For a long moment, nobody answered.

  Liev Schreiber stood in Emma Roberts’ front doorway holding a small overnight bag, looking at the room like he had accidentally walked into the wrong house.

  Behind him, McKenna Grace leaned slightly past his shoulder.

  “…Did we miss something?” Liev asked again.

  The living room looked like the aftermath of a riot.

  Phones were still clutched in trembling hands. A thin smear of blood streaked across the hardwood near the hallway entrance. Someone had dragged one of the bodies partly out of sight, but the blanket thrown over it did nothing to disguise the shape beneath.

  McKenna’s voice came out smaller this time.

  “…Is this rehearsal?”

  Jamie Kennedy let out a long breath through his nose.

  “Yeah,” he said dryly. “Rehearsal for the part where we all die.”

  No one laughed.

  Liev’s eyes moved slowly across the room.

  “…Okay,” he said. “Someone start explaining.”

  Melissa Barrera stepped forward first. Her voice was calm, but her face was pale.

  “There’s someone in the house.”

  “Someone calling themselves Scream-Face,” Mason added.

  “They killed Emma,” Jenna Ortega said quietly.

  “And Rory,” Hayden Panettiere whispered.

  “Mikey,” Jamie added.

  “And Timothy,” Scott Foley finished.

  Liev stared at them.

  “You’re serious.”

  Scott nodded.

  “We’re way past jokes.”

  McKenna slowly stepped fully into the room.

  Her eyes moved across the floor again.

  “…And the police?”

  “No signal,” Jenna said.

  “The internet’s down too,” Oliver Kushmore added.

  “And the doors locked during the blackout,” David Arquette muttered.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Liev exhaled slowly.

  “So let me get this straight.”

  “A serial killer is running around this house murdering people…”

  “…and all of you just stayed?”

  Jamie shrugged.

  “Welcome to Act Three.”

  The silence that followed didn’t last long.

  Jasmin Savoy Brown was the first to speak.

  She was staring directly at McKenna.

  “…You know,” Jasmin said slowly, “fans thought you were Ghostface in Scream VII.”

  McKenna blinked.

  “…Excuse me?”

  Jasmin shrugged.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Statistically speaking, the internet had you as the number one suspect.”

  McKenna stared at her for a moment.

  Then she crossed her arms.

  “I was one of the first kills in that movie.”

  Jasmin raised an eyebrow.

  “So?”

  McKenna tilted her head slightly.

  “Well, if we’re using franchise logic…”

  She pointed back at Jasmin.

  “Your character literally spends every movie accusing people.”

  The room shifted.

  “Seems like a pretty good cover if you’re the killer.”

  Mason muttered under his breath.

  “Oh boy.”

  Jamie raised a hand.

  “Okay.”

  Everyone looked at him.

  “Before we all start stabbing each other…”

  He gestured at Jasmin.

  “Not her.”

  Jasmin frowned.

  “What?”

  “I got close to the killer earlier,” Jamie said.

  “Face-to-mask.”

  He shrugged.

  “They’re taller than me.”

  That line landed strangely in the room.

  It didn’t clear anyone.

  But it removed one suspect.

  Jasmin exhaled slowly.

  “…Thank you, Jamie.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Jamie said.

  “I’m still mad they didn’t stab me.”

  Joel McHale stepped forward.

  “Okay,” Joel said.

  “Everyone calm down.”

  Three people started talking at once.

  Joel raised his voice.

  “HEY.”

  The room quieted slightly.

  “We’re not solving anything by pointing fingers.”

  He gestured around the living room.

  “The killer cut the power.”

  “They cut the internet.”

  “They locked the house down.”

  “This was planned.”

  Oliver nodded slowly from across the room.

  “Directed.”

  Joel frowned.

  “What?”

  Oliver took a slow drag from his joint.

  “This isn’t someone copying the movies.”

  He exhaled smoke slowly.

  “This is someone directing them.”

  The line settled into the room like a cold fog.

  And then—

  Someone moved in the hallway.

  At first it was only a shadow.

  A shifting shape at the edge of the corridor.

  Then someone whispered:

  “…Skeet?”

  Skeet Ulrich stepped into the light.

  The room froze.

  His shirt was soaked in blood.

  For a moment nobody spoke.

  The image was too familiar.

  Too eerily familiar.

  Melissa whispered:

  “Oh my God…”

  Skeet took another slow step forward.

  His breathing sounded shallow.

  His eyes unfocused.

  Scott moved toward him.

  “Skeet?”

  Skeet tried to speak.

  His lips parted.

  A single word escaped him.

  “…Sid…”

  Or something that sounded like it.

  The room erupted.

  “What happened?!”

  “Is he stabbed?”

  “Someone call—”

  Skeet collapsed.

  Hard.

  Joel dropped to his knees beside him instantly.

  “Move back,” Joel said.

  Everyone crowded closer anyway.

  Joel checked Skeet’s pulse.

  The seconds stretched.

  Joel slowly looked up.

  “…Unless he’s taking something to slow his heart…”

  He shook his head.

  “He’s dead.”

  The room fell silent.

  Billy Loomis had fallen again.

  Then—

  Footsteps.

  Slow.

  Measured.

  From the hallway.

  Everyone turned.

  The masked figure stepped into the living room.

  The twisted Scream-Face mask.

  The knife.

  The room froze.

  The killer stood calmly among them.

  Watching.

  Someone whispered:

  “…Holy shit.”

  The mask tilted slightly.

  The distorted voice spoke.

  Calm.

  Almost amused.

  “Relax.”

  A small gesture toward themselves.

  “I’m here in the flesh.”

  No one moved.

  No one breathed.

  The killer slowly looked around the room.

  Face by face.

  Studying them.

  The knife lowered slightly.

  The mask tilted again.

  And Scream-Face simply watched.

  The survivors stood frozen.

  Waiting.