Page 31 of Haunted Spurs

Studio lighting.

Selene sits perfectly composed, visibly stiff, uncomfortable, her arms crossed. She eyes the camera sideways. "I... am here looking for inspiration for my next book."

Beside her, Ron is the picture of ease. He sits with his legs spread wide, relaxed, spinning his camcorder in his hands. "I'm thrilled about this whole idea and..." he lifts the camcorder, shooting a wicked wink straight at the camera operator, "...I'm here to shoot a documentary."

JOSH & LIZZIE

[VIDEO]

The sharp scrape of skate blades carving into ice.

Josh Roy, NHL captain, rotates his torso and slaps a hockey puck with devastating power. The ice sprays toward the lens, shattering the frame.

With a fluid transition, the ice crystals pulverize in mid-air, morphing into a cloud of dry dirt. The footage flickers, like an old film reel. Lizzie emerges from the dust, tipping the brim of her cowgirl hat down with her index finger. She has the look of someone who has never lost a game in her entire life.

Josh's booming voice cuts through the video: "It's going to be one hell of a match."

[CONFESSIONAL]

They sit close together, exchanging the kind of looks opponents give each other right before the starting whistle.

Lizzie clicks her tongue. "We love challenging each other with new things."

Josh smirks. "And neither of us has any intention of losing."

CADE & COLE

[VIDEO]

A distorted guitar riff rips through the air. Jon Pardi’s gravelly voice kicks in with Dirt on My Boots.

The shot starts tight: two pairs of heavy, mud-caked cowboy boots. It pans up tight jeans, massive belt buckles, eventually widening out to reveal Cade and Cole. Twins. Illegally good-looking, symmetrical, rugged.

With a shameless, perfectly calculated synchronization, the two of them hook their fingers onto the snap buttons of their plaid shirts and rip them open in one sharp yank, putting their chiseled torsos on full display.

They let the shirts drop to the dirt. "We're waiting for you, babes."

[CONFESSIONAL]

They're manspreading in their chairs, cocky, their tattooed arms on display.

Cole winks shamelessly at the camera, a rogue's grin spreading across his face. "We're here for the cowboy pillows.”

EMERSON & SUSAN

[VIDEO]

Split-screen.

On the left, Emerson. Sweater vest, compulsively pushing his glasses up his nose. Framed in front of a chalkboard covered in equations, he rattles off scientific jargon at breakneck speed, explaining why electromagnetic fields scientifically disprove the existence of ghosts.

On the right, Susan. An out-of-this-world, curvaceous blonde running her hands through her teased hair. She struts, swaying her hips. She's wearing a shredded nurse/vampire costume, smeared with fake blood and so short it practically defies television censorship laws.

[CONFESSIONAL]

The most awkward couch dynamic in television history. There is a solid three feet of space between them.

Emerson clears his throat, looking down at his lap. "We don't actually know each other... we were paired up by production."