ASSHOLES | scream au

17. shrine

Gale leads Amber, Sam, Tara, Mindy, Chad, Kirby, Ethan, Richie, and Bailey to a heavy security door at the back entrance of a rundown building. The worn metal door groans slightly as she slides a keycard through the swipe lock. A sharp buzz echoes, followed by the loud click of the lock disengaging. She pushes the door open, and they step into the dim space beyond.

"Jason and Greg were little Atlanta rich boys," Gale explained as they walked through. "Apparently, they used false names to rent this place."

"How'd you find it?" Kirby questioned, skepticism in her voice.

Gale shot her a glance. "It's called 'investigative journalism' for a reason." She smirked. "How didn't you find it? Weren't you tracking them?"

Kirby rolled her eyes, exasperated. "I went through their financial records dozens of times. This place wasn't in any of them. It doesn't make sense."

Amber and Tara exchanged a quick look—something unspoken, but suspicious, passing between them.

"Don't take it too hard," Gale continued with a smug smile. "It's called experience. You'll get there."

Gale turned and walked through the doorway, while Kirby made a face behind her back.

They entered a small, airlock-like vestibule, the low hum of stale air filling the space. The area was sealed off by double security doors with another swipe lock.

"Why all the security?" Sam asked, frowning at the setup.

"And what is this place?" Amber questioned, sharp-eyed, asking the right question.

Gale slid the card again. A second buzz, and the door clicked open. She pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on, the beam cutting through the dark. They moved toward a breaker box, where Gale flipped a switch with a loud ka-chunk.

Overhead fluorescent lights flickered on, revealing the back lobby of what looked like an old, neglected theater.

Tara crossed her arms, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "A movie theater?"

"Not just a movie theater," Gale answered, grinning slightly as she stepped through a curtain into the main theater. The group followed, and their footsteps echoed across the dusty floor.

Pushing through the thick, tattered drapes, they stepped into the theater's main space—and saw it.

"A shrine," Gale announced.

A low mechanical hum sounded, and the worn movie screen above the stage began to rise. Slowly, it revealed nine Ghostface cloaks on display behind it, draped eerily like ceremonial robes.

"Oh, God," Sam whispered under her breath, her face pale.

They moved deeper inside. The entire floor had been converted into a macabre museum. The rows of seats on the sides had been stripped out, replaced with glass display cases showcasing objects from every Ghostface attack. Even the stage itself held exhibits, each piece carefully arranged and lit from above with reverent precision.

Mindy glanced around, awe and disgust mingling on her face. "It's the whole goddamn franchise," she muttered, pacing between the displays. Her steps slowed as she spotted something familiar. "Chad," she called, motioning him over.

He joined her, looking puzzled. Mindy pointed to a display case holding a worn shirt. "This was Uncle Randy's," she whispered, emotion slipping into her voice. "They've got everything."

They moved further into the eerie collection. Monuments to violence and cruelty lined the space.

"Mickey Altieri's Windsor College class schedule," Gale narrated, pointing to another exhibit.