#scream 2022

You stood at the kitchen counter of the Meeks house, the late afternoon light slanting through the half-drawn blinds as you measured kernels into the old pot. The smell of butter already lingered from the first batch you had melted, and you kept your movements slow and deliberate so the soft sizzle would fill the quiet instead of the news still echoing in both your heads.

Mindy sat on the edge of the couch behind you, legs pulled up, phone face-down on the cushion beside her. She had not touched it in twenty minutes. Tara’s name still glowed in the notifications she refused to open again. You could feel the tension radiating off her like static shoulders locked, jaw tight, eyes fixed on nothing.

You shook the pot gently, listening to the first kernels begin to pop. “Hey,” you said, keeping your voice light. “Movie night rules still apply even with a killer . No checking the phone until the credits roll. Doctor’s orders.”

She huffed a soft, almost reluctant sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh. “You’re not a doctor.”

“I’m the person making the popcorn. That gives me temporary authority. And besides you do know I want to be a doctor” You glanced back at her. “Come here. Help me salt these before they get cold.”

Mindy unfolded herself from the couch and crossed the short distance to stand beside you. Her shoulder brushed yours as she reached for the salt shaker. For a second she just stayed there, close enough that you could feel the residual tremor she was trying to hide.

“She’s okay,” you said quietly, not looking at her. “Tara’s okay. Sam’s with her. We’re here. We’re safe. Just… popcorn and a dumb movie for a little while.”

Mindy nodded once, sharp and small, then tipped salt over the growing mound of white. Her fingers brushed yours when she handed the shaker back. You let the contact linger a second longer than necessary.

The last kernels finished popping. You dumped everything into the big blue bowl the two of you always used, added another thin drizzle of butter the way she liked it, and carried it to the couch. Mindy followed, curling into the corner with her knees drawn up. You settled in beside her, close enough that your thighs touched, and set the bowl between you.

She reached for a handful, chewed slowly, then leaned her head against your shoulder without saying anything. You felt the rigid line of her body begin to ease, just a fraction, as the opening logos of the movie started to play on the screen.

The soft crackle of the movie filled the living room when the phone started ringing on the cushion beside Mindy’s hip.

You reached across her without thinking and pressed your palm over the glowing screen.“Nuh-uh, babygirl. I told you no phones until the credits roll.”

Mindy’s eyes flicked to yours, already restless.“What if it’s Wes or Chad or Sam? What if he’s calling with news about Tara? I have to—”

She twisted the phone free before you could stop her and answered on the second ring, voice already tight with worry.“Wes? Did something happen? Is Tara—”

The voice that answered was not Wes. It was low, distorted, and wrong in a way that made the air in the room go still.

Mindy froze mid-sentence. Her free hand found your wrist and locked around it hard enough to bruise.

You leaned in, close enough to hear the mechanical rasp through the speaker.

“Hello, Mindy.”

The number on the screen was unknown.

She had not even looked.

The distorted voice kept talking, slow and almost playful, like it was enjoying every second of the silence that had swallowed the living room.“So… how’s the little romantic homicidal evening going with your girlfriend, Mindy? You two look cozy. Popcorn, movie, soft lighting… very domestic. Tell me, is there going to be sex later? would it bother you if I joined? I promise I’ll be quiet. Well… mostly.”

A low, static-laced chuckle scraped through the speaker.“Or are you still sticking to your precious little rule? The one about people who have sex not surviving? Funny how that works. Although… you two are the wokes of the group, right? The progressive ones. For the lesbians I guess that rule doesn’t apply. How convenient.”

You watched Mindy’s face the entire time. The color drained from her cheeks. Her free hand tightened around your wrist until your bones ached. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

You leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper.“Mindy… what’s happening? Who is that?”

She turned her head just enough for her eyes to meet yours.

Her mouth formed the word without sound, slow and terrified. “Ghostface.”

You kept your eyes locked on Mindy’s pale face and forced the words out as steadily as you could.“Put it on speaker. Let me hear him. Maybe he’ll slip.”

Mindy’s thumb hovered over the screen for half a second, then she tapped the button. The distorted voice flooded the living room, louder now, filling every corner.“Well, well… look at that. Y/N speaking up. Wow. You’re actually smart when you’re not three fingers deep in your own pussy… or Mindy’s. Anyway. Really? Bottoms again? I mean, I get it, the chaos, the rage, the whole ‘fuck the patriarchy while making out in a bathroom stall’ vibe, but come on. You two are predictable.”

Your stomach dropped. You stared at the television, where the opening of Bottoms was still frozen on pause from when the phone first rang.“How the fuck do you know we’re watching Bottoms?”

The laugh that answered was low, wet, and delighted.“First reason? Because I know you. I know what you like. Uncomfortable queer cinema. The kind that makes straight people squirm and makes the two of you feel seen. You put it on every time the world gets too loud. Every single time. Second reason…” A soft, deliberate pause stretched out, long enough for the silence to start screaming.“…because I’m standing in your yard right now.”

You both went completely still. The only sound left was the faint static of the open line and the distant, almost polite crunch of footsteps on dry grass outside.

Then the living-room window exploded inward in a shower of glass and black fabric. Ghostface stepped through the shattered window like he had all the time in the world. Glass crunched under his boots. The black robe settled around him with a soft, almost casual swish. He lifted one gloved hand and gave the two of you a little side-to-side wave, fingers wiggling, as if he had just walked into a party instead of a murder scene.

Then he lunged.

You grabbed Mindy’s wrist and yanked her toward the hallway. The living room was suddenly too small, the couch and the coffee table becoming obstacles instead of furniture. Ghostface’s boots thundered behind you, the knife flashing once in the low light before disappearing again into the folds of the robe. You slammed into the narrow corridor that led to the kitchen. Mindy’s breath was ragged in your ear. You could feel how close he was—close enough that the fabric of his robe brushed the back of your arm when you risked a glance over your shoulder.

He reached for Mindy’s hair. She twisted hard, ripped free of your hand grip for half a second, and snatched the heavy ceramic vase from the side table without slowing down. In one fluid, furious motion she spun and brought it down across the side of Ghostface’s masked head with everything she had.

The vase exploded on impact. White shards and water and the last of the dying flowers sprayed across the hallway. Ghostface staggered sideways into the wall with a low, startled grunt, the knife dipping for a crucial moment.

Mindy didn’t wait to see if he stayed down. She grabbed your hand again and pulled. You didn’t stop running until the top of the stairs.

Mindy shoved you ahead of her into the narrow upstairs hallway, then spun toward the heavy wooden wardrobe that stood against the wall. Together you dragged it with everything you had, the legs screaming against the floorboards as you angled it and tipped it sideways. It crashed down across the top of the staircase with a solid, final thud, blocking the entire width. For a moment the only sounds were your shared breathing and the distant, furious scramble of Ghostface recovering below.

Mindy pressed her back to the wardrobe, chest heaving, eyes already scanning the dark hallway like she was drawing a map in her head.“Okay. Listen to me,” she said, voice low and fast. “He’s not going to stay down long. That vase only bought us minutes. Maybe less. Windows are too high on this floor to jump without breaking something, and the front door is right in his line if we try to go back down. Attic access is in the ceiling of the spare room—too slow, too loud. Fire escape is on the far side of the house, outside Chad's old window. That’s our best shot.”

She grabbed your face with both hands for half a second, forcing you to meet her eyes.“We stay quiet. We move together. If he gets past this wardrobe before we reach that window, we split—you go for the bathroom and lock yourself in, I try to draw him. But we don’t split unless we have to. Understood?”

You nodded once. Your heart was slamming so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs.

Mindy’s hands left your face and found your wrist instead, grounding, firm.“Then we move. Now.”

You were already moving when you saw it.

Ghostface had somehow forced the wardrobe just enough to squeeze through the gap at the top of the stairs. He came up silent, almost careful, the black robe blending with the shadows until the silver of the knife caught the light behind Mindy’s shoulder.

She was still turned toward the far end of the hall, whispering the next part of the plan, completely unaware.

The scream that tore out of you was raw and broken, the kind that scraped your throat bloody on the way out.“MINDY—!”

You threw yourself forward without thinking. Your body collided with hers just as the blade flashed. The impact sent both of you staggering sideways into the wall. You felt the sharp, wet heat of the knife slide across your side instead of hers—deep, immediate, wrong. Pain bloomed white-hot and then went strangely cold.

Mindy’s eyes went wide as she registered what you had done. Her hands flew to you, but you were already shoving her behind you, one arm locked across her body like a shield, the other pressed hard against the spreading warmth soaking through your shirt.

Ghostface tilted his head, studying the two of you for a beat as if the interruption amused him.

You barely had time to draw another breath before the knife came down again.

Ghostface drove the blade into your shoulder, the force of it slamming you back against the wall. The steel punched through muscle and scraped bone with a wet, grinding sound. He didn’t pull it straight out. He twisted—slow, deliberate, the serrated edge tearing a wider path as he turned the handle. White-hot pain exploded through your entire upper body. You screamed, the sound breaking into a choked, animal noise.

Mindy was still behind you, shouting your name, trying to pull you away, but you kept your body locked in front of hers.

The second thrust landed lower, just beneath your ribs on the right side. The knife sank in deep. You felt the tip drag against something soft and vital. Ghostface leaned in, putting his weight behind it, and twisted again. The blade rotated inside you with a sickening, meaty resistance. Blood poured hot and fast down your side, soaking your shirt, your jeans, the floor. Your knees buckled. You slid a few inches down the wall, still trying to stay upright, still trying to keep him away from her.

He yanked the knife free with a wet rip and immediately drove it into your thigh. The third stab was savage. The blade buried itself to the hilt, then he wrenched it sideways, carving a longer, uglier wound. Your leg gave out completely. You collapsed onto the hallway floor, the impact sending a fresh wave of agony through every injury at once.

Ghostface followed you down.

He straddled your hips, pinning you. The fourth stab went into your stomach. He pushed slowly this time, watching your face as the steel sank inch by inch. When it was fully seated he twisted the handle in a full circle, the knife grinding against tissue and muscle. You arched off the floor, a broken, wordless scream tearing out of you. Blood bubbled up between your lips.

The fifth and sixth came in rapid succession—once into your upper chest, once into the soft flesh just above your hip. Each time he twisted. Each time the pain climbed higher, sharper, until it stopped feeling like separate wounds and became one continuous, screaming fire that filled every part of you.Your vision tunneled. The edges of the hallway went gray. You could still hear Mindy’s voice somewhere far away, raw and desperate, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater.

Ghostface paused only long enough to tilt his head, studying the damage. Then he raised the knife one more time.

He drove it down between your collarbones with brutal precision. The blade sank deep, the tip scraping bone before punching through the soft tissue beneath. He twisted it once—hard—then ripped it free in a single, savage motion. A fresh spray of blood painted the wall behind you. Your body jerked once and then went slack against the floorboards, the last of your strength spilling out with the warmth pooling beneath you.

For a moment the only sound was the wet, uneven drag of your breathing. Ghostface straightened. He looked down at you, head tilted, as if deciding whether the work was finished. Then he turned without another word, strode to the shattered upstairs window, and climbed through it in one smooth motion. The black robe disappeared into the night. Glass still clung to the frame where he had passed.

The hallway fell silent except for the faint drip of blood.

Mindy had been frozen against the far wall, eyes wide, hands pressed over her mouth. The shock had locked every muscle in place while the knife rose and fell. The second the window frame stopped rattling she broke free.

She scrambled across the floor on her knees, sliding through the dark smear of blood, and gathered you against her chest with shaking arms.

“No—no, no, no, stay with me—look at me—” Her voice cracked on every word. She pressed both hands hard over the worst of the wounds, trying to stop what would not stop. “You’re okay. You’re okay. Just keep looking at me. Please.”

Your head rested against her shoulder. The hallway lights seemed to dim at the edges. Her tears fell warm onto your face as she rocked you, still whispering the same broken promises over and over. You tried to speak. Your lips parted, but the only sound that came out was a wet, broken gurgle. Blood rose in your throat and spilled over the corner of your mouth, warm and metallic, sliding down your chin. The words you wanted—something simple, something to tell her it was okay—never made it past the damage.

Mindy’s arms tightened around you instantly. She pulled you closer, cradling your head against her chest, one hand still pressed desperately over the wound between your collarbones as if sheer will could hold everything inside.“Don’t—don’t try to talk,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Just breathe. Please just breathe. Stay with me. You have to stay with me.”

Her tears fell freely now, dripping onto your face and mixing with the blood. She rocked you gently, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking against your skin.“You can’t leave me alone. Do you hear me? You can’t. I need you. Please… please resist. Just a little longer. Help is coming. Wes is coming. Someone is coming. Just hold on. Please hold on for me.”

Her voice broke completely on the last words. She kept repeating them, softer and softer, like a prayer she was terrified the universe would ignore. Mindy’s hands were still slick with your blood when she fumbled for her phone. She nearly dropped it twice before she managed to unlock the screen and hit Chad’s contact. The second the call connected she didn’t wait for a greeting.

“Chad—Chad, listen to me—get back here right now. Get the fuck back from the bar. Ghostface attacked us. He was in the house. He—” Her voice cracked into a raw, panicked shout. “He stabbed her. He stabbed Y/N over and over. There’s so much blood. She’s not—she’s not responding right. Tell Wes. Tell him to get Judy on the line and get an ambulance here immediately. Judy’s the sheriff, she can make it priority, she can make them come faster. Please, Chad, please, there’s no time. There’s no fucking time—” She was crying so hard the words kept breaking apart. In the background you could hear Chad’s voice rising in alarm, already shouting for Wes, but Mindy just kept talking over him, desperate and fast.“We’re upstairs. The hallway. I blocked the stairs but he got through. He left through the window but I don’t know if he’s still out there. Just—please hurry. Tell them to hurry. She’s dying, Chad. She’s dying and I can’t stop the bleeding.”

Her free hand never left the wound between your collarbones, pressing harder even as her whole body shook.

Mindy’s voice had gone quiet and steady, the panic stripped down to something raw and desperate.“I’ve got you,” she whispered against your hair, rocking you slowly. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me. Keep breathing. That’s all you have to do. In and out. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Her hands never stopped moving—pressing, adjusting, trying to hold the worst of the wounds closed even as the blood kept seeping between her fingers. She kept murmuring the same soft promises, over and over, like the sound of her voice alone could keep you tethered.“You’re not alone. You’re not. Help is coming. Just a little longer. Please… just a little longer.”

Somewhere outside, far down the street at first and then closer, the rising wail of sirens cut through the night. The sound grew louder, layered, urgent. Red and blue light began to flash faintly against the broken window glass.

Mindy lifted her head at the noise, a broken sound of relief escaping her, then she immediately lowered her face back to yours.“Hear that?” she whispered, tears still falling. “They’re here. You’re going to be okay. Just hold on for me. Please hold on.”