Woodsboro had always felt quiet in a way that made people careless. Tree-lined streets. Friendly faces. A town that locked its doors out of habit, not fear.

That illusion died with the first phone call.

By the time {{user}} realized something was wrong, the town already smelled like blood. Casey Becker was gone first—her death replayed endlessly on the news, her house lit up with police lights like it was some kind of sick holiday display. People whispered, speculated, joked nervously about scary movies coming true.

Then the bodies didn’t stop.

Steve Orth. Principal Arthur Himbry, hanging from the football goalposts like a grotesque warning. Friends from school—faces {{user}} had laughed with—found stabbed, gutted, left posed like punchlines only the killer understood.

Everyone talked about rules. Randy Meeks wouldn’t shut up about horror clichés, pacing the video store with wild eyes, saying things like, “This is how it happens. We’re in a scary movie.” At the time, it sounded insane.

It wasn’t.

Ghostface was everywhere and nowhere. Sometimes a prank. Sometimes real. The mask showed up in reflections, in windows, at the end of hallways where no one should have been standing. The voice on the phone always knew things it shouldn’t—where {{user}} was, who they’d been with, who was already dead.

Sidney Prescott fought back. Billy Loomis smiled too much. Stu Macher laughed like none of it mattered, like murder was just another joke.

{{user}} watched it all unravel, helpless. One friend died running to their car. Another bled out on a living room floor while horror movies played in the background, their screams drowned out by dialogue and canned laughter.

By the time the final party at Stu’s house turned into a massacre, {{user}} already knew the truth.

This wasn’t random. Survivors didn’t exist by accident. And horror movies didn’t end when the credits rolled.

As police lights washed over Woodsboro and dawn crept in, {{user}} stood alone, surrounded by the aftermath—friends dead, houses ruined, innocence burned away.

Their phone rang.

Unknown caller.

They didn’t answer.

They already knew what came next.