Scream
A novel by HornRaptor
Based on the screenplay by Kevin Williamson and the 1996 film by Wes Craven
Chapter 1
Ring-Ring.
Ring-Ring.
17-year old Casey Becker reached for the ringing telephone on the end table.
Her big, blue innocent eyes lit up as she answered the phone amiably.
"Hello?"
"Hello," a man's voice said.
Casey frowned, puzzled.
She began to think, trying to remember if she had ever heard the voice before, trying to associate the voice with a face. Was it someone from school?
No, it didn't sound like anyone she knew.
It was a very distinctive and alluring voice, one she would have remembered.
"Who is this?" Casey asked hesitantly.
"Who is this?" the man repeated.
"Who are you trying to reach?" Casey responded.
"What number is this?"
"What number are you trying to reach?"
"I don't know,"
"Well, I think you have the wrong number," Casey said.
"Do I?"
"It happens, take it easy," she said politely and hung up the phone.
She glanced around the spacious living room, growing nervous at the sight of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows that surrounded her.
She hated this house.
She hated being home alone in this house.
Especially at night.
The windows made her feel uneasy, as if someone were constantly watching her.
The two large patio doors that were almost completely made of glass didn't help much either.
It was a nice house, modern and affluent.
But it was in the outskirts of town, way out in the country.
She always felt so isolated when her parents were out, so alone. There weren't any neighbors around for several miles. The house was surrounded by thick woods on either side.
Of course, the small town of Woodsboro, California was a relatively safe community so Casey had no reason to be afraid.
But still, something about being home alone at night spooked her.
She crossed the living room to the patio doors and looked out.
An eerie mist hovered over the surface of the Olympic-sized swimming pool in the backyard.
It was eight-thirty, pitch black outside.
Her parents were out having dinner.
She was all alone out in the middle of nowhere.
Casey shuddered, feeling a cold chill up her arm.
Don't scare yourself to death, she thought to herself.
The last few times Casey had been home alone, she was so spooked that she had to start inviting friends over every time her parents were out for the night.
Just someone to keep her company.
Steve, her boyfriend, was the perfect candidate.
Steven Orth was the star quarterback of the football team, tall, muscular and ruggedly handsome.
Casey didn't even need to ask Steve if he wanted to come over. The minute Casey had told him that her parents were going to be out, he immediately jumped at the chance to be alone with her.
They had been dating for a little over a month, and they had already almost gone all the way.
She had wanted to wait until she really had gotten to know him, but he could be so persuasive that Casey simply couldn't say "no" whenever he wanted to get it on.
He was coming over tonight, and she had a feeling that things wouldn't be any different.
Maybe she misjudged him.
Maybe he would take it easy.
Casey glanced at the television set, eyeing the videocassette boxes on top of the VCR.
She had rented a few horror movies earlier that night at the video store, and hopefully, if she could keep Steve occupied, he wouldn't be all over her like he usually was.
Besides, the only reason Casey wanted him over is so she could feel safe and have someone to calm her nerves to some extent.
As the thought of Steve flashed through her mind, Casey remembered that she had forgotten to get something for the both of them to eat.
Maybe she could whip up some popcorn.
The kitchen was at the end of a short hallway that connected the living room to the kitchen and dining room. Another hallway branched off into a foyer. A spiraling staircase led to the second floor. The hallway was lined with huge picture windows, much like the rest of the house.
She began to head for the kitchen, when the phone rang again.
Casey turned back towards the phone.
Who could it be this time?
Sighing tiredly, Casey sauntered back towards the end table and picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"I'm sorry; I think I dialed the wrong number,"
It was the same distinctive voice from before.
"So why'd you dial it again?" Casey asked with a chuckle.
"To apologize,"
"You're forgiven, bye now," Casey said, ready to hang up
"Wait, wait, don't hang up," the voice cut her off hastily.
Casey brought the phone back up to her ear, growing impatient.
"What do you want?"
"I want to talk to you for a minute," the man said.
Casey scoffed.
"They've got 900 other numbers for that, see ya," Casey said curtly and hung up the phone.
What a weirdo, Casey thought to herself. Who calls random numbers just to talk to strangers?
Casey walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. Passing by the window, she glanced at her reflection.
She was pretty. Her face had a bright and alive quality. Blond hair fell around her shoulders.
The kitchen was large and well-furnished, and the centerpiece was a kitchen island surrounded by a few wooden barstools. There was a section of wall blocking off a small hallway from the rest of the kitchen, which led to a side door.
Casey walked around the kitchen island towards the refrigerator, opening the freezer and taking out a pan of Jiffy Pop.
Casey tore the packaging off the popcorn and turned on the stove, watching the blue flame flicker to life.
She put the pan on the eye and shook it.
The popcorn inside rattled.
Ring-ring.
The phone again.
Casey sighed and grabbed the cordless phone off of the receiver on the kitchen counter.
The popcorn crackled on the stove where Casey left it.
"Hello," Casey answered the phone, trying not to sound as annoyed as she truly was.
"Why don't you want to talk to me?" said the same, mysterious voice.
"Who is this?" Casey asked firmly.
She grabbed a salt shaker and sprinkled it on the popcorn.
"You tell me your name, and I'll tell you mine,"
Casey made a wry face.
"Uh, I don't think so," she said, preparing to hang up.
She shook the pan and the popcorn inside rattled loudly.
"What's that noise?" the man asked.
Casey smirked.
Maybe she could play along for a little while.
"Popcorn," Casey replied sweetly.
"You're making popcorn?" the man asked.
"Uh-huh,"
"I only eat popcorn at the movies,"
"Well, I'm getting ready to watch a video," Casey said matter-of-factly.
Casey turned away from the stove and sat at the kitchen island. A wooden butcher block full of knives sat in front of her.
"Oh really? What video?"
"Oh, just some scary movie," Casey said.
"Do you like scary movies?" the man asked.
"Uh-huh?"
"What's your favorite scary movie?"
What is this, twenty questions? Casey wondered scornfully. She stifled a giggle; she was enjoying this a little too much.
"Um, I don't know," Casey responded, pretending to be in deep thought.
"Come on, you have to have a favorite. What comes to mind?"
"Um…" Casey thought for a moment. Her hand reached for one of the butcher knives in the butcher block. She pulled out the knife, absent-mindedly toying with it, eyeing its razor sharp blade…
"Halloween," she answered. "You know the one with the guy in the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters,"
She slid the knife back into the block.
"Oh yeah, that's an old one,"
"The old ones are the best. So what's your favorite?"
"Guess," the man said.
Casey thought for a second. She moved away from the island and walked back into the hallway towards the living room.
"Um, Nightmare on Elm Street?" Casey guessed.
"Is that the one where the guy had knives for fingers?"
"Yep, Freddy Krueger,"
"Yeah…that movie was scary," the man said.
"Well, the first one was. The rest sucked," she replied.
There was a short pause, as Casey walked towards the living room.
"So, do you have a boyfriend?" the man asked.
Casey stopped in her tracks.
She grinned deviously.
"No, I don't," she lied.
Steve wouldn't be here for at least the next fifteen minutes. Why couldn't she have a little fun to pass the time?
"Why, do you want to ask me out on a date?" Casey toyed with him, twirling her hair around her finger coquettishly.
"Maybe," the man said.
Casey walked into the living room, heading for the television set.
"So, you never told me your name," the man said.
"Why do you want to know my name?" Casey asked, still flirting with him.
She began to reach for the knob on the television set.
"Because I want to know who I'm looking at," the man said.
A chill ran up the length of Casey's spine.
She stood there for a moment, stunned.
"W-what did you say?" Casey stammered, pretending like she hadn't heard him correctly.
But she had heard exactly what he said. Did she? Was she imagining things? Had she heard him right?
Yes. She knew what he said. And it was scaring the hell out of her.
"I said I want to know who I'm talking to," the man said.
Casey made a beeline for the patio doors, locking them.
"That's not what you said," Casey replied. She clicked on the patio lights. A fluorescent floodlight illuminated the back yard. Casey scanned the patio and its surroundings.
There was no one outside. Just darkness.
"What do you think I said?" the man asked calmly.
"Look, I have to go," Casey said. Her voice had lost all of its playfulness.
"Wait, I thought we were going to go out sometime..." the man protested, coaxing Casey back into the conversation.
A tight knot was beginning to form in Casey's gut.
She should have known not to mess with some random stranger on the phone. She didn't care how friendly and alluring his voice sounded. This had gone too far.
"No, I don't think so," Casey said brusquely.
"Don't hang up on me," the man demanded, but his voice was cut off by Casey's finger hitting the off button on the phone.
She heard the satisfying click of the line being cut off, and she glanced towards the patio doors once more, making sure there was nobody outside.
It was just a prank caller, Casey assured herself.
That's all it was. Right?
Casey inched towards the kitchen, hardly able to take her eyes off of the patio doors. She assured herself that there was nobody out there, and turned to walk down the hallway, when the phone rang again, vibrating in her hand.
Shit, Casey thought. What if it was him? But what if it was Steve? Or her mother?
Should she risk it?
She looked straight ahead towards the kitchen.
She could hear the popcorn crackling loudly on the stove.
Casey took a deep breath and put the phone to her ear.
"Yes?"
"I told you not to hang up on me,"
It was him again, but something was different.
The tone in his voice had completely changed.
It wasn't friendly and conversational anymore. There was something threatening about it….sinister…..
"What do you want?" Casey asked, her voice cracking.
Tears began to fill her eyes.
"To talk," the man replied.
"Well, dial someone else, ok?" Casey said and hung up the phone.
Wiping away tears, Casey walked down the hallway into the kitchen, moving towards the stove.
The tin foil that kept the popcorn inside the pan had started to bulge and the popcorn was popping loudly.
As she reached for the panhandle, the phone rang again, and Casey felt her face growing hot with anger.
She had had enough.
Casey brought the phone up to her face and answered, not even giving the creep enough time to speak.
"Listen, asshole…" she yelled into the phone through clenched teeth.
Casey's face drained of color as she listened to the man's voice suddenly take on a much angrier tone.
"No, you listen, you little bitch, you hang up on me again and I'll gut you like a fish, understand?"
Casey felt the knot twisting tighter in her stomach as she shrunk back into the corner, trembling at the pure evil in his voice.
She heard him laugh on the other line…a sinister snickering…
"Is-is this some kind of joke?" Casey asked, her voice shaking with fear.
"It's more of a game really…can you handle that?" the man teased her. His voice had completely morphed into a horrifying persona.
There was a pause, as Casey pressed the phone to her ear, listening to what he was going to say next, her heart pounding…
He whispered something.
"Blondie…."
The phone fell from her hand onto the floor.
She sunk to her knees, her legs barely able to support her.
And she saw her reflection in the stove.
She saw her blond hair.
She repeated the words in her mind until it finally hit her.
Blondie…Blondie…
He could see her.
This guy was outside, watching her through the windows.
Casey's jaw dropped, as she finally began to realize the horrifying truth, and she sprang to her feet.
Incited by pure adrenaline, Casey snatched up the phone, ran down the hallway into the foyer and scrambled to the front door, fastening the lock and deadbolt.
She peered through the tiny windows on either side of the door, scanning the front yard.
The yard was empty.
This wasn't happening…this couldn't be happening…
Casey, get a grip, she told herself. Maybe if you put your foot down and stood up to this sicko, he would leave you alone. Maybe you could shake him up a bit.
She brought the phone up to her ear.
The man on the other line was laughing softly to himself…maniacal and demented laughter…
Casey clenched her teeth, growing angry.
"Listen, you sick bastard…I am two seconds away from calling the police," she threatened, trying to sound as intimidating as possible.
"They'd never make it in time. We're out in the middle of nowhere," the man said chillingly.
Casey began to cry, tears finding their way down her cheeks.
He was right…it would take the police at least fifteen minutes to get out here…she was alone with this psychopath…What was he planning to do to her?
"What do you want!?" Casey screamed into the phone through a torrent of tears.
There was a pause. Casey listened to the other line. The only sound was her own panicked breathing.
After a few moments, the voice on the other line spoke up.
"To see what your insides look like..." The man snarled sadistically.
A wave of nausea suddenly overcame Casey, and she hung up the phone, letting it fall from her hand.
She doubled over, barely able to stand, tears streaming down her face.
As she began to regain her composure, a shrill noise made Casey scream and leap out of her skin.
It was the doorbell.
Casey whirled around to face the front door, craning her neck to see outside.
There was nobody outside.
"Who's there? Who's there?" Casey shrieked through tears.
Silence.
Fuck it; it was time for the cops.
She scrambled for the phone on the floor, but just as she picked it up, it rang again. She screamed at the top of her lungs, petrified beyond reality.
She didn't have much of a choice but to answer.
She answered the phone and put it to her ear.
The man was quick to talk.
"Don't you know never to say 'who's there?' don't you watch scary movies? It's a death wish. You might as well go investigate a strange noise," the man sneered, as Casey listened, terrified.
He was mocking her. Teasing her.
Casey began to feel relieved. If he wanted to hurt her, wouldn't he have done it already? It made sense to her at least.
He was just trying to scare her.
She had to fight back.
She clenched her teeth until her jaw was sore.
"Listen…you've had your fun. Now you'd better leave me alone, because my boyfriend will be here any second," Casey threatened, wiping away tears.
"I thought you said you didn't have a boyfriend,"
"I lied. I do have a boyfriend, and he is on his way, and he's going to be pissed when he finds you here…" Casey said, hardly able to stand, maintaining her balance against the doorframe.
"I'm so scared. I'm shaking in my boots," the man sneered sardonically.
Casey mustered up all of her strength. She wasn't going to give him his pleasure.
"He's big and he plays football, and he'll kick the shit out of you!" she screamed as loud as she could, still sobbing hysterically.
No response from the other line. Just silence.
It worked, Casey thought. She scared him off.
She took a deep breath, listening to the maddening silence on the other line, waiting for him to say something…anything..
"His name wouldn't be, Steve, would it?" the voice rasped.
Casey's jaw dropped and she froze, incredulous.
"H-how do you know his name?" Casey stammered in disbelief.
"Turn on the patio lights," the man ordered.
Casey's heart skipped a beat.
Her knees buckled again, and she collapsed.
Why would anyone do this? Casey thought.
"Just do it," the man commanded sharply.
Casey snapped back to reality, and staggered to her feet.
She managed to stumble down the hallway into the living room, moving towards the patio doors.
"Now, turn on the lights,"
Casey reluctantly obeyed, reaching for the light switch, her hand quivering.
The floodlight illuminated the patio.
Casey looked through the glass, and froze at what she saw.
A scream erupted from the bottom of her soul.
Steve was tied to a lawn chair in the middle of the patio, barely alive.
Rope was tied around his hands and feet…duct tape across his mouth…he was bloodied and bruised, and his hair was disheveled and caked with blood…
Steve's eyes lit up as he saw Casey, and he began to squirm in his chair, the tape muffling his pitiful cries…
Casey screamed again, not truly believing what she was seeing.
She instinctively reached for the patio doors and flung them open.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man warned.
Casey resisted the urge to run out into the yard and save him, and she slammed the door shut, pressing herself against the glass.
She was helpless.
She sunk to her knees, now reduced to a blubbering wet mass on the floor.
"Please…please don't hurt him..." Casey pleaded.
"That depends on how well you do," the man said.
Casey sat up, listening intently, wiping tears from her eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"I wanna play a game," the man explained.
Casey began to cry again, shaking her head in disbelief.
"No, please just leave us alone…" she whimpered.
"Then he dies right now!" The man yelled.
"No! No!" Casey shrieked, leaping to her feet and shaking her head repeatedly.
She began to bang furiously on the glass doors, watching Steve squirm helplessly.
"Just let him go! Please!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Which is it?" the man asked.
It was a terrifying decision Casey had to make.
Casey relaxed, trying to make sense of the situation, taking deep breaths.
Just play his stupid game. Maybe he would leave you both alone, Casey thought to herself. She looked out the glass doors at Steve wriggling in the chair, tugging at the ropes that were tying him down. The big jock of a guy was crying too.
She could run outside and save him. Just grab a baseball bat and go out there and nail this bastard. No, Casey…it was too risky. There might be more than one person out there…just do what he says… She deliberated the options in her mind.
Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke into the phone.
"What kind of game?" she asked.
"Turn off the patio lights. You'll see what kind of game," the man rasped.
Casey let out a heaving sob, tasting the saltiness of her tears on her lips. She shook her head in refusal.
"Do it," The man growled into Casey's ear.
She inched her way towards the light switch
Steve saw her hand reaching for the switch, and began to thrash violently in the chair, shaking his head, and screaming her name, but through the duct tape, he was barely audible.
Casey couldn't watch herself leave her boyfriend out there with that lunatic.
What was she supposed to do?
She had to do what he said, or he would kill him.
She closed her eyes tightly, and turned out the lights, bathing the patio in darkness.
She collapsed to her knees, trying to block out the sound of Steve's panicked, muffled cries.
She crawled over behind the television set, crouching down between the television and the wall. Her knee bumped the cord to the lamp on top of the end table, and the cord fell out of the socket.
The room slammed into pitch black darkness.
There was no sound but the man's voice on the other line
"Here's how we play..." he began.
Casey listened intently, trying to hear him over her own heavy breathing and the rapid pounding of her heart.
"I ask a question. If you get it right, Steve lives. Very simple…" the man explained.
Casey was still in disbelief.
"No! Please don't do this!" she screamed.
"Come on, it will be fun. It's an easy category…horror movie trivia. You said you liked horror movies, remember?" the man persuaded.
Now his voice was soothing and calming….coaxing Casey into playing his sick, twisted game…
"No, please…" Casey pleaded through tears.
The man had no remorse hearing Casey's pitiful sobs.
"I'll give you a warm-up question. Name the killer in Halloween,"
Casey could barely speak, much less think. She shook her head, whimpering softly, hoping, praying…
"Come on, it's your favorite scary movie, remember? The guy with the white mask, he stalks babysitters…" the man encouraged Casey.
She couldn't think straight. Her mind was a blur.
She hugged her knees to her chest, curling up into a fetal position, sobbing hysterically.
"No..please…I can't do this…"
"Yes you can…Steve's counting on you,"
Hearing that, Casey froze. The image of Steve's battered body flashed into her mind.
Casey sat up onto her knees, closed her eyes, blinking away tears, and almost by God, she instantly knew the answer.
"Michael…it was Michael Myers," Casey responded.
"Yes! That's correct!" the man exclaimed.
He sounded like some sort of twisted game show host.
"Now, for the real question"
"NO!" Casey shrieked, tears cascading down her cheeks.
"But you're doing so well…" the man said. "Come on, just one more question and I'll leave you alone,"
Casey's eyes lit up and she sat up with determination.
"Ok, just please promise you'll leave us alone," she whimpered.
"I promise,"
Casey let out a sigh of relief, and pressed the phone tightly to her ear, listening intently.
This was her one chance.
She couldn't fuck it up.
After a few moments of unbearable silence, she finally heard the man's voice speak up.
"Name the killer in Friday the 13th,"
Casey's lips pursed into a mad smile.
She fucking knew this.
She fucking knew this one.
"Jason! Jason! It was Jason!" she shrieked madly, leaping to her feet.
"I'm sorry…that's the wrong answer,"
Casey's heart sank. It couldn't be. The killer was Jason fucking Voorhees, she knew it was.
"No it's not! No it's not, it was Jason!" Casey protested.
"I'm afraid not," the man replied.
"Listen, I saw that damn movie twenty times, it was Jason!" Casey yelled angrily, her face growing hot and her fists clenching tightly.
"Then you should know that it was Jason's mother, Mrs. Voorhees, who was the original killer! Jason didn't show up until the sequel…" the man explained, with an evil laugh.
Stupefied, Casey dropped to her knees. A pang of dread hit her in the gut. This can't be happening.
He tricked her. That bastard.
"Lucky for you, there's a bonus round. But I'm afraid poor Steve…"
NO, Casey screamed in her mind. God No.
"He's out," The man snarled.
Casey was numb from head to toe. She couldn't move or scream.
She was dumbfounded.
All of a sudden, she heard a horrible sound.
The sound of slicing flesh, and Steve's agonizing scream…
Casey's eyes grew wide, and she leaped to her feet, scrambling towards the patio doors and flicking on the light.
She had no time to scream or react. No time to open the door and save him.
It was too late.
Steve was dead.
Slumped over in the chair…his stomach had been ripped open…a pool of blood was forming beneath him….a steaming pile of organs lay at his feet….
Casey didn't have the strength to scream. She collapsed again…utterly horrified…
She felt another overpowering wave of nausea come over her, and she doubled over, vomiting.
She let out a blood curdling scream.
"Steve!" She shrieked, pounding her fists on the hardwood floor, hysterical.
She could hear the killer's evil, maniacal laughter on the phone...enjoying every minute of this…
Casey jumped to her feet, locked the patio doors, and turned off the light, immersing herself in darkness once again.
She scrambled backwards into her hiding spot, ducking down behind the television set.
"Hey…we aren't finished yet…" she heard the killer growl from the other line.
Casey reached down with a trembling hand, groping for the phone in the darkness.
She found it and put it to her ear…trembling…her voice almost gone from screaming…
"Please…please leave me alone…" she begged, praying that he would hear the absolute terror in her voice and leave…
"Answer the final question, and I will,"
Casey didn't have the strength to protest. She curled up into a fetal position, softly crying, listening to his voice…
"What door am I at?" the man asked. "There are two main doors to your house, the front door and the patio doors. Answer correctly and you live,"
Casey looked towards the front door and then towards the patio doors. She studied them both, trying to choose between the two.
Fuck this, she finally said to herself.
"I can't do this…I won't…" she said through clenched teeth, picturing Steve's mutilated body out on the patio.
"Your call," the man said, and the phone line suddenly went dead.
Everything went deathly quiet.
Casey dropped the phone and stood to her feet, looking around frantically.
She waited for something to happen…anything…
Just as things grew maddeningly silent, the patio doors imploded inwards as one of the patio chairs came flying through the glass. Bits of wood and shards of glass sprayed across the room.
Casey was incited like fire.
She snatched the cordless phone off of the floor, and ran through the darkened house, barreling down the hallway into the kitchen.
Casey was oblivious to the popcorn burning on the stove, the tin foil expanding far beyond its normal capacity; smoke was beginning to fill the room.
She ran towards the butcher block on the kitchen island and grabbed the handle of the longest, sharpest knife and pulled it out of the block.
She whirled around to face the door to the hallway, holding the knife out in front of her in a defensive pose.
She could barely see anything. Thick smoke filled the room, enveloping Casey.
Casey made her way through the kitchen, the knife in one hand and the phone in the other.
She ducked into the small hallway at the back of the kitchen, and moved towards the side door.
She could hear someone in the living room…the sound of feet crunching over broken glass…
Shit…he was in the house…what the hell was she going to do?
She had to get out of this house.
Casey quietly opened the side door and slipped outside, gently closing it.
She glanced around at her surroundings...all she saw in front of her were the thick woods that surrounded her house...Could she run for it?
Where would she go?
It would take miles to reach the nearest neighbor, and even farther into town.
Where the fuck were her parents?
Casey looked down at the phone in her hand.
Would it do her any good to call the police? It would take them at least fifteen minutes to drive all the way out to her house.
Could she elude this psychopath for fifteen minutes? She didn't want to find out.
What if there were more? Hiding out in the woods? Waiting for her to make a run for it?
Her car was in the driveway.
Maybe she could get inside to her keys.
Casey took a deep breath, and began inching her way down the side of the house. She clambered up onto the back porch and made her way towards the patio, ducking down to avoid being seen by the killer.
There were three curtain-less windows ahead. The lights in the house suddenly clicked on.
He was looking for her.
Casey crouched down underneath the first window, and stuck her head barely above the sill, peering into the house.
She caught a quick glance of someone in black moving through the living room, and she ducked back down.
Her heart pounding loudly, Casey crawled closer towards the patio doors, poking her head up to look through the next window.
The killer was in the hallway now, moving towards the kitchen...
She ducked back down, taking deep breaths…he was in the kitchen now…if she could run inside the living room and grab her keys…she hoped they were somewhere in the living room…if not, she would just run for it.
Casey curled her fingers tightly around the knife handle, her chest heaving…her heart racing…
Casey crawled as fast as she could on her hands and knees towards the patio doors and stopped at the third window looking into the living room…
She had to make sure he was still in the kitchen looking for her.
Casey slowly rose to her feet, looking into the window.
The window was completely blacked out.
What the hell? Casey said to herself.
She looked up and realized what the black was.
It was a cloak.
A black cloak.
The killer was staring right back at her.
Casey screamed hysterically. His face was covered by a ghostly white mask...the dark eyeholes stared into Casey's soul...
The killer suddenly sprang forward, smashing through the window, grabbing Casey by her wrist, pulling her towards him.
The knife fell from her hand, as she squirmed to free her hands from the ghost's grasp…
She screamed again, as his head smashed through the remainder of the glass in the window, and he lunged at her, grabbing her by the neck.
All Casey had was the cordless phone still clutched in her right hand.
She lashed out with her free hand, clobbering him on the side of the head with the phone.
The killer growled angrily and staggered backwards into the house.
Casey forgot all about the knife still lying on the concrete. She forgot all about her keys. There was only one thing she could think of and that was getting the fuck away from there.
She began to run.
Casey stumbled across the patio, cringing at the sight of her boyfriends corpse…still tied to the chair…
She sailed around the corner of the house, sprinting across the yard.
Her eyes lit up as she saw her parents Chevy Camaro coming down the country road.
Casey smiled, mad with relief.
Her relief didn't last long.
As Casey passed by one of the several large windows in the living room, the masked killer came smashing through from the inside, tackling her to the ground.
Casey screamed and fell onto the grass, the killer coming down on top of her.
Casey kicked, knocking the killer backwards, and she scrambled to her feet.
Casey ran towards the front of the house, watching as her parent's car pulled into the driveway.
She was so close…she had almost rounded the corner when a gloved hand clamped down over her mouth and pulled her backwards.
She had time to glance over her shoulder and see the ghostly mask staring down at her.
There was a flash of silver, and Casey didn't even feel it at first..it happened so fast.
The knife plunged into the side of her chest.
Incredulous, Casey looked down at the wound as her chest began to blossom bright red.
Casey fell onto the grass on her back, coughing on her own blood, the pain overwhelming…
She clutched her hand to the wound…feeling warm blood flowing between her fingers.
The masked figure came down on top of her, straddling her, the knife poised to stab her again...
Casey mustered up every ounce of strength she had left, and knocked the knife out of his hand, wrestling with him…she swung her fists, scratching and clawing at him, hitting at him with the phone, but he was surprisingly strong.
His hands grabbed her by the throat and squeezed tightly.
Casey gagged for air, clawing at his hands that were choking the life out of her.
Her parents climbed out of the Camaro just a few yards away, oblivious to the horror.
Just as Casey's eyes began to roll into the back of her head, she found her last little bit of strength and lifted up her knee, slamming it into her attacker's groin.
The killer let out a pained groan, and was thrown backwards off of Casey.
Casey rolled over onto her stomach, weakly crawling across the grass, blood spurting from her wound, the phone still grasped in her hand…
She watched as her parents climbed the stairs to the front porch.
She sat up on her knees, grimacing as pain ravaged her upper body…she tried to call out to her parents but all that came out was a whisper.
She couldn't speak…she put a hand up to her throat, trying to make sound come out, but she was helpless. The pain was too overpowering…
Casey watched in disbelief as her parents disappeared inside the house.
She didn't see the killer right behind her.
She was suddenly slammed to the ground by the killer's boot pressing down on her back.
The masked killer flipped Casey over on her stomach, as she looked up at him.
She couldn't move. She couldn't fight.
She had done all that she could do.
It was over.
She gazed up at him, pleading with her eyes…
"Why?" Casey managed to say, her eyes filling with tears…she could only lie there and watch.
The killer lifted the knife into the air and brought it down.
Mr. and Mrs. Becker stepped through the front door and froze.
"What the hell?.." Mr. Becker muttered under his breath.
Mrs. Becker's face drained of color as she saw the shattered patio doors...glass littered the floor...
"Oh God..." she exclaimed.
"Casey?!" Mr. Becker called into the smoke-filled house.
"Oh god, something's on fire," Mrs. Becker said, smelling the smoke and hearing the shrill beeping of the fire alarm.
"I'll look upstairs," Mr. Becker said and dashed up the staircase, calling his daughter's name frantically.
Mrs. Becker sprinted into the kitchen, coughing and fighting her way through the thick smoke.
The pan of Jiffy Pop was ablaze, tall orange flames licked the ceiling above the stove.
She snatched a dish towel off of the counter, threw it over the burning popcorn, and she picked up the pan by the wooden handle, and threw it into the sink.
She turned on the tap, and the flames were slowly extinguished by the running water.
"Casey?! Casey!" Mrs. Becker screamed.
She ran back down the hallway into the foyer, screaming for her daughter, colliding with her husband as he came barreling down the staircase.
"Oh god, she's not upstairs!" Mr. Becker cried.
"Where is she? Casey!" Mrs. Becker screamed hysterically, tears streaming down her face.
"Call the police," her husband told her, and they both ran for the phone on the end table by the door.
Mrs. Becker picked up the phone and began to dial 911, when she stopped short.
She heard noises.
Noises coming from the other line.
Someone was using another phone in the house.
Someone was on the line.
Mrs. Becker slowly put the phone to her ear, praying and hoping it was her daughter.
"Casey, baby?" she said into the phone.
Her husband listened over her shoulder.
Both terrified parents huddled around the phone, listening to the strange and garbled noises on the other line.
There was a dragging sound, and a horrible slicing sound, and a teenage girl's pained cries.
"Casey?! Casey, is that you? Casey?!" Mrs. Becker screamed into the phone.
Casey's whimpering came over the line, and Mrs. Becker's heart sank, instantly recognizing her daughter's voice.
Suddenly, a man's voice came over the line...it was rough and harsh.. There was a loud THUD and another slicing sound...and then click...The line went dead.
Mrs. Becker let the phone fall from her trembling hand and she stared into her husband's eyes. His face was pained, but it was obvious he was trying to keep his composure for his wife.
But on the inside, he was scared shitless.
"No...No, not my daughter...not my daughter..." Mrs. Becker whimpered, shaking her head, crying..
"Listen to me...Drive down to the Mackenzie's house and call the police. Ok?" Mr. Becker said, guiding his wife towards the door. She was barely able to stand up.
Mrs. Becker opened the door and stumbled outside onto the porch with her husband, holding his hand tightly,making their way towards the car...
Both of them stopped dead in their tracks.
Their gaze was directed towards the huge oak tree in the front yard.
Something was hanging from one of the branches.
Mrs. Becker let out a blood-curdling scream and fell to her knees.
Casey was strung up like a slab of meat in a slaughterhouse, a rope tied tightly around her neck. Her face was chalky white, her eyes had sunk back into her skull, and her stomach had been ripped open, a pile of steaming organs lay underneath her.
The cordless phone was still grasped tightly in her right hand.
Mrs. Becker screamed again...and again...and again...