Paloma Chamberlin drove up, braking outside a large mansion that had been caked with white paint and had filthy, fingerprinted windows. She was waiting for her close friend, Candice Hentermann. Glancing at the neglected structure, Paloma grew mesmerised by its daunting lack of cleanliness and outlandish features. They weren't architectural features, but instead items such as raked piles of golden-brown leaves in the front yard, sitting painfully still (Paloma believed they had stuck together on a humid day and dried crisply stuck to one another), or a stack of crumbling light-red bricks, standing, propped up next to the front door, or possibly even the green bench out front; constructed lazily on a hot summer's day and long overdue a fresh lick of paint, brush-up - what with all the cobwebs forming, and repositioning to suit the view of the front. She simply rolled her eyes at the sight Candice had let her once fittingly pristine mansion become.
The pair were due to visit a biannual arts and crafts festival that was held in many different locations across the country. This year, it was Woodsboro's turn to hold the festival, much to the pleasure of Candice, a blossoming and aspiring artist. She often spent evenings on the weekends painting, sculpting or sketching: whatever her resources at hand allowed her to do. Candice had spent many an hour perfecting her unknown masterpieces, only to sell them off for a fraction of what they were realistically worth just to shift them out of her cluttered basement. On the other hand, Paloma was much more disinterested and was agitated that she had to attend the event, since she favoured mathematical, scientific and logical pursuits, drafting equations and working on blueprints that bewildered Candice. They were for Paloma's architectural work – she was aiming to become an architect, and she determined to do so – and she subtracted countless hours from sleeping and gave them to those blueprints, in hope to one day achieve the life she was desperate for. To prevent any drowsiness, Paloma stockpiled a variety of colourfully packaged caffeine drinks, tongue-twisting, aggressive sour boiled-sweets and a plentiful array of diverse bottled mineral waters, all to keep her mind awake and ticking into the early morning.
Paloma turned back to check her if she had any new messages on her phone. She had. One of the text-messages was from her ex-boyfriend, Jonas, and the other from an unknown number. With her luck, the instant she would open up the messages and respond to both of them, Candice would turn up and interrupt the conversations. Groaning faintly, she stuffed her mobile phone back into her front jacket pocket and hid away the stresses of the texts. She peered out of her car window to see sunbeams dripping down from the sapphire-blue sky, pigeons flocking at the sight of one stray piece of bread, and gargantuan oak trees stretching up to the horizons swaying back and forth in the gentle and smooth, Saturday morning breeze. Sighing heavily, she checked her watch to find out what the time was. Paloma was always worried about being late and was always punctual, to the second. Candice however was slack with timekeeping, often turning up 'fashionably-late' to parties and significant events in the college calendar. It was half-past eight, and considering that the arts and crafts festival kicked off at nine o'clock and that it was approximately thirty miles away, the girls were in fair time to reach the venue on the dot, or possibly even prematurely, much to Paloma's delight.
Simply brushing off any worry of lateness, Paloma turned on her car-radio and soaked in the fresh-air as she unrolled her window ever so slightly, leaving a small gap at the top of the window, to let waves a cool air ooze into the inside of her spotless vehicle. The sound of LIGHTS' relaxing song, "And Counting..." breathed out of the stereo and soothed Paloma's busied mind. It was a generic day in the middle of April in Woodsboro, where she had lived since a young child. She grew up with the countless tales of Ghostface and the respective killings revolving around Sidney Prescott and her friends. Paloma was told through word of mouth that one girl called Sidney the 'angel of death' and died soon afterwards – but Paloma discarded this as a mere rumour that was probably spread to try to prevent Sidney from visiting the ill-fated town. She was sceptical as to whether the people were sane or not, coming up with countless theories like one of her older friends, Robbie.
Robbie had fallen victim to 'the angel's' presence and was attacked by two masked killers, one of whom turned out to be his best friend. In that sense, most thought it was acceptable for him to have the murders constantly on his mind, what with the betrayal and near-death experience, and believed that his theories were all a way for him to cope. Robbie often talked to the students nearing the end of their high-school lives and gave them advice on their careers – he and his boyfriend had set up a volunteer counselling service to console family and friends of the many Woodsboro massacre victims. They earned vast amounts of money through optional donations after each session.
Paloma tightly brushed back a tress of her artificial red hair - she dyed it every two weeks to maintain the colour - and checked the make-up on her twenty-year-old face in her a small pocket mirror she had on her person at all times. She preened herself, double-checking that her lipstick had not smudged or somehow gotten onto her teeth, and brushing her fingers through her soft hair to perfect it.
After a few minutes had passed by, Paloma had a sudden awakening, snapping her out of one of her mindless daydreams, that arrived without the slightest of warnings; Candice slapped a heavy hand against the car window, making Paloma flinch fearfully until realising that it was her playful, teasing friend telling her to let her in. Paloma held one hand over her heart faintly and haphazardly scrambled about in an attempt to find the button to let the window open up all of the way, in order to talk to her. She eventually located it and pressed a slender finger onto it, allowing the window to flow down briskly.
"You fucking scared me!" Paloma light-heartedly boomed at her friend, hoping to signal that she has no longer frightened, despite being terribly shook up inside for a matter of seconds afterwards.
"Oh, chill out." Candice gently slapped the side of the car. "So you gonna let me in or am I gonna have to walk for three miles and grab a taxi?"
"Fine..." Paloma giggled a soft reply to Candice's request. She efficiently tapped the 'unlock' button and Candice was able to clamber into her seat.
"Or should I break your ribs and force my way in?" She chuckled as she gripped the glossy, black door handle and twisted it with her forceful wrist. As it opened, the door squeaked stridently, standing out like a crow's echoing squawks in the early morning.
"You ought to get that fixed." Candice grumbled as she lay her satchel down by her feet in the immaculate interior of the vehicle. She listlessly placed herself on the clean back seat.
"Oh, I know, I've been meaning to for a while now." Paloma twisted around considerably, to reassure Candice that she was not of the negligent sort – not that Candice believed that anyway.
"Then why don't you?" Candice questioned. "I mean you're always talking to me about how I should stop saying I want to start doing things, and just do them..."
"I've been busy." Paloma snapped with a cagey edge to her voice. "Anyway, what is it your business anyway?" She countered.
"Sorry, I was just trying to be helpful." replied Candice, defensively. "The real question, is what the fuck is up with this music?"
"Oh-" Paloma rather arbitrarily slapped her car-radio and switched the song onto something more upbeat; The Sounds' song, "Dance With the Devil". "Is this better?" Paloma abruptly asked.
"This is more like it!" Candice cheered, hyping herself up in preparation for the exciting festival.
"Chill out, Candice, I don't want you messing up my car." Paloma chortled as she turned to face the steering wheel.
"Fuck, can I do anything around here?" Candice jokingly moaned. Paloma just rolled her eyes and cut the conversation before it flipped into a disagreement.
"You ready?" Paloma brightly inquired, glancing at Candice in the mirror that hung from the car roof.
"Calm down," mumbled Candice, pulling her seat belt out, stretching it across her burgundy overcoat, and clicking into place. She quickly flicked her blonde curls up so they laid flat over the seat belt. "Last time I checked, you didn't even want to go to this arts and crafts festival."
"Correct, but it's still best to be punctual – or early." She quickly corrected her friends.
"Fair enough." Candice quickly replied as she brushed a stray strand of her chocolate-brown hair behind her ears. "Yeah, I'm ready."
"Cool, let's get going, then." Paloma eagerly fiddled with the gearshift until the engine whirred back into life, lurching the car forward unexpectedly.
"Fuck!" Candice yelled, clasping her hand against her heart suddenly.
"Sorry, it's been fucking up all the way here." Paloma apologized unnecessarily.
"Don't worry about it." Candice smiled.
"I really should get it looked at..." Paloma thought to herself.
"I would've recommended you to Jonas but-"
"Hell no!" Paloma jutted in before Candice could finish, giggling to herself. "I'd rather gauge my eyes out than go see him."
"I'd gladly join you." Her friend in agreement grinned back at her.
"So, have you got any gossip?"
"Actually I do, Paloma." Candice suddenly looked slightly serious, so Paloma stopped peering at her through the mirror and instead swivelled back around to face her.
"Go on..." Paloma prompted her.
"You know... Arianna and Jacqueline?" Candice paused to allow Paloma to calculate who they were.
"Oh yes, they're those two really annoying girls in our French class, right?" Paloma vividly returned.
"Yes, those two." Candice licked her lips silently. "They were killed last night." She revealed.
"They were killed last night?" Paloma was taken aback by the strong revelation.
"Yeah, they're unsure if it's a Ghostface killing or-"
"Fuck no, it better not be Ghostface." Paloma strongly rolled her eyes to show her disapproval.
"They don't know for sure right now." assured Candice.
"It better not be." Paloma turned to start driving down the road. "I don't think I can deal with a fifth killing spree in Woodsboro."
"Don't worry, Paloma." Candice started, helpfully. "It probably was some freak accident, like something from Final Destination. It's funny because they told me that was the film they were watching..."
"Oh really? Then how come you assumed they were killed?" Paloma sarcastically snapped in an attempt to cover her fear for her life. "There's a difference between getting stabbed about eighty fucking times like those girls from Stab and getting accidentally decapitated by a piece of fucking metal like Seann William-Scott's character in Final Destination one." She ranted.
"You've got a point there..." Candice thought for a while. "They were killed by someone, yes, but they don't know if it's Ghostface or not." She elaborated to prove a point of her own.
"What do you mean if it's Ghostface or not? It's not like there's going to be a killing in Woodsboro and people assume it's Mrs. Voorhees or Jason!"
"I'm following..." Candice followed it through in her head, her eyes darting all over the place.
"It's Woodsboro. It's a killing – of two girls! It's obviously going to be that killer from Stab." Paloma furiously explained.
"I understand what you mean." Candice shrugged.
"How do you even know all of this?" Paloma questioned.
"I'm guessing you didn't watch the local news this morning?"
"Fuck!" Paloma shouted at the top of her voice: trying to drown out the vibes echoing out of the car-radio. "I knew I should've!"
"It was all they were talking about – conspiracy theories are already growing about who it could be." Candice sighed.
"What the fuck? Do these people have a job other than making up bullshit theories about the people close to these victims? It makes me fucking sick!" Paloma raged.
"It has a point though; it could be anyone who knows them. I'm sure you know the saying by now, 'everyone's a suspect'..." Candice began. "Or they might just be random killings, like I said, they don't know for sure right now."
"How can they not know?" blustered Paloma "Ghostface has apparently done this four times before, what stabbing people and all, so they must recognize if there's a pattern or not!"
"I see where you're coming from, but they don't know because Sidney Prescott hasn't been here." Candice calmly sighed.
"Oh, her." Paloma quipped. "What is so special about her anyway?"
"Do you know anything about these Ghostface killings, or do you just pretend that you do?" Candice harshly snapped back, raising her voice ever so slightly.
"Well if you're so clued-up, go ahead! Explain." urged Paloma.
"The news report said they got what, three or four phone-calls from an unknown number. That mirrors some of the other earlier deaths, like in Stab, I guess."
"This is not a fucking film franchise, Candice. The Stab movies have got nothing to do with this." Paloma sighed.
"Well the first three films are based off of what happened to Sidney in Woodsboro almost two decades ago." corrected Candice.
"Don't act like you know her!" her friend guffawed.
"I'm not acting like I know her! I'm just laying down the facts." Candice corrected in a stubborn and harsh tone.
"It still has nothing to do with it." Paloma calmly replied.
"I don't care if you think it has dick-all with the Stab movies! I think they do!" Candice snapped; her temper short and easily bent.
"What, so just because they get a phone-call from some random guy who puts on a fake-ass accent and some stupid, husky rasp, they assume it's Ghostface? But oh wait! The previous killer's cousin isn't here so we can't be sure! What the fuck?"
"How can you say that Paloma? You can't assume with these kinds of things." Candice quickly tapped away on her phone. "I'm gonna check if there's any more news about it."
"Please don't." Paloma groaned, turning around and slouching back into her seat.
"Why not?" Candice glanced up to make eye contact with her friend, only to return to her fascinatingly snazzy and high-tech phone.
"Because, I just want to get to this festival, have a decent and somewhat enjoyable time, and get home and get back to my blueprints." She replied with a tired voice.
"Okay, but I'm still checking." Candice was still furiously tapping away on her phone keyboard.
All of a sudden, Paloma's phone started vibrated noisily in her pocket and her high-pitched ringtone blared through the car. After flustering for a few seconds, pulling over and snatching the phone out of her pocket, she answered the call.
"Hello?" Paloma said, frustrated.
"Hello." The not so familiar, raspy, hushed voice spoke eerily. "Who is this?"
"What do you mean who is this?" Paloma groaned, slightly confused.
"Who is it?" Candice inquired from the back seat, glancing up from her glitzy phone. Paloma gently pressed her phone onto her neck so the person on the other side couldn't hear her speak.
"I have no idea." She answered in a hushed tone. She quickly put the phone back beside her ear.
"I'm still here." The other side menacingly whispered.
"This is Paloma," she paused, "who is this?"
"What's your favourite scary movie?" Paloma frowned immediately – she then turned back around to force eye contact with Candice.
"Isn't that a line from those Stab movies?" Paloma sighed.
"Oh how clever of you! Poor Paloma is a genre-nut!" The voice continued taunting the girl; a twisted chuckle was heard on the other side of the phone. Paloma quickly put the caller on loudspeaker so Candice could input into the conversation.
"What do you want?" Candice said, attempting to sound as candid as possible.
"That voice is familiar... Does Candice happen to be with you by any chance?" The voice sneakily inquired. Candice instantly looked up at Paloma with terror in her eyes: she was afraid.
"Hang up, Paloma!" Candice desperately mouthed to her friend. Paloma continued frowning, trying to focus in on the sick caller.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, because you're the victims and not me." There was a pause. Paloma hastily glanced up at Candice to see what she was doing before returning her attention to her phone and the voice. "You two are disposable characters – I can easily write you off if I want to, so I wouldn't piss me off if I were you."
"Okay... what do you want us to do?" Paloma chewed her lip as she talked.
"Answer the question" There was a growing agitation; Candice was becoming unnerved. "What's your favourite scary movie?" Both girls gulped coincidentally in unison before answering the question.
"Stephen King's IT." Paloma speedily replied, firmly and cohesively to ensure the caller could not pick at her. Candice however did not respond.
"Good choice." There was a sinister laugh from the other end. "That's a coincidence because I am your worst nightmare come true!" The laughing continued. Candice was puzzled.
"What does he mean?" She asked in the quietest voice she could.
"It's a line from the movie." Paloma whispered back; She was uncomfortable and readjusted her seating position in the car.
"Candice..." The caller beckoned. "I don't have an answer from you..." Mimicking a sing-song, the voice trailed off.
"Um... I like the Stab movies..." Candice meekly replied.
"Now that is a perfect coincidence!" The voice echoed exactly what was rushing through Candice's mind.
"Why is that?" Candice breathed hesitantly in response.
"You live in Woodsboro." Candice's face broke apart quickly in fear at the sinister caller's statement. As she was about to reply to the cunning comment, Paloma quickly interrupted her.
"No we don't." She spoke quickly.
"Don't lie to me you bitch!" The vile words seeped out of the speaker of the mobile phone and caressed the petrified girls' ears.
"Fuck you!" Paloma angrily yelled.
"Calm down, Paloma." Calm words were spoken from her friend.
"Yeah, redhead – listen to your friend. Little Blondie has a point."
Candice suddenly looked up, her jaw clenching. "H-How does he know our hair c-colours?"
"I'm over this." Paloma rolled her eyes and drew the phone speaker close to her mouth. "Fuck. You." She spat, venomous anger soothing out of her mouth.
"Don't fucking hang up on me! I'll cut you like-" Before the obscene caller could finish his taunt, Paloma hung up the phone and buried it deep inside her bag, underneath many miscellaneous items: tissues, make-up, pens...
"I'm so scared." Candice could barely breath, her eyes were wide and bloodshot, her skin pale.
"Don't worry, I got you." Paloma re-assured the worried girl with a warm hand on her shoulder. "It was probably just a prank call, Candice."
"How is that a prank call? If it was they're pretty fucking evil!" The flustered student wiped a tear that had risen up onto the edge of her eye.
"Don't worry... He can't hurt us."
"How do you know?" Candice's hands flew up in hysteria.
"Look, hey... Calm down..." Paloma soothed. "You're gonna smudge your make-up." Paloma smiled to her snivelling wreck of a friend and rubbed her arm. "We'll go visit Kendra okay? That'll cheer you up – screw the festival."