Read part one here
I still donât know how we got here. It doesnât feel real. This is like a fever dream.
How in the hell did Eric Hastings III bag an Oscar nomination?
Okay, letâs back up. My name is Valerie Lewis, but you already knew that. Iâve told you my story before. I work for the actor Eric Hastings III, a third-generation legacy actor, charming drunk, and a cannibal who needs flesh to survive.
Believe me, I donât know how it works either. Iâm scared to ask. What I DO know is he needs to eat to survive, at least once every two weeks. Iâm the unlucky schmuck who got the job to get him fresh meat, but itâs not all bad. I may have to clean his messes, cover his ass when he has a public meltdown, and provide dinner and entertainment, but over the past year, Iâve gone from really hating this to kind of finding joy in it.
Ericâs made my job much easier ever since I introduced you all to him. Heâs been off alcohol for 9 months, heâs been complimenting me frequently, and has been much more appreciative of the work I do. Because of this, Iâve made corpses tastier: I learned different ways to cook human meat based on Ericâs descriptions of people. Itâs morbid, but itâs effective.
âYo, Val! We gotta go!â I could hear Eric outside.
âC-Coming!â I put my headband and glasses on and opened the door.
There he was, Eric Hastings III. My boss.
âReally? The catâs-eye glasses? This is the ACADEMY AWARDS, Val!â
âI know, I know! I think it looks nice with the dress though!â
He looked me up and down. âOkay, youâre right. Letâs go.â
We went out to the car. Eric ran his hands through his hair and slicked his brows back.
âHere, Eric, open the glove box.â
He opened it and saw a present I got him. Inside was a fancy set of cufflinks and a pristine watch that I had engraved with the phrase âThird Timeâs The Charmâ.
âWhoa, Val! This is awesome! Thank you so much!â
I smiled. âOf course. Iâm really proud of you, Eric.â
I remembered when he got the letter of his nomination. I donât think any human being has ever been this happy about a supporting actor nomination before, or ever will be. He was so happy that we watched his film that night: a dark introspective horror-drama called The Face on the 45th Floor, about a man who canât stop seeing a face out of his window, despite the fact he lives on the 45th floor of his building. He played the landlord, a cruel man who is revealed to have been intentionally torturing the main character. His performance was so good that people made memes and compilations of some of his most popular scenes and lines. I was so shocked by the depth he gave to this character, especially considering his previous works have been direct-to-VOD teen slashers.
He earned this.
âHey, do you think Indigo McCabe will be there?â Eric asked while putting on his cufflinks.
âI mean, sheâs nominated for best actress.â
âOh shit, for real?â
I chuckled. âOf course she is. Other than you, she gave the best performance in your movie.â
Eric smirked. âYou know itâs okay to prefer other actors to me. Iâm a big boy.â
I smiled. âJust shut up and adjust your watch.â
I wasnât just saying this. Everywhere I go I see people who quote him. Iâve seen people who are cosplaying as him. Hell, Iâve seen some fanart of him. A year ago, I wouldnât have imagined this. But here we are, the king of bad movies being awarded.
âOh, who else is nominated for best supporting actor? I never checked.â
He didnât check? Uh-oh.
âWell thereâs Connor Dane, for The Last Days of Blackbeard.â
âOf course, he really killed it.â
âEduardo Jimenez, for Horticulture.â
âShocking, but not surprising.â
âRon Timms, for My Ailing Body.â
âAgain, not surprising.â
â…And finally, Yancey Simpson for BaitâŚâ
Eric went silent and stopped smiling.
âThat son of a bitch.â
I mean, heâs right.
Yancey is a real son of a bitch.
Heâs the son of Eric Hastings Jr.âs assistant. The one that let him die. As he grew up, heâd visit his mother, telling him to go into acting. When he began his career, it was at the same time as Eric. Their feud is still talked about today, with some people on Ericâs side due to the circumstances of his fatherâs death, and some on Yanceyâs because Eric is a dick.
âHey, donât worry! Iâm sure heâll lose. Nobody liked Bait, Iâm not even sure why itâs nominated.â
He smiled. âThanks, Val.â
We arrived at the theater and made our way down the red carpet. Not many actors bring their assistants with them to these things, but Eric thought I deserved to feel like a star for a day. As I walked down the carpet, people took photos of us. I was interviewed by gossip columns. I saw other actors and actresses.
I felt good.
âThis is wonderful!â I whispered to Eric as we walked off the carpet.
âI know! Iâve never been this esteemed!â
âIâm sorry, why are you here?â A sniveling voice said.
Yancey. His greasy hair covered a single eye. His pale skin almost made him look translucent.
âHi, Yancey.â Eric said. Heâs trying to be civil.
âNo, answer the question. Why are you here?â Yancey retorted. Did neither of them read the nominations?
âIâm nominated for best supporting actor.â
Yancey belly laughed. âNo way! No possible way!â
Eric didnât respond.
âGod, youâre funny. You gotta be lying. You just gotta! Not even your dipshit father made it here!â
âHe won best actor before either of us were born.â
âNuh-uh!â Yancey snapped.
âGod, Yancey! Canât you be civil for once! This is supposed to be a celebration of acting and youâre treating it like a competition!â I said. Iâm tired of him.
âSorry, I donât take opinions from assistants!â
âDonât you talk to her like that!â
âMake me, pussy!â
âHEY!â A loud, booming voice said. I immediately identified it as Eduardo Jimenez. âYancey, stop acting like a fucking idiot. Nobody likes you. Iâm not even sure why youâre nominated, nobody liked your disgrace of a performance.â
Somehow, that didnât perturb Yancey. âI donât give a shit if you like me! I just give a shit if this guy wins!â
âFOR THE LOVE OF GOD, YANCEY! SHUT UP!â The voice of Indigo McCabe yelled. Yancey must have realized nobody wanted to talk to him, because he went inside the theater.
Eric sighed and looked at me.
âYou okay, Val?â
âYeah, of course. Iâm more worried about you. I thought you were about to punch him.â
He laughed. âNah, Iâm more chill than that.â
Eduardo and Indigo approached us.
âHey Iâm sorry about him.â Eric said.
âDonât apologize, kid. Sometimes we got haters, and sometimes theyâre our fellow actors.â Eduardo said.
âYeah, you two enjoy the night. Eric, you earned this. It was a pleasure to work with you. And Valerie, keep him in check.â Indigo added.
âThank you, guys.â Eric said.
We made our way inside and took our seats at a reserved section. Eric even contacted the Academy to get me a seat next to him.
âThis is it, Eric. This is the big day.â
He smiled. âThank you, Val. For everything.â
As soon as the seats were full, the show began. A musical number from a movie I didnât watch started. I looked at Eric who looked at me, both sharing the single thought of âjust get to the damn awards.â As soon as the number was over, the awards began. Best makeup and hairstyling. Best animated short film. Best live action short film. Best documentary. Best score. Best original song number (ironically, the song from the opening lost.) Best sound mixing. Best sound editing. Best supporting actress.
Best supporting actor.
They went through the nominations one by one. When they reached Eric, they showed a scene that proved why he belonged here.
The scene begins with Ericâs character sitting in a recliner, talking to a tenant.
âSir, I just donât understand. Why are you hiking rent? What the hell is WRONG with you?!?â The tenant asked.
Eric leaned forward and took his glasses off, making eye contact with the tenant.
âBecause I need money, Francis. Do you need money? I donât think so. I need money. I donât care what you think is âmorally ethicalâ or âlegal.â Iâm your FUCKING LANDLORD. Do you understand me? YOU WOULDNâT HAVE A HOME IF IT WASNâT FOR ME. So donât you EVER backtalk me again. Never forget how LUCKY you are.â
The scene ended. A scene thatâs considered up there with the likes of the coin flip from No Country for Old Men. Eric never raised his voice. He didnât have to. His anger was muted, almost silent. Yet somehow it managed to feel more brutal than a yell ever could.
The applause was uproarious. Eric was crying. I was too.
The moment of truth. The actress on stage slowly opened the letter.
âAnd the oscar goes toâŚâ
She stopped. She had to reread the letter. She squinted, then frowned.
â…Yancey Simpson.â
Nobody applauded. Eric had no emotion on his face. Even the band didnât play music for him. Yancey didnât care that he was hated. He didnât care that the award wasnât deserved.
He just cared that Eric lost.
I was fuming.
I tuned out his speech and kept my eyes on him. I refused to let this go. I watched as he made his way out of the theater.
âIâm gonna get some fresh air, Eric.â
He said nothing.
I made my way to the now abandoned outside. No press. No cameras. Just Yancey.
âHey ma! Thanks for telling me about that forger. I got myself an Oscar and I didnât even have to work for it!â
You son of a bitch. You intentionally La-La Land-ed Eric?!?
I donât know why, but at that moment, I snapped. I slapped Yancey as soon as he hung up and took the Oscar from his hand.
âWh-Who are you?â He said.
I didnât respond and shoved him. He lost his footing and fell backwards down the stairs leading to the theater. As soon as he hit the bottom, I heard a crack. I looked down the stairs and saw the bloodied, mangled corpse of Yancey Simpson.
I know I should feel bad, but I donât.
I stuck my fingers in the back of my throat to make my eyes watery and hid the Oscar in a bush. I sprinted back into the theater to give the performance of my life.
âOH MY GOD! YANCEYâS DEAD!â I screamed.
Chaos.
Everybody poured out of the theater, trying to see the body. Eric ran up to me and took me by the arm. We ran outside and pushed through the crowd so Eric could see the body.
âWhat theâŚâ He said.
âWhat do we do?!?â Another actor said.
In the midst of the crowd, I pulled Eric to the outskirts and put my hand in the bush, revealing the Oscar.
âVal, you didnâtâŚâ
âCOME ON, ERIC!â I loudly whispered.
We made our way to the car, alongside several other people. We booked it out.
âEric Iâm so so sorry.â
Eric looked at me. âVal, I eat people. Why the hell would I be mad?â
To be honest, I forgot that. Eric looked into his Oscar. He stared into his reflection. He saw underneath, it said: âERIC HASTINGS III, BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR.â He smiled.
âIt was always mine.â He said when we made it back to the house.
I smiled. âIâm so proud of you Eric.â
He said nothing and kissed me.
A year ago, I would have fought back. I would have never let this happen.
Thatâs a year ago. That was before Bob. Before Yancey.
Too soon, he broke away.
âYouâre too good for me.â He said.
I smiled. âLemme make you some dinner, Eric.â
I searched the fridge as Eric undid his tux.
âERIC! WE DONâT HAVE FOOD!â I shouted.
âTHATâS OKAY!â He shouted back.
We heard a knock.
My blood ran cold.
Eric walked slowly up to the door and shakily opened it. It was Eduardo Jimenez and Indigo McCabe. They were holding a bag.
âWe know, Eric. We all know.â
I ran between them. I couldnât let him get hurt.
âNonono! I did it! He didnât tell me to do anything!â I panicked.
Eduardo and Indigo looked at each other and laughed, throwing the bag on the ground. Eric opened it, gasping. Inside was the bloodied corpse of Yancey Simpson. My jaw dropped as I looked at the senior actors.
âWhatâŚâ
âWe thought Eric may want a celebratory dinner!â
HUH?!?
âEric? Did you know thatâŚâ
âNo! How did they know?â
Eduardo walked up to Eric and laughed.
âBuddy, your assistant follows you everywhere. If thatâs not a dead giveaway sheâs your body collector, I donât know what is!â
Indigo smiled. âTypically, actors rely on each other for meat, so itâs always obvious to us when we see a good kid like you running around with an assistant.â
I was in a state of confusion, which gave way to relief. None of us are in danger, Eric gets to keep his Oscar, and we now have friends to confide in.
I cleaned and prepared Yancey, making some pan-seared âsteakâ, meatballs, and clay-roasted thighs. We drank and the actors ate (not me, I opted for a grilled cheese) and the night was good. At some point, Eric grabbed my hand and looked at me.
âI couldnât have asked for a better assistant.â He said.
I smiled.
Ladies and gentlemen, Eric Hastings III, my favorite man in Hollywood.
Credit: Sirenita
Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.