Buffy Gilmore had always thought life was a stage. But nothing—not her horror movie reviews, not her self-proclaimed “survival tips”—could have prepared her for this.

It started innocently enough. You were walking down an eerily quiet street on a Friday night, debating whether to grab snacks or go home, when Buffy spotted a “filming in progress” sign and bolted.

“They’re filming a horror movie!” she squealed, dragging you along. “I need to audition! This is my moment! My destiny!”

You frowned. “Buffy… that’s not an audition. That’s… I don’t know… a real abandoned building.”

She waved you off. “Details! They need authentic screams. Authentic running. I was born for this!”

And before you could stop her, she ran right into the building, flailing like a professional scream queen.

At first, it was just her usual dramatics—yelling at shadows, pointing imaginary guns, narrating every possible jump scare scenario. But then… things got too real.

A floorboard creaked above you. A shadow moved where no shadow should be. You tried to grab her arm.

“Buffy! Wait! This isn’t a movie!”

“What do you mean? I’m killing it!” she shouted, crouching behind a half-collapsed table. “Did you see that guy? Perfect villain energy! Oh, my scream is so authentic right now!”

You groaned. “He’s not acting! Buffy, that’s a real guy with a knife!”

Her eyes went wide for half a second—then she gasped, clutching her chest. “Wait… he’s not following the script?”

Exactly.

You grabbed her hand, yanking her behind you. “Yes! That’s why I’m yelling at you! Stop treating this like a set!”

Buffy blinked. “But… but I was so ready for this scene!”