Lean Into Me { scream fanfic }

✮ - crash

I fumbled for the key in my pocket, my hands shaking with fear. Suddenly, a drop of warm liquid landed on my head, sending a shiver down my spine. I looked up, my eyes widening in horror as I saw a severed deer head hanging from the roof. The blood dripped slowly, creating a macabre scene that made my stomach churn. Before I could react, my grandpa appeared out of nowhere and dragged me inside, his face pale with shock. He pointed to a note attached to the deer's head, his hands trembling as he read the chilling words. It was from Billy. He threatened to kill my grandparents if they didn't bring me back to him. As I sat in the safety of my grandparents' house, the terror of that night still fresh in my mind, I knew that Billy would stop at nothing to get to me. The darkness outside seemed to hold a thousand secrets, each more horrifying than the last. I could only hope that I would survive the night and live to see the light of day once more.

"We..We have to get her out of here." My grandpa said to my grandma. "What?" I breath out, scared, knowing that they were going to take me back to woodsboro means knowing that I'd see Billy and stu again. And...that was the last thing I wanted.

      As I stood in the doorway of my grandparents' cozy home, I could see the worry etched deeply on their faces. Harold and Margaret had made the decision—they were taking me back to Woodsboro. It wasn't a choice any of us took lightly, especially after everything that had happened there.

        "Natalie, sweetheart, it's time to pack your things," Margaret said gently, her voice tinged with sadness and concern. I nodded silently, my heart heavy with conflicting emotions. I had only just started to settle into their warm, familiar home after the traumatic events in Woodsboro. The memories still haunted me—the fear, the uncertainty, and the unshakeable feeling that something dark lurked just beneath the surface of that seemingly peaceful town. Now, the prospect of returning felt daunting yet inevitable, like stepping back into a nightmare that hadn't fully released its grip on me. I began to pack my belongings methodically, folding clothes and placing cherished mementos into my suitcase. Each item I touched seemed to hold a weight of its own—a reminder of the life I had tried to leave behind, and now, reluctantly, had to confront once more. Harold hovered nearby, occasionally offering a comforting word or a reassuring pat on the shoulder. His presence was a steady anchor amidst the storm of emotions swirling within me.

       Once everything was packed, my grandpa loaded the suitcase into the trunk of their car while my grandma bustled about, fetching a thermos of hot cocoa and some snacks for the journey ahead. The atmosphere in the house was tense yet tender, filled with unspoken worries and the unbreakable bond of family.

        The drive to Woodsboro stretched on endlessly, the road unfolding before us like a ribbon of uncertainty. I sat in the backseat, gazing out of the window, my thoughts a whirlwind of apprehension and memories. My grandpa navigated the winding roads with practiced ease, his hands steady on the wheel despite the weight of the task before us. My grandma tried to engage me in conversation, her attempts at light-heartedness a stark contrast to the heaviness in the air. I responded with forced smiles and monosyllabic answers, my mind preoccupied with what lay ahead.

       The landscape gradually transformed from the familiar suburbs of their town to the rural outskirts of Woodsboro. Tall pine trees lined the road, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the countryside that belied the unease gnawing at my insides.

        As we neared Woodsboro, tension coiled in my stomach like a serpent ready to strike. The town loomed on the horizon, its silhouette etched against the fading light of day. Memories flooded my mind—a patchwork of scenes both beautiful and terrifying. My childhood home, where every corner once held comfort and safety, now seemed shrouded in shadows of doubt.

         Then, just as we approached the town limits, it happened. A sudden screech of tires, a blur of movement, and a sickening crunch. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as our car spun out of control, tires squealing against the asphalt. I felt a sharp jolt as we collided with another vehicle—a deafening impact that reverberated through my bones.

          The world around me became a chaotic blur of noise and motion. Glass shattered, metal groaned in protest, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke. Instinct kicked in, adrenaline flooding my veins as I tried to make sense of what had just happened. My grandmas voice cut through the haze, calling out my name in a frantic tone. I turned to see her and my grandpa, both shaken but conscious, trying to assess the situation amidst the chaos.

        The other driver—a young woman with a dazed expression—stumbled out of her car, clutching her arm in pain. Emergency responders arrived swiftly, their uniforms a blur of bright colors as they rushed to our aid. Paramedics checked us over quickly, ensuring we were all right despite the terrifying crash. Miraculously, none of us suffered serious injuries, only minor cuts and bruises from the impact. It was a miracle, a narrow escape from what could have been a catastrophic disaster. I saw a familiar figure in the distance.