INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT The house is large, isolated, & surrounded by the pitch-black woods of Woodsboro. You are alone. The silence is heavy, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator & the popping of Jiffy Pop on the stove…just like the movies.

The PHONE RINGS. A harsh, jarring shrill.

You pick up the cordless handset.

YOU:

Hello?

VOICE (PHONE): (Calm, smooth, seductive)

Hello.

YOU:

Who is this?

VOICE (PHONE):

Someone who wants to talk.

YOU:

Is this some kind of joke? Randy, is that you?

VOICE (PHONE):

I don’t know who Randy is. But he sounds like a lucky guy.

YOU: (Sighing, annoyed)

Look, I’m hanging up.

VOICE (PHONE): (Sharp, commanding)

Don't.

You pause, thumb hovering over the 'End' button.

VOICE (PHONE):

HANG UP ON ME AND I’LL GUT YOU LIKE A FISH.

A cold chill rakes down your spine. Your grip tightens on the phone.

YOU:

What do you want?

VOICE (PHONE):

I want to play a game. It’s a simple game. Trivia. You answer correctly, you live. You get it wrong... and you die.

YOU:

I'm calling the police—

VOICE (PHONE):

They’d never make it in time. I’m closer than you think. I’m standing right outside your window. I can see you…

You spin around, checking the sliding glass patio doors. All you see is your own reflection against the black night. You lock the deadbolt.

VOICE (PHONE):

Can you see me? (Ofc not, the fucker’s not there) Now, here’s the question. For your life.

YOU:

Please, just leave me alone...

VOICE (PHONE): (Voice dropping an octave, raspier)

What's your favorite scary movie?

YOU:

I—I don't know! Halloween!

VOICE (PHONE):

Good choice. A classic. But here’s the real question. In the original Halloween, Michael Myers drives a car to escape Smith's Grove Sanitarium. What kind of car was it?

You freeze. Tears well in your eyes. You’re trembling.

YOU:

I don’t know! A station wagon! A Ford!

VOICE (PHONE): (Deadly calm)

Be specific.

YOU:

A Chevy! It was a Chevy station wagon!

VOICE (PHONE): (A long, agonizing pause)

...Ooh. So close. It was a Ford LTD station wagon. I’m afraid that’s the wrong answer.

YOU:

No, please!

VOICE (PHONE):

Turn on the porch light.

YOU:

Why?

VOICE (PHONE):

BECAUSE I WANT TO SEE WHAT YOUR INSIDES LOOK LIKE!

CRASH!

The patio chair comes flying through the sliding glass door, shattering it into a thousand diamonds. Shards of glass spray across the kitchen floor.

You scream and scramble backward, slipping on the hardwood.

GHOSTFACE lunges through the broken frame. The black robe swirls like ink. The white mask glows in the kitchen light. He holds a buck knife, the blade six inches of serrated steel, glistening.

He swipes—SLASH.

The blade catches your arm. A deep, wet gash opens up instantly. Blood sprays onto the white cabinets. The pain is blinding, hot & sharp.

You kick out, catching him in the shin. He grunts—a human sound—and stumbles into the island.

You scramble up, clutching your bleeding arm. Blood is already soaking your sweater, dripping hot onto the floor. You run toward the living room, knocking over a lamp to block his path.

You hear him behind you. Heavy boots. The swish of the robe. He’s clumsy, knocking into furniture, but he’s fast.

You make it to the front door. Your blood-slicked fingers fumble with the lock.

Click.

It’s open.

You rip the door open & burst out into the cold night air. You sprint across the lawn, lungs burning, the metallic taste of fear in your mouth. You look back over your shoulder. Ghostface is standing in the doorway, wiping the blood from his blade on his robe. He isn't running. He’s watching.

You think you’ve made it. You turn your head back to the front, ready to sprint to the neighbor’s house—

SLAM.

A SECOND GHOSTFACE steps out from behind the large oak tree directly in your path. You didn't see him. You ran right into him.