The book is about a young girl who goes to a posh performing arts high school, says Hutson.
Everything is going swimmingly until one of the star students is found dead.
It becomes a whodunnit and awhydunnit.
Credit: Vesuvian Books
Hutson was partly inspired to write the book by his own school experience.
I went to a performing arts school for two years when I was a kid.
I have a lot of it mapped out, says the author.
Im really excited about it.
Exclusively see the cover forJinxedabove and read the novels prologue, below.
Jinxedby Thommy Hutson: Prologue
The small private island was a mystery.
One day there, the next not.
Over the years, worry about Trask the place and Trask the man ebbed and flowed.
Always, always, they asked the same question:Why must a high school be so private?
A school for the gifted and talented.
A place where stars were born to shine.
But bad is a relative word.
And stars fall from the sky.
Well, the answer was simple.
And not so simple.
Spring, 1998
Trask Academy of Performing Arts was, indeed, very private.
The campus lay upon acre after acre of rolling green hills.
Tall, age-old trees swarmed the landscape.
Sturdy, dark red bricked buildings were scattered about.
The ornamental finials topping each spire had three-edged spear points.
The borders werent sharp enough to cut, but the tips were fine enough to puncture.
And at only one point along the entire perimeter was there a gate.
A bell tower, now long out of use, still kept watch over the surroundings.
Its large black letters read:
52nd Annual Trask Academy of Performing Arts Showcase
Inside, rehearsal ran late.
The long fluorescent-lit hallway was filled with leg-warmered young dancers packing their bags.
Actors filed away their scripts.
Singers stopped their warbling.
Wrapping up a rehearsal in the schools premier venue for the schools premier event.
The theaters fifteen hundred seats filled with relatives, talent scouts, agents, bookers, managers.
Rich daddies and mommies prayed the exorbitant tuition fees had paid off.
For those prices, check writers expected nothing but the best.
And Hell hath no fury if they didnt get it.
Amanda Kincaid was working to be the best.
She was a pretty girl and, at nineteen, a year older than most of the other seniors.
Her age made her more serious, and more guarded.
Her dark hair, normally wavy, was pulled back tight.
Whatever part that was.
When she heard the last door of the night slam, she knew she was finally alone.
She could now work without the worry of being judged by everyone around her.
She was a good actress, she knew that.
But that wasnt enough, and she also knew that.
Standing up, she grabbed her script.
She promised herself that tonight was the night she would not peek at her lines.
She had forgotten her lines.
A train wreck of epic schadenfreude.
Karen looked around, helpless, hoping she could be saved from herself.
But all that came were tears as she tore off the stage.
Theyd ask, Did you ever hear of Karen Reasmith?
When incoming students answered in the negative, the upperclassman would respond, Exactly.
Testosterone high-fives and estrogen giggles followed as they walked away from newbies who rolled their eyes.
But Amanda understood what the newcomers didnt.
Couldnt, at least not so quickly.
Karen had blown it.
She would never even get a chorus audition in a touring show.
Casting agents loved to talk.
And what they loved to do more than talk was gossip.
Except that the Titanic had survivors.
Amanda shook off the memory of Karen Reasmith and focused.
Her tongue darted around her red-lipped mouth, preparing to utter chilling words as she channeled EuripidesMedea.
In you, alas, was treasured
Suddenly every light went out, leaving Amanda alone in blackness.
Even the ghost lights exposed incandescent bulb had gone out, which made her anxious.
Amanda knew the ghost light was a big deal, if only a superstition.
She was aware of the firmly held belief that every theater had a ghost.
And notPhantom of the Operaghosts who taught beautiful, young women to become chanteuses.
Perhaps the ghost light allowed them to perform their own works when no one was around.
Or maybe they just liked to watch performances.
Nonsense, Amanda thought.The light is there so we dont fall into the orchestra pit.
Still, she didnt like it being out.
Of whatever frightening case might be out there.
And then the noise came.
Softly at first, but building in volume.
It seemed to emanate from the back right of the auditorium.
It sounded like the moan of a dead person who most decidedly did not want to be dead.
Amandas breathing grew faster, shallower.
She felt as if she were standing in the cold, black reaches of space.
Tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingled.
Her mouth opened, ready to scream.
Amanda knew she should have been alone.
And she knew she was not.
But she stopped herself short of screaming.
Her split-second shudder of fear gave way to the crack of an embarrassed smile, then annoyance.
Amanda yelled out, her voice coming back at her with the faintest echo.
Her words stopped the not-so-sound-effect sound effect.
Im trying to work here, she added matter-of-factly.
She waited.Im ready when you are, idiots.
When nothing happened, she took a step to her left.
Dare you venture to cross without the guidance of the ghost light?
Amanda let out a small yelp.
Who can know what evils from the past lurk within these hallowed walls?
Wait a minute, she realized.I know that voice.
Despite the darkness, she moved in circles, calling out.
If anything evil does linger, its probably from your pathetic performance, Marcus.
She carefully shifted closer to the stages left wing.
She slowly reached for the fabric and started to tug on it
A reverberating audio feedback filled the auditorium.
Amanda reeled, falling on her tailbone.
The bulb inside the cage of the ghost light came to life.
Someone had been right there.
Oh, come on.
Did I bruise your fragile ego?
She got no response and decided she was over this game.
She really did need to practice.
Can you yo turn the stage lights
They came back on before she could finish.
Jerks, she thought.
She looked back down at her script.
Mumbling the words to get back to her place, she heard a rustling deep backstage.
Hushed voices talking fast.
Looking up, she projected to the back of the auditorium.
a voice said harshly backstage.
A female voice that Amanda couldnt make out responded, Just go, just go!
It sounded like she might have been crying.
Amanda stopped worrying about her performance.
She stopped wondering who was scuttling around.
She was concerned that something was wrong.
These people had laughed at first, but now they sounded worried.
She stepped toward the left wing once again, this time with purpose.
Her expression turned to sour terror when she saw it.
Thick dark billows wafting up from backstage.
She instinctively reached forward for the curtain, calling out.
She was thrown as the heat slapped her body.
She barely missed falling into the orchestra pit ten feet below.
Flames licked the ceiling and rained dripping bits of burning material down.
An ember from a set piece dropped to her arm, searing her flesh.
She whimpered, hot tears flowing down her face.
Another ember, another burn.
Desperate, Amanda tried to use her hands to wave away the smoke, but it was too thick.
Coughing, she pushed toward a set of exit doors off the left wing of the stage.
She swatted at it, screaming.
She got up and tried the door again.
She pounded on it.
Somebo
Amanda violently coughed.
She looked around, water in her eyes from fear and fire.
She didnt have much time.
More and more fly ropes snapped in the heat.
Scene flats crashed to the floor.
The glass lamp of the ghost light exploded.
Disoriented, Amanda stumbled across the stage as smoke stung her eyes and heat filled her lungs.
Colored lights above burst and shattered, sending glass shards raining upon her.
She covered her head, not seeing the snapped cable heading toward her.
Into the orchestra pit.
Her head hit the wooden floor with a crack.
Her leg twisted at an odd angle.
She was not going anywhere.
Its so much cooler down here, she thought sadly.
The fire drew closer as debris rained down around her.
Its enamel sheen bubbled in the heat.
The fire upon her, Amanda felt her skin burn.
The pain was excruciating.
She thought how wrong she had been.
She felt every lick of flame as if a galaxy of the hottest stars were slowly stabbing through her.
Her head lolled to one side.
The air itself had become a scorching hell.
She saw little blobs of dancing light as she held, held, held her breath.
While the blinding orange and yellow of one thousand degree flames ravaged her body, she saw nothing.
Her lack of vision was not due to the agonizing pain.
Or the shock that racked her body.
The heat was so great that her eyes exploded, like eggs bursting in a microwave.
The young girl with so much life ahead of her was as good as dead.
A burning husk of a person.
Long before she had come to this school.
It wasnt, as everyone said, a movie-like assemblage of her life playing at breakneck speed.
It was, simply, random moments.
The first time she sawThe Wizard of Ozand wanted to be Dorothy.
Then it was over.
Her human light faded, faded, faded with one last thought.
From the bookJINXEDby Thommy Hutson.
Copyright 2018by Thommy Hutson.
Reprinted by arrangement withVesuvian Books, a division of Vesuvian Media Group, Inc. All rights reserved.
Jinxedcan be pre-orderedvia Hutsons official website.
