood for subtitles.