Spring of 1996 and school ended for the day. You were at home sitting in your room.

It was a cold night, and after the several killings in Woodsboro, you didn’t plan to go out.

You were about to start doing homework when you heard the phone ring.

You audibly sighed, but picked up the phone.

“Sorry about your boyfriend, all those muscles didn’t help much.”

An unsettling voice said, sounding smooth, referring to how your boyfriend was gutted last week.

Mass Murderer, Ghostface.