#scream1996

Casey and Steve are dead. The coincidence isn't lost on you. Every Wednesday, you and your stranger spoke. Except for the last few Wednesdays, where you ignored every attempt he made to reach you. You could tell he was frustrated, maybe even angry, especially on the nights where your phone never stopped ringing. You could handle a clingy caller, but this was different.

Hearing your name roll off the stranger's tongue was unnerving. He wasn't supposed to know you just as much as you didn't know him. The idea that the caller had known the whole time, had maybe even sought you out purposefully, was terrifying. It wasn't thrill or excitement, it was pure terror. Avoiding his calls was all you could do. Maybe it's what saved you.

You weren't sure what could save you now. It had to be your caller who killed Casey and Steve, you were certain of it. But now that you knew what he was capable of, you didn't know whether it was more damning to answer his calls or ignore them. The worst part was that the call didn't even come the next day. It was a Thursday after all, and he only called on Wednesdays. Still, you felt the anxiety gnaw at you as the day went on.

After classes, your group once again met by the fountain. This time, you sat next to Sidney, rubbing her arm comfortingly. It might've even been comforting you a bit. You weren't listening to the conversation, staring off into the distance while you bit your lip.

You could feel eyes on you, heavy and unrelenting. Billy, obviously. He seemed off today, more-so than the usual vibe you got from him. You chalked it up to him being worried about Sidney during this ordeal, and since he always seemed put off by you, he was probably unhappy with the support you were offering her.

Thinking of Billy, you look up, meeting his eyes. Like you had guessed, he was staring, eyes slightly narrowed. It would've made you nervous, if you didn't have a bigger issue at hand. Your stranger knows you have a mobile, and really they could call anytime. The fact that they hadn't yet led you to two conclusions. He was either toying with you, or he had been in class, just like you. Suddenly your stranger felt much closer than you had thought.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when Sidney abruptly leaves. You look around at your friends, trying to figure out what had happened. Stu’s giggling, tongue sticking out. Tatum is annoyed, but when isn’t she when it comes to Stu? Randy’s staring off after Sidney. You turn to your right, now sitting alone between Billy and Stu. Billy’s looking down, obviously irritated, but when he lifts his head he looks downright murderous.

Billy reaches over you quickly to hit Stu. It’s a quick, instinctual action, but you feel his arm graze your chest and then your shoulder. You chalk the flipping in your stomach up to the anxiety your caller has instilled in you.

“Liv- Ow! Liver. Liver. It was a joke!” Stu shouts, looking around until his eyes land on you. He looks at you expectantly, probably hoping to at least get a laugh out of someone.

“Don’t be a dick, Stu.” You say, rolling your eyes and standing up to leave. Even if you hadn’t heard what he had said, it was probably too far and it had upset Sidney. You weren’t in the mood for jokes, anyways.

Later that day you sat in your bedroom, anxiously gnawing at your fingers while you stared at your phone. He’d call. He had to. You were more than sure that Casey and Steve were his doing, so why hadn’t he called? You had so many questions, if only he’d call.

You were just about to throw your mobile against the wall out of frustration when it finally rang. You hadn’t even glanced at the name, just picked it up and placed it against your ear.

“Hi, Doll.” The voice comes through, but not the same as before. Your caller had always been mysterious, sure, but he had become a friend. This voice wasn’t a friend, it was cruel and confident.

“What did you do?” You ask, unable to fake pleasantries with someone you were sure was a murderer.

“What do you mean?” He replies, and you know he’s taunting you, but fuck is it working.

“Casey and Steve, why? What did they do to you?” You ask angrily. The cool air blowing in from your bedroom window does nothing to ease the heat crawling in your skin this time.

“Maybe if you had answered they’d be alive right now. Poor Casey. Guess she won’t be making prom queen, huh?”

“You fucker! That.. that wasn’t my fault.” You shout, unable to convince even yourself.

If you were being honest, it was a thought that had gnawed at you all day. If you had answered, would they be alive right now? If you had never even picked up in the first place, would you? A thought crossed your mind, and before your caller can say anything, you’re gripping the phone a little tighter.

“Did you call them like you called me? Was I supposed to die?” You ask, thinking back on that first call. It had ended so fast you had chalked it up to a wrong number, and you were surprised when the calls kept coming. You almost hit yourself now thinking about it. You seriously needed a refresher on stranger danger.

“It doesn’t matter.” Your caller says after a moment.

You scoff, because of course it matters, he just can’t admit it. You were supposed to die all those weeks ago. Every breath you took and every call you received after the fact had been a mercy from him.

“It matters to me. Why? What did we do to you? Who else is going to die?” You ask.

The voice groans, a sound that makes you realize you hadn’t even known his real voice. It was being altered by a voice changer, and it hadn’t picked up the small sound. You’re so angry with him, and you hope he feels it too.

“You’re not like them. You were just.. new and easy. I didn’t know you yet.”

His voice is vulnerable and frustrated. You’d almost be flattered at how quickly you were able to tear down his walls, if he wasn’t a psychotic murderer.

“New and easy,” You scoff, laughing humorlessly. You were scared of him, sure, but you weren’t going to sit around on a phone flirting with him when he’s probably got your murder all figured out by now, “Fuck that and fuck you. If you have a problem with me then handle it with me. The cops will catch you either way.”

You hang up the phone, tossing it across the room. You run your hands through your hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. What the fuck had your life become? Chatting with a stranger on the phone? Threatening someone who could gut you without batting an eye?

You make your way downstairs, checking the time as you go. 4:30PM. You're antsy, nervous, borderline stir crazy. Every second in your house feels like a prisoner waiting for their execution. You step out of your back door, looking out into your back yard.

A large pool glistens in the center of the yard, and further beyond that is the pool house. It's calm, quiet, and almost relaxing. Despite it being Fall, the water promised a respite from the swirling thoughts in your head. A dip in the pool after threatening a murderer was dumb, sure, but it didn't compare to the fact that you had already befriended said murderer.

Closing the door behind you, you pull your shirt over your head. You slowly allow your shorts to slip off as you reach the edge of the pool. Clad in nothing but your matching white underwear, you stare down at the water, before allowing yourself to slowly lean forward until the water surrounded you. You let yourself sink to the bottom of the pool for a minute.

The water is freezing, but effective in calming your nerves. You stretch your arms and swim towards one end of the pool. Once you feel your hands meet the concrete wall, you push your head up and out of the water. You barely have a second to catch your breath before you feel pressure on the top of your head, plunging you back down into the water.

You fight the urge to swallow the water, arms and legs flailing wildly around you. The water is too deep for you to stand, and something is holding you firmly in the water. Your hands grip at it, a wrist, trying to push it off of you. You're just about to give up resisting the urge to breathe when both of your hands lock around the large wrist and then pull hard.

You feel the pressure release from the top of your head followed by a loud splash behind you. You break the surface of the water, gasping wildly for air. You don't bother turning to see who it was, you know who it was. You just didn't think he'd come so soon. You grab onto the ledge of the pool, lifting yourself halfway out of the water. Before you can move further, large arms wrap around your waist tightly. Your hands slip from you and you fall back into the water. Your attacker pulls you closer and tighter to him, forcing your arms to your body in the process.

"Get off me!" You scream, struggling wildly. He doesn't let go, but he doesn't speak either.

When you realize your arms are nowhere strong enough to push him off, you make a last ditch effort to free yourself by slamming the back of your head into his face. You expected it to hurt, but fuck you did not expect to connect with hard plastic. With a throbbing migraine blooming, and your body finally free, you push forward and this time manage to pull yourself out of the pool.

You throw yourself down onto the cement, dripping wet and crawling away on your hands and knees. Once you reach the grass, you flip over onto your bottom, hands supporting your weight. You gasp for breath, chest heaving quickly as you stare at the pool. The water is calm, and you can't see your attacker from where you sit. But you wait, because your caller—your attacker—is not one to give up.

You were right, because you knew him. You see two hands, covered in black leather, rise and grip the ledge of the pool. Your breath is knocked from you as you watch your attacker rise from the water. He's cloaked in black, which clings to his body in its soaking wet state. He wears a white mask, frozen in a terrifying scream that has a large crack down the center. Though you can't see his eyes, you know he is looking at you.

He's out of the water sooner than you'd like. He stalks towards you slowly. His chest is also heaving, but you can't tell whether it's from the struggle or anger. You sit there, letting him approach you. Where could you run? It's not like you were going to rush to the neighbors in your soaking wet underwear.

"Did you just fucking headbutt me?" The voice asks, without a voice modulator. You struggle to try to recognize the voice, but between the rushing in your ears and the coarseness of his voice, you can't make anything out.

"You tried to kill me!" You scream, staring up at the figure who now stood over you. You were shocked at his audacity to be upset with you for defending yourself against his literal murder attempt, but you're grateful that at least now he seemed more focused on arguing than fighting.

"I wasn't trying to kill you! You just— I needed to teach you a lesson." He says finally. His voice is rough and cracking. His gaze is unyielding, you can feel the heat of it roaming over your exposed body despite not being able to see it over the mask. You roll your eyes.

"Teach me your lesson, then." You say sarcastically. You weren't sure what was going through his head. He stood over you, which intimidated you to no end, but you didn't see any weapons on him, so your confidence grew. You could take him in a fight. You just had, underwater no less. You were prepared.

He lowers slowly, coming to his knees in front of you. He leans forward, his right arm pressing against the grass at your side. He's close, the mask mere inches from your face. You refuse to break your stare, analyzing every movement in anticipation for another attack. His left hand comes up, too slow to be an attack. It presses against the center of your chest, and then it's pushing you to lay back onto the grass. For some reason, you let him.

He's laying on top of you now. Neither of you move for a moment, and suddenly the urge to remove his mask has you forcing your hands down to your sides. One hand rests by your head and the other, covered in black leather, rests on your waist. It slowly rises, following the curve of your side until it rests on your jaw. You're breathless, but for all the wrong reasons.

Steeling yourself, you reach a hand up to rest over his, and then tentatively pinch the tip of a finger to pull the glove off. He doesn't stop you. Soon, his cool skin is exposed and once again pressed to your jaw.

You knew it was wrong, just as much as you knew that talking to a stranger on the phone was wrong, but suddenly you couldn't bring yourself to recall any of the reasons you should be shoving him off of you. You stared at the crack in his mask, tan skin that matched his exposed hand peeking through.

"You're mine. I won't let you leave me," He says, and still you can't place his voice. It's frustrating, almost as frustrating as how your body reacts to your caller's words, "I love you."

"Who are you?" You ask. You have to know, the anticipation of it all was beginning to be too much.

"You have to wait. It will all be okay if you just wait." He says, but it's not enough for you.

You reach your hand up, gripping the mask and intending to finally get a look at your caller. Suddenly, it's as if he had never held you or declared his love. His whole demeanor shifts. His hand grabs your wrist tightly and you release his mask on instinct.

"Wait." He says, his voice devoid of any emotions. He releases your wrist roughly, letting it fall back onto the grass.

He stands to leave. He lingers for a moment, looking over your body one last time before he turns and leaves. You let him. You're not sure why, but you do.

You lay in the grass, soaking wet and cold, for what felt like hours. You didn't sit up until you heard your landline ringing from inside. You turn your head to where your back door is slightly ajar.

When you answer, it's Tatum.