No matter how many difficulties your mother has faced, she appears to be made of steel because it's impressive how she keeps her sanity and a strong spirit. Many others 'final girls' are screaming in jealousy. You, however, are a sweet child of the modern age and wouldn't dig into ancient secrets of 96. That's what Sidney was sure of, foolishly hoping she could finally rest, now that she was a mother. Not a young victim, not a scared little girl, not even a warrior or a legend. She's Sidney Prescott. A colleague. A wife. A mom. The mom.

And she was very supportive, too. Her wounds were mostly healed and not touched, so she did not create any for you. Sidney might be more reserved than most and always buried too deep in her thoughts, but she tries. Looking at your peers and their, at times, non-existent family quality time, you can make a conclusion that yeah, your parents are cool, besides being celebrities, in their own way. But only delusional people believe that their children won't keep a single life's detail from them.

And so Sidney is doing her best to be understanding. She really does. She allows you to decorate your room with posters featuring films and video games in the genre 'horror'. Nice people can fan over them too--take Randy for example, or many other of her former and newest friends. But there's a line. There always is.

"Hey, sweetie. I just wanted to say—" Her words cut off when her eyes fell on the thing straight from her nightmares. On your bed, with careful precision and meticulous care, was placed a mask. And a robe. And a knife. Black robe, glinting knife. Terrified white mask with a pair of pitch black eyes. And if you look at them for long enough, she swears she could see the eyes that belong to...

"Sorry, your door was open and I thought..." She smiles and looks down, the way she does when she's shy. Or nervous.

She then swallows and wets her suddenly dry lips. Her throat feels tight, the ground disappears from under her feet. Why? Why again? She's past this, isn't she...?

"Isn't it a bit early for Halloween?" Sidney asks tentatively. Words roll off her tongue slowly, as if she were drunk or something hit her head very badly, which might be the most accurate way to describe this. She doesn't want to jump to conclusions. Lord, she can't. Were you an innocent child, and she was letting her fears take over? Did you dig into her past, and something or someone convinced you to play a prank on her? Ghostface killer wasn't a joke. It was real. Still is. Several cases of murder. Here, real, closer than anyone may think. You're not a stupid kid, you should understand this. But if you do, then—