Redmond's Private Screening

By Kevin J. Anderson

From a New York Times–bestselling author, a short story set during the turn of the century about movie director with a taste for capturing the grotesque.
 
A hard-edged horror tale. For a shady filmmaker in the early days of Hollywood, it seems like a great opportunity when a disgraced samurai offers to commit seppuku before the cameras. But the cameras are rolling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Aug 14, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452430607

Kevin J. Anderson

Kevin J. Anderson has published more than eighty novels, including twenty-nine national bestsellers. He has been nominated for the Nebula Award, the Bram Stoker Award, and the SFX Reader's Choice Award. His critically acclaimed original novels include Captain Nemo, Hopscotch, and Hidden Empire. He has also collaborated on numerous series novels, including Star Wars, The X-Files, and Dune. In his spare time, he also writes comic books. He lives in Wisconsin.

Book preview

A hard-edged horror tale. For a shady filmmaker in the early days of Hollywood, it seems like a great opportunity when a disgraced samurai offers to commit seppuku before the cameras. But the cameras are rolling.

REDMOND’S PRIVATE SCREENING

By Kevin J. Anderson

Copyright 2001, 2010 WordFire, Inc.

Originally published in Realms of Fantasy, April 2001

Kobo Edition 2013

WordFire Press

www.wordfire.com

eBook ISBN 978-145243-060-7

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Sharper than any barber’s straight-razor, the edge of the samurai blade nicked the skin, drew blood. The director hissed in surprise, frowning at his cut finger, then laughed at himself. "How’d you like to slice that across your belly, Mikey?"

As his assistant Michael Kendai watched, Redmond held the blade up to the bright California sunlight that streamed into the makeshift studio though open windows and a cobwebbed skylight. The katana is real, sir, a century old. More than just a prop.

Forged in 1811, eh? He didn’t sound impressed. It’s just a sword.

Outside, the muffled sounds of motorcar traffic echoed along the dirt streets. One of the rattling vehicles backfired, and someone shouted obscenities in coarse Italian. Horses clopped by, pulling a late-morning milk cart. In his tiny warehouse studio, Michael knew that Redmond never noticed any outside distractions. He was too caught up in finding interesting things to shoot with his motion-picture camera, and he would never believe the doom-sayers who claimed that nickelodeon audiences were tired of seeing marvels on celluloid film.

Where did you get this samurai Taka-what’s-his-name? Redmond spoke as if the young Japanese man and his elderly parents weren’t already right there beside him. The immigrants spoke no English, remained apart from the conversation; but they knew full well the business matters being discussed. And how did you talk him into doing Harry Carry in front of the motion picture camera?

Michael folded his hands together, frowned at Redmond’s unkempt appearance, mussed red-brown hair,