The house had gone quiet.

  Not the comfortable quiet of a party winding down.

  A heavier silence.

  The kind that settled in after laughter had died and something else had taken its place.

  Fear.

  Oliver stood in the middle of Emma Roberts’ living room, eyes scanning the faces around him.

  Actors.

  Survivors.

  Killers.

  All of them suddenly unsure which category they belonged in tonight.

  The patio door still hung open behind them.

  Beyond it the backyard lights glowed faintly, illuminating the lonely grill.

  Skeet Ulrich was still gone.

  Trevor shifted uneasily.

  “…that was a joke, right?”

  Oliver exhaled a slow cloud of smoke.

  “In these movies?”

  He flicked ash into a nearby glass.

  “Nothing’s a joke.”

  Emma crossed her arms and looked toward the patio.

  “Okay.”

  She pointed outside.

  “Somebody go check on him.”

  No one volunteered.

  Rory Culkin immediately pointed at Mason.

  “You’re the one who survives stabbings.”

  Mason raised both hands.

  “Whoa, whoa. Dewey logic doesn’t apply in real life.”

  David Arquette nodded solemnly.

  “He’s right.”

  He paused.

  “…also I died.”

  Hayden groaned.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  She stood up.

  “He’s getting charcoal.”

  Oliver shook his head slightly.

  “Maybe.”

  The word hung there.

  Maybe.

  Emma stepped forward.

  “We’re not sending anyone alone.”

  Oliver nodded.

  “Groups.”

  He gestured around the room.

  “Same ones.”

  “But now we actually move.”

  The house fractured immediately.

  Smaller clusters forming instinctively.

  Safety in numbers.

  Or at least the illusion of it.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Laurie Metcalf stepped onto the patio first.

  Behind her came Mikey Madison, Rory Culkin, and Hayden Panettiere.

  The night air felt colder now.

  The grill still hissed softly beneath the patio lights.

  Rory leaned forward.

  “…Skeet?”

  Nothing.

  Hayden moved closer to the grill.

  “You see anything?”

  Mikey scanned the yard.

  “No blood.”

  Laurie calmly sipped her wine.

  Her eyes drifted toward the darker edge of the yard where the light faded into shadow.

  “Perhaps he simply left,” she said.

  Rory stared at her.

  “You’re way too relaxed about this.”

  Laurie smiled faintly.

  “I’ve been murdered before.”

  Hayden blinked.

  “…that’s not comforting.”

  Jamie Kennedy pushed open the door to Emma’s upstairs hallway.

  Behind him came Mason Gooding, Jasmin Savoy Brown, and Jenna Ortega.

  Jamie whispered dramatically:

  “This is exactly how people die.”

  Jasmin rolled her eyes.

  “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  Mason opened a bedroom door.

  Empty.

  Jenna checked the closet.

  Nothing.

  Jamie glanced down the dark hallway.

  “You realize the killer could literally be hiding behind any door right now.”

  Jasmin pointed at him.

  “If you say ‘behind you’ I swear to God—”

  Jamie grinned.

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  Beat.

  “…but now I kind of want to.”

  Oliver moved slowly through the kitchen hallway with Melissa, Marie, and Trevor.

  The house suddenly felt enormous.

  Every shadow deeper.

  Every creak louder.

  Melissa opened the pantry.

  Empty.

  Trevor checked the study.

  “Clear.”

  Marie glanced toward Oliver.

  “You still think this is about Ghostface actors?”

  Oliver nodded slowly.

  “Every victim so far.”

  Melissa crossed her arms.

  “Then Skeet…”

  Trevor finished it.

  “…is next.”

  Oliver didn’t answer.

  At the far end of the house Neve Campbell walked slowly down one of Emma’s long hallways.

  Scott Foley walked beside her.

  Liana Liberato trailed just behind them.

  The lights flickered faintly.

  Scott glanced around uneasily.

  “This place suddenly feels like a movie set.”

  Neve smiled faintly.

  “In my experience…”

  “…that’s when things go wrong.”

  They reached the corner of the hallway.

  The shadows were thicker here.

  Scott looked around.

  “Skeet?”

  Nothing.

  Liana frowned.

  “You think the killer’s still inside the house?”

  Neve turned slightly to answer.

  And stepped backward.

  Into the darkness.

  None of them noticed the figure standing there.

  Perfectly still.

  Blended into the shadows.

  Scream-Face.

  The knife flashed.

  The first stab landed before Scott even processed the movement.

  Neve gasped.

  The blade struck again.

  And again.

  Fast.

  Brutal.

  Scott shouted.

  “NEVE!”

  Liana screamed.

  Neve collapsed forward onto the hallway floor.

  Blood spread quickly across her shirt.

  Scott froze.

  The scene unfolding in front of him almost too surreal to process.

  Neve Campbell.

  The final girl.

  Lying motionless on the ground.

  Scott dropped to his knees beside her.

  “Neve—”

  No response.

  Behind him Liana grabbed his arm.

  “Oh my god—”

  Scott looked up.

  The hallway was empty.

  Scream-Face was gone.

  “WE HAVE TO GO,” Liana shouted.

  Scott stared at Neve’s body one last time.

  Then survival instinct kicked in.

  They ran.

  The groups reconvened minutes later.

  Laurie’s group rushed in from the patio.

  Jamie’s group descended the stairs.

  Oliver’s group emerged from the kitchen.

  Everyone began speaking at once.

  “Did you find Skeet?”

  “What happened?”

  “Where’s Neve?”

  Scott burst into the room.

  Breathing hard.

  Liana stumbled in behind him.

  Emma rushed forward.

  “What happened?”

  Scott looked around the room.

  His face had gone pale.

  “Neve…”

  He struggled to say it.

  “…she’s dead.”

  The words detonated in the room.

  Jenna shook her head immediately.

  “That’s not possible.”

  Jamie stared at Scott.

  “The final girl can’t die.”

  David Arquette whispered quietly:

  “…not like that.”

  And slowly—

  Every pair of eyes turned toward Oliver.

  Trevor rubbed the back of his neck.

  “…mate.”

  Oliver stood completely still.

  The joint between his fingers had burned down to a crooked line of ash.

  “If the final girl dies…”

  His voice came out softer than before.

  “…then the rules really are broken.”

  The room fell silent.

  Then—

  A phone rang.

  Everyone jumped.

  The sound came from Liana’s pocket.

  She slowly pulled it out.

  Unknown number.

  Oliver shook his head immediately.

  “…don’t.”

  The phone kept ringing.

  Liana swallowed.

  Then answered.

  Speaker on.

  “Hello?”

  The voice slid into the room like ice.

  Low.

  Distorted.

  Patient.

  “Scream-Face.”

  Several people instinctively stepped backward.

  Liana tried to steady her voice.

  “…what do you want?”

  A quiet chuckle answered.

  “I want to congratulate you.”

  Confused looks spread across the room.

  “You all thought you understood the story.”

  “You thought you knew the formula.”

  “You thought you knew my master plan.”

  A pause.

  “But you don’t.”

  Oliver stared at the phone.

  “You think this is about Ghostface.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “You think the rules still matter.”

  “They don’t.”

  Another pause.

  “You think you can stop me.”

  The voice softened.

  “But you can’t.”

  Liana whispered:

  “Why?”

  The answer came instantly.

  “Because the only person in this room who could have stopped me…”

  A long pause.

  “…is already dead.”

  Several people instinctively looked toward the hallway.

  Scott shut his eyes.

  The voice continued calmly.

  “Thirty years.”

  “Thirty years of Ghostface trying to do what I just did.”

  “They all failed.”

  The whisper grew colder.

  “But tonight…”

  “…I succeeded.”

  The voice dropped lower.

  “The final girl is dead.”

  The room remained frozen.

  And then the final words came.

  Soft.

  Satisfied.

  “You’re all fucked now.”

  The line went dead.

  Liana’s phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor.

  No one picked it up.

  Because for the first time that night—

  They all believed it.

  The final girl was dead.

  And the movie had just entered its final act.