"In the shadows of Woodsboro, I once danced in the spotlight of perfection. But when the mask of illusion slipped away, I realized life had a different script written for me-a chilling tale I never thought I'd star in." - Monica Riley."
In which Mon...
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In the dim streets of Woodsboro, far away in a very isolated place, stood the Beckers' residence—an imposing house where the silence of the night held sway. Mr. and Mrs. Becker were away, leaving their 16-year-old daughter, alone with the anticipation of a movie night with her boyfriend, Steve, who was inexplicably running late.
On the other hand, Monica Riley found herself there as well, having persuaded her older brother to let. Despite it being a Wednesday, she insisted that he shouldn't worry about her and she didn't want to be home alone either, although she secretly preferred it. The night was starry, and there was nothing good on television.
Earlier, she had convinced Casey to let her stay for just a couple of hours until it was time to go home. She promised that she wouldn't be a bother and even offered to help with a girl-to-girl excuse, though Casey's boyfriend was nothing more than a jock. As Monica found herself in Casey's cramped, dim bathroom, scrubbing off makeup residue, the silence was sliced in half by the echoing of the phone.
Since Monica was already upstairs, she assumed Casey would answer it. After all, it was her house. It wasn't like Monica's home, where she'd sprint downstairs in nothing but a T-shirt and underpants every time the phone rang. So, she stayed in the bathroom, taking one long look at herself before patting down her pitch-black hair tied into a messy bun.
The silence was broken by the ringing of the phone downstairs. "Can you get that, Monica? It's starting to bother me," Casey called out. With a groan, Monica dragged herself down to the plush silk cream couch. "Monica, have it. It's getting to bother me," Casey repeated. Monica sighed and answered, "Hello?"
She could hear Casey engaging in what sounded like a friendly conversation with a man. Monica tuned out the details, not wanting to get involved. "Maybe it's one of those boys from school Casey flirts with," Monica thought, amused. The aroma of freshly popped popcorn filled the air as Casey abandoned the stove to chat on the phone.
As Monica flopped onto the couch, the conversation continued. "What was that all about?" Monica asked in her groggy voice. Casey chuckled, "Just a man calling. You seem to be interested in him. Why do you have to romanticize everybody I talk to?" Casey retorted. The conversation shifted, Casey explained that the man had the wrong number, and Monica let out a chuckle.
But the peace was short-lived as the phone rang again. This time, Monica, being closer, answered it with a cheerful voice. "Who would call at 10:00 anyways? That must have been an idiot who would do that," she muttered. However, her amusement turned to curiosity when a dark, attractive, husky voice greeted her with a simple, "Hello."
Intrigued, Monica questioned the caller's motives and, in the process, uncovered a mystery that would soon cast a chilling shadow over the night in Woodsboro.
The man was silent for a moment, and Monica briefly entertained the idea that it was all just a prank or some boy from school playing an elaborate joke. However, the man's voice cut through her thoughts like a knife, dispelling any notion of it being a harmless misunderstanding.
"Now that you've picked up the phone, and I've asked you a question," he continued, "no matter what."
Monica rolled her eyes and huffed, replying, "Shoot."
"What is your favorite scary movie?" the man inquired. Monica couldn't believe that out of all questions, he chose that one.
"Really? Really?" she repeated. "Out of all questions you could ask, why that?"
"I don't know. I'm curious," he replied with a flirtatious tone.
"Well, curiosity kills the cat, doesn't it?" Monica quipped. "Come on, I promise I won't tell," the man said, his voice carrying an air of mystery.
Monica glanced over at Casey, who was too engrossed in her own activities to notice the strange phone conversation. "What makes you think I watch horror movies?" Monica asked, placing her hands on her head.
"Everyone does. I mean, who doesn't enjoy a good stab movie? Or do you sound like you would. How would you know that? I'm not surprised if you're dressed in some Grim reapers costume, stomping around the house. I mean, Michael Myers does the same, right?" the man said, making an interesting assumption.
"That's an interesting assumption,. the man said retorted, but something about his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Despite her reservations, she decided to respond. "Anyway, you still haven't answered my question. What is your favorite scary movie?"
"If I answer this question, would you leave me alone? Go home and watch one of yours?" Monica challenged.
"Come on, Monica," the man urged. Her blood ran cold. How did he know her name? She didn't mention it, right? Maybe Casey had told him, but that didn't make sense.
"Well, if you're so persistent, I would say, does Child's Play count as one?" Monica finally replied. The man laughed, and something about his laughter felt more sinister.
"You really enjoy watching a movie about a midget running around with a knife. I mean, even though he's a doll, he got whacked. Plus, you act like he wasn't human before. And why are we talking about horror movies? Can I ask you a question, mister? How do you know my name?" Monica asked, her confusion and unease growing. "You told me," he said, but Monica shook her head. "No, I didn't. Why would I tell a random stranger my name?"
Monica thought, her hands tightening around the phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure.
"It matters because I know you. You don't know me, but yet you're still talking to me," the man on the other end said, his words sending a chill down Monica's spine.
As the blood in her veins turned slowly to ice, Monica's patience waned. "Listen, a******, hang up the damn phone. It was all fun and games, and I'm tired. I want to go to sleep. Please, leave me alone."
"Come on, baby. You don't want to talk to me? Are you scared?" the man taunted. Monica, by this time, felt a surge of anger. Her eyebrows squeezed together in frustration, and before she could say anything Casey, abruptly snapping the phone from Monica's hand.
Enough was enough. The unsettling conversation with the mysterious caller had gone on for too long, and Monica was determined to put an end to it.
