𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕖

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped into the small campus cafe. The restaurant was always packed around noon when most of the students were on their lunch breaks and today was obviously no exception. The air was heavy and bloated with conversation as you squeezed through tables and past servers on your way to the very back.

It was hard to ignore the strange looks you were receiving from the other customers, but you had long since mastered the art of not giving a fuck about how people perceived your ever-evolving situation. Now more than ever before, you were grateful to have Hallie as your roommate. She didn't hold a single grudge against you for waking her up at odd hours of the night, kicking and screaming your way through a night terror. They had gotten significantly worse and surprisingly frequent since the attack.

Your nightmares were more or less conducted in the same fashion every time. You would be running through the never-ending hallways of the sorority house, Ghostface chasing after you with his knife in hand. But the most terrifying thing wasn't the looming threat of being impaled by the steel blade; it was the mask. 

 Every time you dared to look over your shoulder, the silent scream would widen its jowls and the sheet white paint would morph and correct shape until it took the form of someone you knew. First it was Tatum, but her face was pale and near-black blood dripped down the costume from her neck. Then it was Sidney, Dewey, and finally Randy. But never Billy or Stu, which left you confused.

Your two boys were hunched over a table by the tall window that took up almost the entire back wall of the establishment. They appeared to be in the midst of a heated conversation but their mouths zipped shut and both heads turned when you pulled out the third chair and sat down. "Hey guys," you smiled, tucking your backpack under the table.

"Hey," Dewey nodded, his hands folded politely over the table. It was the first time during his visit to Windsor that he wasn't wearing his usual formal sheriff's uniform. You somehow convinced him to take a day off from the investigation and he was making an effort not to let his guilt shine through his smile, but you knew he still felt awful about what you'd gone through and that once again, he had failed to protect you from the killer.

Randy smiled and gingerly slid an unopened can of Coca-Cola across the table in your direction. "They don't serve coffee after eleven," he explained. He and Dewey both had their own cans of soda open in front of them and you didn't waste another second before cracking open the lid and taking a long, well-deserved sip.

In the corner of the café, right above the long table of assorted pastries, was a loud, low-hanging television. From where it was propped up against the wall, you could see the screen as clear as day. "Oh Jesus," you mumbled, rolling your eyes and setting the can back down. It was yet another trailer of the Stab movie.

You'd caught them a few times out of the corner of your eye in the common room back at your dorm, but you never once attempted to sit down and watch one to completion. Your character, as far as you knew, was portrayed on film as a ditzy high schooler who blatantly ignored every red flag flown in front of her face. The actress was familiar, though not entirely too famous, and they'd roped some young heartthrob actor into playing Billy. But the budget was thinner than paper and everything else looked like it was filmed inside of a dollar store. 

A scene flashed into view and you recognized the context immediately. It was you, Billy, and Stu huddled up together in the school stairwell. Your jaw set tightly and had to physically restrain yourself from crushing the soda can in your grip. You never did any official interviews discussing your relationship with the boys before prior to the massacre, so you had no idea how exactly they knew about that incident. 

 But then again, everyone from Woodsboro High probably would have sold their souls for their fifteen minutes of fame. "How old do you think that woman is?" You scoffed, shaking your head as your actress stumbled into view. In stark contrast with the rest of the cast, she could have been playing your mother and you would be none the wiser.