Before the Ghostface killings and the fear that gripped Woodsboro, there was a friendship that could have changed everything. Mo and Billy were inseparable as kids-exploring the woods, sharing secrets, and bonding over a love for horror movies. But...
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The day of the dinner was overcast, a gray sky stretching out endlessly, as though the heavens themselves were in sync with my internal turmoil. I stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the scent of garlic and herbs, while the roast chicken slowly cooked in the oven. The rhythmic tick of the kitchen clock was the only sound besides the soft hiss of the stove. I meticulously arranged the table, ensuring everything was perfect. My mind, however, was a whirlpool of anxiety.
The table was set with our finest china, each piece carefully chosen to reflect a semblance of normalcy that I was struggling to maintain. I folded the napkins into delicate shapes, adjusting them until they were perfectly symmetrical. The silverware gleamed under the kitchen lights, and the crystal glasses sparkled like they were a part of a picture-perfect scene. Despite my efforts, my stomach churned with an unease I couldn't quite shake.
I glanced at the clock again; it was almost time for Billy to arrive. The thought of having him over for dinner had seemed like a good idea weeks ago, a way to reconnect with an old friend and to give my parents a chance to catch up. Now, it felt like a daunting task, an added pressure I wasn't sure I was prepared to handle. I found myself staring blankly at the neatly arranged table, my thoughts racing.
A wave of anxiety hit me as I wondered if the meal would meet expectations, if everything would go smoothly. My parents hadn't seen Billy in four years, and I wanted tonight to be perfect. I wanted to impress them and show Billy that I was capable of hosting a successful evening. The weight of this expectation made my anxiety more palpable.
The doorbell rang, breaking the cycle of my anxious thoughts. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and walked to the front door, my heart pounding in my chest. I opened it to find Billy standing there, his casual yet put-together appearance a stark contrast to my inner chaos. His warm smile was both reassuring and a reminder of the pressure I felt.
"Hey, Billy," I greeted him, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Come on in. My parents are really looking forward to seeing you."
Billy stepped inside, his presence bringing a small measure of comfort amidst my anxiety. "Thanks, Mo. It's good to be here."
I led him to the dining room, where my parents were already seated. My mom's eyes lit up with recognition, and she rose to give Billy a warm hug. "Billy, it's so wonderful to see you! You've grown so much since we last saw you."
"It's great to see you too, Mrs. Hemsworth," Billy replied, his voice warm and polite. "Thanks for having me."
My dad, too, extended a firm handshake. "Billy, good to see you. How have you been?"
"I've been good, Mr. Hemsworth. Busy with school and all," Billy answered, shaking my dad's hand firmly.
As we all took our seats around the table, the initial pleasantries gave way to more substantive conversation. My parents seemed genuinely interested in Billy's life, asking him about school, his interests, and what he had been up to over the past few years. Their questions were laced with genuine curiosity and warmth, and it was clear that they appreciated catching up with an old friend.
