For several seconds after the call ended, nobody moved.

  The silence in Emma Roberts’ living room felt heavier than anything the voice had said.

  It wasn’t just fear.

  It was disbelief.

  Because one idea refused to settle in anyone’s mind.

  Sidney Prescott was dead.

  Jenna Ortega shook her head slowly.

  “No.”

  She said it softly at first.

  Then louder.

  “No, that’s not possible.”

  Jamie Kennedy rubbed both hands over his face.

  “The final girl doesn’t die,” he muttered.

  It didn’t even sound like a joke.

  It sounded like someone trying to fix reality by saying the rule out loud.

  Across the room Courteney Cox had her arms folded tightly across her chest.

  David Arquette stood beside her, staring toward the hallway Scott and Liana had run from.

  “She doesn’t die like that,” Courteney said quietly.

  David didn’t answer.

  Because part of him was already afraid she might.

  Scott Foley still looked pale.

  He stood near the center of the room, breathing hard, trying to calm himself.

  Liana Liberato stood beside him, gripping her phone tightly.

  Everyone in the room was looking at them.

  Melissa Barrera was the first to speak.

  “Did you see the killer?”

  Scott nodded immediately.

  “Yes.”

  “How clearly?” Jasmin Savoy Brown asked.

  Scott hesitated.

  “It happened fast.”

  Jasmin crossed her arms.

  “So you didn’t see their face.”

  “The mask,” Liana said quietly.

  “That’s all I saw.”

  A few people exchanged looks.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Mikey Madison muttered just loud enough to hear.

  “That’s convenient.”

  Scott turned toward her sharply.

  “You think we staged this?”

  Rory Culkin raised both hands.

  “Hey, nobody said that.”

  Jamie slowly lifted one finger.

  “I mean…”

  The room looked at him.

  “I’m just pointing out something,” Jamie said.

  “Roman Bridger faked his death in Scream 3.”

  Every eye shifted back to Scott.

  Scott blinked in disbelief.

  “You cannot be serious.”

  Trevor rubbed the back of his neck.

  “…mate.”

  Scott stared at them.

  “You think I stabbed Sidney Prescott in Emma Roberts’ hallway?”

  “Stranger twists have happened,” Trevor replied.

  The room began murmuring again.

  Voices overlapping.

  Arguments forming.

  And finally Oliver raised his voice.

  “Okay.”

  Everyone quieted slightly.

  Oliver stepped forward and gestured toward the memorial photos still sitting near the fireplace.

  Matthew Lillard.

  Jack Champion.

  Dermot Mulroney.

  Anna Camp.

  Ethan Embry.

  “Every victim so far,” Oliver said, “played Ghostface.”

  The room grew still again.

  Melissa nodded slowly.

  “So the killer hates Ghostface actors.”

  Oliver nodded.

  “Exactly.”

  Then he pointed toward the hallway.

  “But Neve didn’t play Ghostface.”

  “She’s the final girl.”

  The weight of that statement settled across the room.

  Because the pattern had changed.

  Joel McHale stepped forward.

  His voice calm but firm.

  “Then we confirm the body.”

  Scott shook his head immediately.

  “You don’t need to—”

  “Yes,” Joel said.

  “We do.”

  Emma nodded beside him.

  “Everyone goes together.”

  Nobody wanted to argue with that.

  The group slowly moved toward the hallway.

  No one wanted to be last.

  The lights there seemed dimmer than before.

  The hallway felt longer.

  When they reached the corner, several people immediately stopped.

  The body was there.

  Face down.

  Blood pooled across the hardwood floor.

  Long dark hair clung to the soaked fabric of the shirt.

  Jamie whispered.

  “…that’s her.”

  But he didn’t move closer.

  Neither did anyone else.

  David Arquette stared at the floor.

  Courteney held onto his arm.

  Isabel May covered her mouth.

  Asa Germann whispered under his breath.

  “Holy shit.”

  Hayden Panettiere shook her head slowly.

  “Kirby got stabbed twice and lived.”

  She looked at the body.

  “Sidney Prescott doesn’t die in a hallway.”

  But none of them checked.

  Nobody knelt down.

  Nobody rolled the body over.

  Because if they did—

  It would be real.

  Emma finally spoke quietly.

  “…we should go.”

  And unbelievably—

  Everyone agreed.

  They left the body exactly where it was.

  When the group returned to the living room the panic began again.

  Voices rising.

  Arguments forming.

  Drew Barrymore leaned against the wall, watching everyone spiral.

  “Someone’s rewriting the franchise,” she said quietly.

  Laurie Metcalf sipped her wine calmly.

  “Ghostface killers always insert themselves into the investigation.”

  That comment landed badly.

  Because suddenly everyone in the room was suspect.

  Timothy Olyphant spoke next.

  “You realize the killer is controlling the narrative.”

  He gestured toward the house.

  “Phone calls. Panic. Dividing everyone into groups.”

  “This is textbook.”

  Asa looked toward Oliver.

  “You said the rules still mattered.”

  Oliver didn’t answer.

  Because now he wasn’t sure.

  Mason suddenly frowned.

  “Wait.”

  Everyone looked at him.

  “Where’s Skeet?”

  The room froze.

  Because they had forgotten.

  Trevor spoke slowly.

  “Billy Loomis invented Ghostface.”

  David Arquette nodded.

  “And he said he’d be right back.”

  Jamie groaned.

  “That’s literally the biggest death flag in horror.”

  Oliver nodded slowly.

  “Which means one of two things.”

  Everyone stared at him.

  “Skeet is dead.”

  “Or Skeet is Scream-Face.”

  The room erupted.

  Arguments everywhere.

  Trevor and Rory convinced Skeet was the killer.

  Jasmin and Mikey still suspicious of Scott and Liana.

  Melissa and Joel insisting the killer might still be in the house.

  Jenna whispered nervously:

  “What if it’s one of us?”

  That suggestion quieted the room instantly.

  And right as the tension peaked—

  The front door opened.

  Every head snapped toward it.

  Skeet Ulrich walked inside.

  Holding a bag of charcoal.

  He stopped when he saw the room staring at him.

  “…what?”

  Nobody answered.

  Skeet lifted the bag slightly.

  “I found it in the garage.”

  He looked around the room again.

  Confused.

  “Why does everyone look like they’ve seen a ghost?”

  And suddenly nobody knew what to say next.