𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 | Tara Carpenter SCREAM VI/VII

•TWO

After dropping Anika off at our dormitory, I decided to go back to town to get something to eat. Despite being tired from the Halloween party, my appetite still would not allow me to get any sleep.

And I was craving for sakebom.

As I walk through the cold streets of New York, I notice a store still open, the flickering neon signs creating ghostly shadows on the walls. I park by the curb, get out of the car, close the door with a bang, and let the chill hit my face. I slip my hands into my jacket pockets, looking for some warmth.

Suddenly, two figures rush past me, heading for the door of the store. The sound of the "beep" signaling their entrance echoes in the silent air. A familiar voice reaches my ears, broken by panic.

"Please, he's chasing us!"

I frown. Tara. What the hell is going on? Why is she talking about someone chasing her? Anxiety clutches my stomach as I watch the scene. The cashier looks at them perplexed, and a customer complains that the two girls have stepped out of line. Tara continues, her voice trembling.

"Please, he wants to attack us!"

Sam, beside her, scans her surroundings, hoping for help that does not come. She is wearing a black leather jacket and jeans of the same color, while Tara is wrapped in a pink jacket, a black-and-white striped shirt, and ripped jeans. The fear painted on Tara's face is palpable as she clings desperately to the counter.

A cold shiver runs down my spine and I almost hold my breath.

A noise behind me forces me to turn my head, and the chill in my belly deepens. A man in a Ghostface costume enters the store, walking with an eerie slowness, as if he owns the place. I flatten myself against a corner of the store, hoping not to be noticed.

A customer, probably unaware of the situation, approaches the newcomer defiantly.

"Is there a problem, boy?" he asks in an annoyed voice, staring at the white face of the mask. Ghostface tilts his head to the side, the black veins of the mask standing out in the half-light.

Blood chills in my veins as I see him draw a knife and repeatedly strike the customer, ripping through the air with raw, hissing blows. Blood gushes out, staining the floor like a red river. Screams fill the air, and another man lunges toward Ghostface, but is stopped by a blade to the throat. He collapses to the ground without making another sound.

The crowd disperses, running for the exit, but Ghostface has already set his sights on Sam and Tara, who are backing toward the back of the store.

My gaze lands on the door. I could run for it. My instincts scream at me to do so, but something inside me keeps me glued to the floor. My gaze races to Tara and Sam. I can't risk my life for them, I tell myself, I just met them.

Still, I feel a wave of anger and determination building inside me.

Fuck it.

I look around urgently, searching for anything I can use as a weapon. Just then, the store owner interrupts my action raising his voice in desperation, "Hey!" He wields a rifle, hands trembling. Ghostface stumbles backward, knocking over a basket of candy.

"Get in the back!" shouts the owner, eyes wide and filled with panic, trying to block the killer.

"Thanks" said Tara with a smile.

soon after we hear the sound of someone trying to open the door, but unfortunately it felt forced. someone hits the door.

"It's closed!" shouts Sam, her voice cracked.

The owner reaches into his pants for his keys, and at that moment I cross eyes with Tara. There was something indescribable in Tara's gaze, a kind of recognition mixed with relief. Perhaps she did not expect to see me, or perhaps she did not expect to find an ally on a night like that.

I bite my lips nervously concentrating on not blushing and take steps forward wanting to help the man. Ghostface pops up beside me and stabs the man in the chest with the kitchen knife, grabbing his rifle.

"RUN!" shouts Tara.

I blink and back away, running just in time to throw myself behind a shelf. The sound of the rifle silencing the owner's pleas.

Silence

A deafening silence broken only by the hum of the fan above me. I drop to my knees, crawl slowly to the back of the store, my heart pounding in my ears. Terror grips me. I don't want to die. How could it be that I, of all people, had ended up in the store where two sisters were running from a masked madman?

I lean against the shelf, my breathing labored. I tilt my head to peer across the shelf. My eyes see Tara again, Sam crouched beside her. Her brown eyes look at me intently, the fear reflected in them.

His footsteps approach, ominous. I hear the sound of his shoes on the floor as he points toward them.

Do something, I repeat.

I step back and reach for a jar of gravy, my fingers firmly wrapping around the object. My heart was pounding against my rib cage, the adrenaline of being murdered making me feel charged to the max. You've played this kind of game a thousand times, I thought, only if I die here I can't rise again. I got up from the ground and looked in Ghostface's direction.

"EHY," I yell.

He turns, rifle in hand, but before he can pull the trigger I throw the can with all my strength. I hit him full in the face, causing him to falter. "GET OUT!" I shout, and see Sam grabbing Tara by the wrist and dragging her out of the store. I follow them out of breath, and just outside I breathe a sigh of relief to see the blue and red police lights illuminating the street.

"Thank God," I whisper to myself.

A policeman strides up to me and grabs me by the shoulders and slams me against the hood of a car. "What the heck?!" I exclaim, feeling the handcuffs tighten on my wrists. "I didn't do anything!" I insist, my voice cracked.

"No, she's with us" Tara intervenes, looking at the policeman with frowning eyebrows "she's with us, she saved us" the brunette reiterates, protecting me.

Sam approaches her shortly after.

The policeman, reluctantly, removes my handcuffs. I rub my reddened wrists, my breath still broken. I look at the sisters, trying to gather the courage to speak. "Thank you," I say, feeling small under the weight of their gaze. Tara gives me a small smile, and my heart speeds up once again.

Another policeman joins us, looking grave. The nametag on his uniform says "Detective Bailey." He adjusts his hat, watching us seriously.

"You must come to the station," he declares, his voice deep and authoritative. His eyes shift from Sam to Tara, then settle on me.

"Me, too? I had nothing to do with it," I stammer, almost pleadingly.

"You're involved in a murder, you need to be questioned," he reiterates as he jots something down in his notebook. Sam shakes her head, tired, and Tara watches me curiously, making me blush violently.

I'd say the evening couldn't get any worse.