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CHAPTER ONE; boring little woodsboro
There was a constant electrical buzz in Bradley Video. It was a consistent thrum in the back of Natasha's mind, causing her to tap the DVDs in her hands rhythmically. Everyone had informed Bradley of it, but as always he couldn't care less. It's a video store, not a music store was his favourite response. So here Natasha was, nearing the end of her shift, stocking the horror section of the store, whilst tapping to the disrupted music.
Early on in her friendship with Randy Meeks, Natasha had decided he was a dumbass. She was the bigger dumbass for befriending him, however. There was nothing she hated more than a horror movie. Absolutely nothing more. But for some reason she still couldn't place, she was the member of staff restocking the horror section, although Randy was also on shift.
It's not that she hated the gory factors of horror movies because truth be told, she didn't mind blood or gore. She could cope with those elements of horrors. What really made her shudder and squirm were the psychological elements of horror films. The psychological terror brought on by a horror movie and the realness of a horror movie spooked her. Horror reflected the worst of humanity; it's darkest parts. And that knowledge terrified her.
Sure, Michael Myers wasn't a real person. He didn't commit his crimes in real life. He didn't really kill his own sister. She's perfectly aware that it's fiction. But a real-life person could be like Michael Myers. A real-life person could commit his crimes. A real-life person could end the life of another for no reason. It's happened before. Bundy, Ramirez, Manson... That's the part that kept her up at night after watching a horror. It could happen. Sure, it's unlikely. But it's still possible. It wasn't an irrational fear. She promised herself that often. She wasn't the type to have irrational fears. She was a smart kid who always chose to believe solid facts and truths rather than beliefs and theories.
It isn't irrational, she reminded herself.
And it wasn't. One year prior a murder took place in boring little Woodsboro. It was gruesome and messy, almost as if it was right out of a horror movie Randy had forced her to watch. The Murder of Maureen Prescott went down in Woodsboro history. What once was a nice little quiet quaint town full of blossoming friendships was now something else. It was darker. The shrill memory of Maureen Prescott and her demise had bled over the town, soaking it an array of fear and trepidation. Scarlet lips whispered, poisoning the air with lies, theories, and conspiracies. The whispers had a sort-of domino effect on Woodsboro. A whisper would leave one pair of scarlet lips and crash in-and-out of another person's, like wine glasses clinking together with too much pressure, causing the wine too overflow, spilling.
The rumours about Maureen's death spilled over, contaminating the air.
Sidney was one hundred percent sure that the right man was going down for the murder of her mother. She saw it with her own two eyes, she'd told her friends. Without a shadow of a doubt, Cotton Weary was responsible for the murder of Maureen Prescott.
