A week had gone by without any further drama, making it one month in total since you had last seen your—
You didn't know what to call Billy and Stu anymore. The latter had tried to get in touch with you one more instance, but you couldn't get yourself to answer, and even went as far as blocking his number, which hurt a lot more than it was supposed to. All you could think about when you thought about them, was lies.
"My brother was a lotta things and maybe too invested," Martha had told you before you she lead you and Emma out of her apartment minutes after the big reveal. "But he couldn't ever do anything cruel. Believe me (Y/N), Randy'd never wanna hurt any of his friends. Take care of yourself and call me if ya need anything else!"
Lies.
You didn't even want to think about lies right now, but it all came flooding to your mind in an instant. Lies. Lies. Lies. The two men you trusted the most had fed lies to you, knowingly, willingly and without remorse.
You shook your head, hoping that with it, you could shake them away. You needed to focus. Focus
on your computer screen, focus on scrolling through a plethora of various newspapers written by Jed Olsen, every single one of them written in such gruesome details that it got you to visibly sweat.
Everything he described was just horrible, unthinkable even. But what was even worse was how you found yourself becoming utterly obsessed with the Ghost Face. You were becoming obsessed with every case involving him. You couldn't stop yourself from typing everything relevant about the killer into your search bar, reading articles about him until deep in the night or early mornings.
It was because of this that your friendship with Jed became all the more important to you. Some mornings you'd sit together with him, talking almost exclusively about the Ghost Face, and almost every time, there was this strange gleam to the reporter's eyes. You couldn't put a finger on what the gleam meant, but was that really important when you were enjoying spending your time with him?
And besides Jed, you still had Emma to count on. You two had come to a mutual agreement that she was to stay over at your place every weekend for the time being. Arlo, naturally, was no longer welcome. In no uncertain terms did you make this clear when you told her the next time he set a foot in your house, would be the last time he could use that foot.
You exhaled and swiped your forehead with the back of your hand as if you just finished running a marathon, too full to stomach any more, for now. The only reason you had read so many was because you needed to push through, but you certainly had reached your limit for the night.
Putting the laptop away, your (H/C) hair brushed against your neck as you used your breath to blow the loose strands away from your face before plonking down on the king sized bed.
Yep, nothing else occured the past seven days. Except that ever since you had awoken to the sound of something falling over downstairs, you had the constant feeling of being watched. You should have grown used to it by now, but this felt different.
Like there were eyes peering into every muscle and vein you owned. The feeling any prey would have when there was a predator lurking in the shadows, if you will.
It almost drove you insane because each and every time you glanced around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary and no one seemed to be looking your way.
Despite that, you just couldn't shake that awful feeling off.
The only positive thing that came out of the whole ordeal was your new friendship. It was because of that one experience not long after you moved to Roseville that you had found another person you could confide in, but even that was only half true because on the flip side, Jed was the reason why Billy lost his marbles that night.
Even up til now, that was the only thing you couldn't stop thinking about, the only thoughts invading your brain even when tucking yourself in and turning off the lamp next to you by the time it was getting late.
You changed positions countless times. Duvet on, duvet off, legs bent, on your side, on your stomach until finally, your mind slowly turned off with the all-consuming silence.
However, not even in your dreams you were safe because again- again that wretched dark mass accompanied by the contrasting white ghost mask stalked you, leaving you shaking like a leaf in bed.
With sweat rivulets streaming down your face, you felt like a zombie, waking in a state of woozy, lingering sleepiness that was intercut with jabbing panic. Your emotions were barely awake, but they wanted nothing more to do with sleep if it meant continuing the nightmare you had.
And then a strange noise had you lifting your head up off the warm pillow, when you felt the same dread again.
The sound came a second time, resembling something tapping against the window which was impossible because the bedroom was on the second floor, and you knew you weren't dreaming.
Never before had you been as wide awake as you were in that moment.
If an instrument existed that could measure a person's level of alertness, you would be maxing out the red zone right now. This was the type of alertness you expected out of a bomb-squad disarming an explosive, not out of yourself lying in bed at—you turned to the alarm clock on the nightstand that had progressively felt more and more mocking—2:32 in the morning.
You pulled yourself to sit up and crawled over towards the window that was above the side of the bed, and slowly leaned your head over to stare out of it. You didn't see anything in the darkness, but nearly flew backwards at the dinstinct sound of the land line downstairs roaring to life.
It was well past 2 AM, so no one should be calling at this hour. Should.
The last time someone called you out of the blue didn't exactly end well, and you had experienced enough to know it was a terrible idea to go and answer it.
But ten minutes of constant and annoying beeping later, it was a miracle that it hadn't woken anyone else yet. The little voice in your head warning you to not do it went unanswered as you slinked out of the room and checked the hallway to see if you really were the only one awake.
And you were.
"Emma?" Her name bounced around the empty corridor as you contemplated on whether or not to rouse her. But she had done enough for you already, so waking her up was the last thing you intended to do.
And so you quietly padded your way down the stairs, one hand on the mahogany railing and the other tugging down the Beatles shirt that had ridden up during the few moments of sleep you had gotten.
A simple object like a telephone had never looked more menacing before until you flipped on the lights that lured you into a false sense of security, along with the promise that you weren't alone so nothing could happen. Nothing was going to happen.
Once you'd gotten close enough, your digits slowly wrapped around the reciever and lifted it up.
You didn't get the opportunity to tell whoever it was off and just as you feared, it was that same haunting voice infiltrating your mind, feeling like it was speaking straight into your soul.
"Took you long enough. Traffic is a real pain, isn't it?"
Your heart spiked, and you shook your head as if trying to shuffle the infinite amount of thoughts out of their jumbled mess and into some kind of sense, but there was none to be found.
"How... What...?" You scrambled for things to vocally react with, keeping a constant watch on the door in fear of it suddenly bursting open like they do in the movies. "How did you get this number? I changed it."
Your brain was stuck on a tug of war with logic, and the other side of it not daring to hang up. Not just for you, but also in fear of the safety of Emma.
He sounded much more chipper than anyone had a right to be at this hour. "Where I come from, we greet each other with a 'hellooo, how are you doing'? Manners, manners!"
You were on the brink of running towards where Emma was fast asleel, but were rooted to the floor, frozen with indecision, when all you could hear was breathing filling the air until it fell absolutely silent, no background noise threatening to break it.
After a drawn out silence, there came a cackle. It was quiet at first, almost nothing but the shaking of shoulders, but his voice grew clearer and louder until it broke out in a fit of manic chuckles.
"I'm honestly surprised no one's put a leash on you yet. Whaaat? Does the goo-goo need some potty training too?" The mockingly sweet tone was unnatural, almost loving compared to the situation.
A dangerous thought entered your mind that had the pit of your stomach threatening to regurgitate out of your mouth. "...You're the Ghost Face?"
"A-hah! Correct."
"Oh." Your voice kicked up an octave, reflecting the tightening in your chest. It was a stark contrast to how calm you were talking. "That's unfortunate. God fuck."
"Unfortunate? That's funny." Laughter crackled through the speaker, and it sounded awfully genuine. You weren't sure if that was a good thing. "God's got abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with what I'm going to do to you, rest assured."
It took a moment to register, your skin turning stone cold as you suddenly felt exposed. "Whoever you are, leave me alone or I'm calling the cops on your ass."
You braced yourself for something, but instead heard even more laughter. Bursting out, breathless laughter, the kind that made a person's ribs hurt.
"Oh yeah? Go ahead, call the cops. What are you going to tell them? That some big, mean boogeyman is calling you?" His tone pitched higher, more playful, but in the most darkening ways playful could he. "They'll send their best officers, I'm sure. For all they know I'm just some nitwit too chicken to ask my crush out."
For half a minute it went quiet, but it felt like the wrong kind of quiet. The silence-before-the-storm kind of quiet.
This turned out to be an accurate prediction when Ghostface continued his chipper talking. "Speaaaking of crushes, I'm a real romantic. Allow me to give you an example."
You gulped, bewildered by his behavior. "E-...Example?"
"Here goes. Roses are red, twiddle dee's and twiddle doo's balls are blue, would a knife to the back do the trick with you?"
It took you a second to realize, but so far, you got the hunch that the real danger with the killer wasn't his threats that could very well turn real. It was the way in which he spoke—the almost pleasant, happy conversation he could make—that made you lower your guard and underestimate him.
Taunting aside, you knew very well that calling the authorities wasn't going to do you any good. If he really was who he said he was, there was no chance they would catch him in time.
From where you were positioned you had a good view of the abandoned streets—the outside lights of peoples' homes all turned off, and not a person in sight.
The street lamps flickered and made your eyes feel funny, like you were missing something in those brief moments when it was pitch black. But then they'd come back on and everything was exactly as it had been before.
You stood stiff as a statue and followed your doctor's instructions, inhaling unevenly through your nose and keeping it in your nasal passage for some seconds before letting it out again, slow and deliberate.
"Just get it over with."
"Hey! No need to get hasty now. You're an interesting one. I've made 'em shit and cry, but no one's ever begged to die," he clucked his tongue. "This is a first."
The personality change between serious and non-serious happened so fast it nearly gave you whiplash. One moment he was threatening to turn you into some macabre art work, and the other it was like talking to a child. "That's because I'm not like everybody else, jackass."
"You know how to wound a man," sarcasm dripped from his words.
By any means, your primary objective should have been to worry about your safety, but it was hard to focus with the voice so raspy you swore you felt it tumbling from your eardrums down your spine.
"But if that's the case, I'll let you in on a little something... You have no idea what I have planned for you, (Y/N). It'll be on the news for weeks. I'll make sure of it."
Call it playing with fire, but you happily welcomed the sudden bravado entering your veins. "Why don't you do it right now?! Scared because I'm not alone?"
"Oh.. What is she gonna do? Throw her purse at me?" The caller mocked. "Don't forget this, (Y/N). You are alive because I let you live. It would be a shame to get rid of you so quickly after you've shown so much... Interest in me."
Screw this. You didn't even bother putting the horn back on the table and just dropped it, racing towards where your friend was sleeping.
"Emma!" You balled both fists and banged on the door, feeling absolutely sick to your stomach. "Emma! Please wake up!"
There was some muffled shuffling coming from behind the door that unlocked a minute later, and was then pulled open.
Your friend stood there, her black hair an unkempt mess as she yawned and rubbed her eye sleepily.
"(Y/N)...? What's wrong?" Emma sounded tired and hoarse as she blinked sluggishly.
"He called..." The words were quiet, almost inaudible. She didn't seem to piece it together until you lifted a shaky arm and pointed towards where the telephone was still dangling from side to side. "The killer. I-He.. Ems, he might still be on the line. He got my new number." That fact horrified you more than the call itself did.
Emma thankfully took it for face value and shuffled forward, ducking down and picking up the reciever in her hand. She pressed it to the side of her face while you kept staring into her half-lidded eyes. "If anyone's there, two in the morning is the right time to fuck. Off."
*Slam*
If the killer had been on the other end of the line still, they certainly weren't any more now. You half expected the device to roar to life again but after two minutes of waiting, nothing happened.
But it didn't make you feel any better whatsoever. What if hanging up had pissed them off?
"Emma..."
"(Y/N), it's not that I don't believe you," she sighed tiredly. "We're not in Woodsboro. Let's talk about it in the morning..."
You bit on your lip, fighting against the guilt that now overwhelmed the previous fear. Maybe she was right. Maybe it could wait.
"Goodnight (Y/N)." You allowed her to hug you, and wordlessly hugged her back. What if that had been just your imagination playing tricks on you? But it felt so real..
Either way, both of you quickly went back to your respective rooms after that. It took you constantly reminding yourself that there was no danger present to be able to finally lay down, but sleep didn't come to you for what was left of the night.
You had tried with devastatingly little success to dispel the graphic images of Sidney Prescott's lifeless body on the ground, her blood congealed all over her body from where it spilled out of her neck.
When morning finally arrived, you didn't bother putting make-up on, allowing the dark circles hanging under your eyes to show themselves, feeling, and looking, like a total mess.
All you put on was a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, but you did make the effort to grab your brush and tugged it through your hair to make it a little bit more presentable. Normally you would have gone for something cuter to wear, but today had already landed in the fuck-it pile, and would you look at that? It was only 8:30.
Once you trudged into the kitchen, you saw Emma already attacking one of the many steaming pancakes that sat in a pile on a plate on the clothed kitchen table, and only then did you hear your stomach growl.
"Good morning," you greeted, then slumper down on the chair opposite Emma and licked your lips. "You made pancakes? Yum." Pulling the plate towards you, you took one off with a fork, surprised with yourself for actually having an appetite.
You couldn't hope to keep up with the pace Emma set for herself, devouring one pancake after another. "My god, where does it all go?"
"Fuck off and let a girl eat!" She defended herself in a pitch and flicked her dark, straight hair over her shoulder. "I get hungry when I get woken up in the middle of the night."
Your good mood faltered as you swallowed down a piece, along with the lump forming in your throat. "I'm sorry..."
"Don't be. Did you get some sleep at least?"
No.
"Yes."
Emma put her cut-the-bullshit face on, cocking a skeptical eyebrow at you. She made no comment on it, instead letting you speak on your own accord.
You averted your gaze away from her, instead paying the blinds that allowed morning sunlight to stream into the kitchen more attention. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the phone from where you were seated. You gulped another piece down.
"Do you actually believe me?" You hoped that she did, but couldn't blame her if she didn't. No one called back and she probably heard nothing. It was late, you had been having a lot of late-nighters recently, so it could have been your tired mind hallucinating, but your gut feeling told you otherwise.
"I don't see a reason not to," she replied.
You were glad that she believed you, but the way she phrased it didn't sit well with you. It was the type of answer someone gave a friend when they weren't fully convinced and just tried to be friendly and polite, and after the other night where you got spooked and dropped the glass, part of you feared that every time you'd wake her up for something, she'd take you less and less seriously.
And you wouldn't be surprised if that was exactly Ghost Face's goal.
To make you feel isolated and cut off from everybody else.