You'd fallen into one of the deeper sleeps you've ever had because when you woke up again, it was already well and truly dark outside.
You probably could have slept through an earthquake, but you needed the rest. There was only so much your brain could take before it gave out.
Dragging yourself out of the bed, you still felt groggy as you wiped at your eyes to get them to focus, making you way out of the bedroom and up the hallway as you undid your sloppy ponytail and shook out your hair.
*Ring*
The distinct sound of the phone ringing in the living room held your attention. Whatever sleep was left in your eyes was now smacked out as you headed over to it, eyes glued to the device.
'CALLER ID UNKNOWN'
You hesitated as worry began to pool within the pit of your stomach. You kept staring at the phone like it was some sort of alien, but it kept ringing so eventually you picked up. "Hi?"
"(Y/N)?"
A sigh of relief fell past your lips when you heard the recognizable and pitched voice of Gale weathers coming from the other end. "Gale? How did you get this number?"
"That's not important right now, I'll tell you later. Listen, you need to come to Hollywood..."
Doubt began welling up in your heart as you thought back to the phone call from yesterday. "How do I know this is you?"
"What do you mean? Of course it's me."
"Yeah but how do I know? You could be the killer. He called me up yesterday," you turned your head to look at the clock before setting your gaze firmly on the floor.
Gale now sounded just as anxious as you. "He did?"
You nodded, feeling your pulse accelerate over the still awfully fresh memory etched into your mind. "Mhm."
"Ugh. (Y/N), please. It's important. I wouldn't call you if it wasn't. Detecive Kincaid helped finding your number. If the killer has called you, you're not safe there anymore. You're completely alone there."
Your face dropped when you gave the phone a serious look like she could see it. "...I still don't know if this is really you. Can you prove it?"
"... How?"
You lined your lips, leaning back against the wall before starting to bite on your fingernail. How could she prove it? You felt ridiculous to have the need to ask someone to verify themselves.
The tension between you and her much felt like a rubber band being taught at from opposite ends.
You couldn't come up with an answer as you felt your nerves swirl faster in your belly. You were just not willing to take the risk. "Uhm, listen, Gale... I need to go. I'll call back later, ok?"
"(Y/N), wait–"
*Click*
You felt awful. You did.
But after hearing your deceased mother's voice, how were you supposed to trust people, let alone someone you couldn't even see?
You could only do as much as take one step away into the direction of the kitchen before the phone rang again.
When you mustered up the courage to answer it, you wished you hadn't. "Listen, Gale. I'm sorry but..."
"Not Gale, I'm afraid."
You grimaced upon hearing the static voice, tightening your fist so hard your knuckles turned white and just about feeling your heart beat in your throat.
Your lack of words only encouraged him to keep up his talking. "I see we've gotten a bit quiet."
Your chest rose and fell as your breathing started to pick up in panic, but you didn't want to show it. "Fuck you. Leave me alone or–"
"Or...?" He dared, followed by a mirthless chuckle.
"I'm not going to play along with this!" You almost yelled into the speaker, threading a hand through your (H/C) locks.
You couldn't describe the feeling you had at the moment, but it was challenging your ability to breathe with how intense it was.
There came another deep and rugged laugh that echoed through the line.
"But I think you are... Go over to the window."
Chewing on your lip, your feet dragged you involuntarily toward the large glass.
Upon hesitantly pulling the curtains back, fully expecting to see something, the only thing your eyes were met with was the vast darkness of the night and a full moon hanging omniously in the sky.
"This play is just for you. You're gonna be my favourite actress."
Before long, you spotted movement to your right and sure enough, there, in the distance stood a silhouette— the very same one that nearly murdered you several times, holding a gleaming knife in his hand.
You slapped a hand over your mouth as you shrunk away from the glass terrified, blinking your eyes several times to make sure this wasn't just another bad dream.
But it wasn't. The figure remained there, just staring blankly at you, straight into your soul as every inch of your skin started to burn like a wildfire during the summer underneath their unseen gaze.
"I'll be generous and give you a ten second head start."
Your face contorted and you shivered at the realization that the person talking to you on the phone couldn't possibly be the one standing there, because they weren't holding a cell.
Run, run, run your mind chanted as you didn't dare peel your eyes away from the intruder, dropping the phone to the floor just as the countdown started. "10..."
The Ghostface not on the other end of the line tilted his head at you and had never looked more sinister with the pale light of the moon reflecting on the mask, as well as the fog starting to appear outside, almost cloaking him.
"9..."
You whirled around and raced down the house, checking every single lock and window as unimaginable goosebumps littered your skin.
But who were you kidding? No lock in the world would keep those two away from you.
-
Sarah stepped into the desolate office, walking down an empty hallway as she glimpsed around. "Anybody home?"
It was far into the evening already, so she jumped when Tyson came reeling out of a doorway with a huge knife jutting out his back and blood trickling down his mouth.
She let out a scream just as Tyson broke into hysterical laughter. "Stan! My man does great work."
Stan, a bearded make up effects guy stepped out from behind Tyson, slapping him a high five. "Thank you. Thank you very much."
"Fuck you very much!" Sarah fumed, clearly unamused. "Tyson, go to hell! What the hell are you doing here? Where's Roman?"
"Roman and everybody else went home for the night. I'm just here for the make up test," Tyson explained, wiping the joking smile off his features.
"Make up," Sarah mumbled, glaring at the two. "You need it. So Roman isn't here?"
"Nope."
She let out an exasperated groan as her gaze stuck to the ceiling. "Damn. He called my roommate and told her he had some important things to go over with me in his office tonight."
Stan pantomimed a blow job gesture, making Tyson snort again and hit him with another high five.
Sarah however, just made a disgusted face as the two men left before ducking into Roman's office which was a clutter of old movie memorabilia.
Plopping down behind his desk, she absentmindedly admired his several music video awards when suddenly, the phone bleeped.
Startled out of her skin, she dropped the award, causing it to smash against the edge of the desk and snapping the head clean off in the process.
She hesitated but accepted the call anyway, putting it on speaker. "Hello? Director's office."
"Sarah, it's Roman. I'm sorry but I'm running late, I'm still on the 405. I'm about ten minutes away."
Glancing over at the broken trophy, her brows twitched together. "Oh, no problem."
"Alright. Since I got you on the phone, let's talk about your character."
"What character? I'm Candy, the chick who gets killed second. I'm only in two scenes!" Rolling her eyes, the blonde reached out to grab the broken trophy, making futile attempts to tape the head back on.
"You're not happy with your part?" Asked Roman.
Sarah scoffed like the question was the most ridiculous thing she'd heard all day. "Of course not. I'm 35 playing a 21 year old!"
"Um hmm... Let's run the lines."
"Ugh, fine. Ring ring. Hello?"
"Hello."
"Who's this?"
"Sarah."
She squinted her eyes. "Roman, that's not the line."
"It is in my script."
Throwing her own script down, Sarah leaned back in the chair, complaining through gritted teeth. "Has there been another goddamn rewrite? How the fuck are we supposed to learn our lines when there's a new script every 15 minutes?"
"It's not just a new script, it's a new movie."
A cold sweat ran down her back. "What? What movie?"
"My movie."
There was a pause before a familiar dark natured noise entered her ears, the killer's sinister voice. "It's called 'Sarah Gets Skewered Like A Fucking Pig'. Still in character... Sarah?"
Feeling sick and scared to her bones, she harshly tossed down the phone and bolted out of the office, only to stop dead in her tracks when she saw a shape approaching through the smoked glass of the front door.
Total fear stormed her face as she shrieked and spun around, running into the direction of the prop room.
After locking the door, Sarah backed up right into at least thirty Ghostface costumes, dangling from the hooks on the costume racks.
Catching her breath, her hand dove into one of the racks as she pulled out her cell phone and started to dial, only to get a digitized pre-programmed commissary menu dragging out.
"Shit!" She cussed. "Motherfucker..."
The second her eyes wandered off behind her, there came a pair of black work boots into view, stepping off the costume rack.
Ghostface jumped down and shoved the rack hard, sending a screaming Sarah right into the next room who went flying out, slamming into a metal table covered with prop weapons.
Leaping up, the prop knives were chucked at her attacker as she screamed furiously, scared tears pooling in her eyes.
With a tilt from the head, all she got in return was an expressionless stare from underneath the mask like a predator on dead prey, before he stalked closer towards her. "No! NO! NOOO!"
Her protests fell on deaf ears as he ruthlessly thrusted the knife into Sarah's chest once, twice before delivering a final blow to her Adam's apple, making her stagger forward as blood spurted all around.
One hand latched her by her long, buxom hair before he mercilessly hucked her into a glass door, making it explode on impact as the lifeless body fell through and pieces of shard tore out her back.
Moments later, the only thing left at the scene was Sarah's bleeding corpse, along with the alarm resonating in the background.