The drive from the video store in the heart of Woodsboro to Angela's house was a long one that cut through the tall trees and frankly, a little eerie. It was nothing like San Francisco's vivacious, bustling streets. Anything could happen in the thick blanket of forest.
As the winding road took her further and further, the only sound being her radio, the bugs smacking her windshield and the wind rushing through her ears and lifting strands of her hair. It was often times like this she thought of her Mother. Paired with talking to Sidney about her own Mother's death at the store, it was unavoidable.
Alone, snaking her way through the silent Californian trees to her new home. She missed her. Cutting Angela off after the decision to join her Father had been cruel, and she'd never forgive the woman for breaking both their hearts, but the childhood girl within hanging from a thread yearned for the way things used to be.
It was lost in her thoughts that she somehow missed the deer standing in the middle of the road until her lights swept over the animal. Panic washed over her. Quickly gripping the wheel, Angela managed to maneuver the car onto the side of the road and out of the way of the deer, who darted in the opposite direction.
Slamming on the breaks just inches before the Mercedes collided with a bulky tree trunk, she felt a dribble fall down her cheek. Her hands trembled so much so she had difficulty switching the car into park. It was only when she began to look around did she notice the large, brightly lit home on the side of the road, barely half a mile away.
She needed to get a hold of herself. She hadn't hit the deer, and everything was going to be alright. Angela shoved open the door, stepping out. Everything was happening at once - the resentment for her Mother; the adrenaline from almost plowing into a deer.
Now, she was going crazy. She faintly heard low voices from somewhere in those trees. Approaching the treeline hesitantly, the clicks of her boots echoing into the near silence, the voices grew louder, and seemingly closer. Just a few feet away, the leaves rustled.
Billy and Stu emerged, Stu clutching a knife. She shrieked with surprise, stumbling backwards. The knife glinted in the moonlight, causing her to catch the deep crimson blotches on it. The strands of hair that hung in front of his face hid the surprise that filled them. In fact, both of their shirts had the same splattered color on it.
Stu slipped an odd, ghost face mask onto his face. "Hiya, Ang." Stu grinned. This grin was different from the one she'd seen many times before. "Like the outfit?"
"What's going on?" She eyed the knife. It was blood.
"No, no, that's not this works. We ask the questions. You get 'em wrong, slice and dice, baby!"
"How what works?!"
"Shut up!" Billy shouted. "Both of you, shut the fuck up! Give me the knife, Stu."
Angela flinched at his yell. They were scaring her. What could they possibly be doing with a mask and a bloody knife? There was nothing around here, except the home up the road. She doubted they hunted in their free time. Suddenly, it all clicked for her. Billy choosing horror as his genre, the knife, the mask. Backing up, her hands fumbled for the door handle. No one was meant to witness this.
She contemplated running for it as Stu presented the knife to Billy. If she ran fast enough, she could make it into the woods. Sucking in a breath, she made a dash for the treeline on the opposite side of the road, but just as fast Billy had looped around and caged her in his arms. His grip was inescapable. Angela hadn't even managed to make it ten feet past her car.
Stu was laughing, lurking right behind them. "Where you goin'?"
"Don't you move or I'll gut you like a fish!" Billy's voice was rigid, making it clear this was more than simply a threat.
Angela's hands begun shaking uncontrollably again. Only this time, it was fear. Whimpering, she shook her head. This couldn't be real life. "You killed someone, didn't you?"
"Oooh! She's a clever one, Billy. It's a shame we gotta-" Stu made a stabbing motion with his hand.
Billy let her go, circling around so he was standing in front of her. Lifting the knife, he drug it along the thin skin of her neck. A cold wash slithered down her spine, her stomach plunging. A tear fell down her cheek, looking up at him. Through her blurred vision, his smile was menacing - predatory, even. It felt like every nerve in her body had pin-pricked up.
"Tell me, what're you doing out here?"
"I-I'm coming home from the video store. I almost hit a deer."
He pressed the knife harder to her throat. She felt every small ridge in the blade. "Don't you lie to me."
"I swear!" She pleaded. The sound of blood coursing through her entire body, her heart pumping faster than ever, grew louder in her ears.
"Are you scared?"
"Yes."
"Oh, come on Angie, baby! Don't go crying on me!" Stu giggled mockingly, balling his fists up to his eyes.
She winced at this, holding a shaky hand up to her mouth. Billy continued to stare down at her, closer than he'd ever been to her. Angela knew he was a killer. A demented, fucked up human being, but his features up close somehow still dazzled her. Even with blood on his hands and a blade to her throat, she grasped for her life - and his sanity. There had to be the Billy she took film studies with in there somewhere; the one who left her hanging onto each word he spoke.
He was deciding. Angela wasn't like the other victims. She was... different. She had substance. Tears trickled down her rosy cheeks, falling in droplets off her jawline. He didn't particularly want to kill her, but if he had to, he had no problem doing so. Her fate in this scary movie was going to be up to her. That helpless, twisted look on her face almost made him feel sorry for her.
"Okay." He spoke softly, lifting the knife to move aside a strand of hair that'd fallen onto her dewy face. Oddly, this comforted her the tiniest bit. "You like horror movies, huh?"
"You know I do." She whispered, trembling.
"What's your favorite scary movie?"
"Nightmare on Elm Street." She choked through her uneven breathing.
He parted his lips to reveal a sinister grin. "A classic."
"Come on Billy, what does this have to do with anything?" Stu said, the faintest hint of uneasiness dripping from his voice as he peered down the road. "We can't stand here all day, man. Just kill her already-"
"Stu, I said shut the fuck up."
"Geez." He grumbled.
"I'm gonna ask you a question. If you get it wrong, you die. If you get it right - well, we'll figure that out." His eyes gleamed. "Got it?"
"G-Got it."
"What's the backstory for A Nightmare on Elm Street?"
Angela closed her eyes. Her mind was racing, muddled thoughts leaping into the forefront and ripping her away from the question every time she tried to devote her focus to it. This was life, or death. This one question would decide everything. The pressure alone of this was enough to crush her under it's weight, but she had to try. Desperation was the only thing that could save her.
She knew it was a ploy, a trick question. He didn't want a synopsis on the movie. He wanted something more. The inspiration. What drove Craven to create the film. She knew this, somewhere in the depths of her brain. It had something to do with a newspaper - she'd discovered it two years ago talking to her Father. Urging herself to think, her eyes suddenly flew open.
"I'm sorry, your time is up!"
"No, no I got it!" She yelped, her voice breaking off. He slid the knife from her hair and back down to her throat. If this was wrong, she'd be bleeding out in a matter of seconds. "Wes Craven was reading the newspaper, and um, refugees died mysteriously in their sleep after coming here. They wouldn't even sleep. They called it nightmare syndrome."
Billy slowly retracted the knife away from her throat. "Well. Impressive."
"Buuuuut you still die." Stu grinned.
Billy turned around at this, waving the knife towards him. "Hey, fuckrag, I'm in charge of this, okay?"
"You can't just let her go, Billy!"
"You really think I'd let her off without a warning?" He growled, returning to Angela. "If we let you go - you can't tell anyone."
"I won't. I promise! I promise on everything."
"You promise me?" Billy's voice grew softer, and every nerve in her body was electrified.
"I promise you."
"Good girl."
He smirked in a condescending manner, as if she was a child who'd just said something humorous. Angela's nerves were still on fire. She wanted to slap herself in that moment for being so sick. He ran a stained hand through his hair, heading back to the treeline, speaking to Stu in an inaudible voice. They both craned their necks to look back at her. She struggled to get a hold on her breathing; her palms dampened with sweat.
"Hey, I'm sorry I tried to get you killed, and all." Stu stepped closer to her. "Guess I got a little carried away, huh?"
She was still reeling from shock for the most part, but managed to laugh for a split second at just how ridiculous he sounded. Clearly he'd gotten a little carried away. Of all the people in Woodsboro she expected to be suffering from psychosis, these two were the least likely suspects to her. He nodded at her laugh, unfamiliar with shock.
He walked back to the treeline where Billy was waiting for him. Lifting the knife that could've slit her throat and gutted her just moments before, Billy gave her a wink. "Don't make me regret this, Ang."
"I won't."
