She couldn't quite comprehend what was happening, and she didn't want to waste her time thinking about it. It bothered her more than she could admit, but something about the man's voice, sinister since the beginning, indicated he had no intention of leaving them alone. No matter how many times she yelled, he persisted.
Monica couldn't fathom why he wouldn't leave them alone. Was this some sick joke, an attempt to scare them? A sinking feeling deep down suggested otherwise, that perhaps he had different, more sinister intentions. The thought scared Monica, but she refused to show it. Trying to convince herself it was just a prank by someone at school or an ex-boyfriend, she couldn't dismiss the uneasy feeling.
Casey had also yelled into the phone, her frustration evident. The man's voice was so loud that bits and pieces of their conversation reached Monica, making her jump. Casey swore on the phone receiver, her anger palpable, especially since Steve hadn't arrived yet.
Monica took a deep breath before rubbing her forehead. Casey questioned, "What was that all about?"
"Some stupid man won't leave us alone. I won't be surprised if he's some type of pedophile trying to mess with us or something crazy. Steve was supposed to be here. I don't know why he's not here yet," Monica responded, frustration evident in her voice.
The eerie silence in the room was broken by the ringing phone, and both of them stared at it. Monica felt a sense of foreboding. The caller wasn't going to be pleasant, and anger was likely to follow. Monica grabbed the phone off the receiver again, fed up and ready to confront him, even if it meant letting a few curse words slip.
"Listen here," Monica started, but before she could say anything more, the man's loud, threatening voice yelled through the phone. This time, she jumped, his words chilling her to the bone.
"Listen to me, you little b****. Don't hang up the phone, or else I'm going to slice you into pieces!" Monica's mouth dropped, and she couldn't believe what the man had just said. This time, she knew it wasn't a joke. She couldn't find the words to respond; they were trapped in her throat as fear tightened its grip, and her heart pounded in her ears.
"So, I can finally be asking the question I want to ask before your little annoying ass says something. What's the question, Monica asked " the man said, his tone carrying a chilling confidence that drained every ounce of assurance from Monica, leaving fear burning hot through her blood.
"Why would I ever play some game with you?" Monica replied, her voice shaky.
"Oh," the man laughed, "if you don't, all three of you would die."
Confusion and terror gripped Monica. "What do you mean, all three? There's only two here."
"Are you sure about that? Tell your little friend to turn on the patio light," the man instructed.
Monica took the receiver off her ear and glanced at Casey, who now looked terrified. Unable to find words, Monica gestured towards the patio door, hoping Casey would get the message. Casey opened the door and turned on the patio light.
A loud scream escaped Casey as Monica's eyes fell on a horrifying scene. Tied up to a chair, where Steve should have been, was indeed Steve, but he looked far from okay. His once-handsome appearance was replaced by a drained, tired, and scared version. His red and white shirt was stained with blood, his forehead a mix of sweat, dirt, and blood. His mouth was duct-taped, mirroring the fear in both Casey and Monica's expressions. The gravity of the situation hit Monica like a ton of bricks. It wasn't a sick joke; it was a nightmare unfolding before them, and Casey's loud crying only emphasized the grim reality.
"Why him?" Monica pleaded, her voice trembling. "What did he ever do to deserve something like this?"
The man chuckled, "More than you'll ever know, but I won't tell you. I'll spare the details. After all, you're pretty scared enough."
"I'm not scared of you," Monica retorted, trying to summon courage.
"Oh, really? So if I rang the doorbell, would you be scared?" the man taunted.
Monica's defiance hardened. "Almost impossible. You're not here. You're not in the house. You're not around here. You're messing with us."
"Sure, I'll let you believe what you want to believe," the man responded. "But if you don't answer this game or play it, one of you is going to be gutted, and you won't live to see tomorrow."
"Stop it!" Monica called out desperately. "Don't kill her, please. Don't. I'd rather it be me."
The man laughed, "Please? Else your pretty little face doesn't deserve that. After all, you are going to be my final girl."
"I'm your what?" Monica couldn't comprehend what was happening, but she sensed a sick, twisted fantasy out of a horror movie. Whoever did this had a deeply disturbed mind.
"What is it now?" the man continued. "The first question is about a horror movie you mentioned you liked before. What is Chucky's real name?"
Monica smiled with a hint of madness as she answered. "Good girl."
"Here it is again. Who was the killer in the first Friday the 13th movie? Pamela Voorhees. Correct answer, big girl. You're doing so good," the man praised.
"Last question," Monica said, trying to steel herself. "Alright. I'm ready as ever."
"Where do you think I am?" The unexpected question caught Monica off guard. She mumbled, "I don't know."
"Well, you're lucky. I want to ask you the same question," the man replied, escalating the psychological game. The chilling exchange continued, and Monica couldn't shake the feeling that their lives hung in the balance of this twisted, macabre quiz.
"Give the phone to your blonde friend over there. She seems scared already. Stop it. Please, don't cry. You look so heartbreaking," the man mumbled. Monica caught it and passed the phone over to Casey, who took it with shaking hands.
"I know this one," Casey said confidently. "Jason Voorhees."
Monica shook her head in disgust and whispered, "No, it's Pamela. Jason didn't come until the second movie."
Casey looked at her with a daunting realization. Monica mobilized, and suddenly, the patio lights flickered off. For a split second, it seemed almost dark, and then the most heart-wrenching sight was presented-when the lights came back on, Steve was dead. Blood dripped from the chair, his head slumped to the left. Casey screamed, and the phone dropped from her hand. Monica picked it up and placed it to her ear.
"Hey, pretty face. You promised you wouldn't kill him," Monica protested.
"I said if you got the questions wrong, and your friend so happened to be a lot dumber than you, well, she isn't a dumb blonde for a reason," the man responded. "Also, pretty face, heads up."
Before Monica could grasp what was happening, a chair crashed through the window, glass shattered. She let out a heart-curling scream, and Casey dove underneath the counter. The light suddenly flipped off, and Monica found herself getting dizzy, feeling the wet, sticky substance of blood in her hair.
"There, pretty girl," the man said. "You'll be fine. I won't come after you for now. You're safe. But I don't know about your dumb blonde friend."
"Don't kill her, please. Sorry, sweet face. It has to be done now. I'd rest if I were you."
Monica's world went blurry, and the last thing she could hear was Casey's scream. The horrifying reality of their situation sank in, and the night had taken a turn for the unimaginable.
YOU ARE READING
ꜱᴛᴀʀɢɪʀʟ- Scream¹•1996
Terror"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...
