Chapter 8:
OPEN ON:
EXT. LOOMIS HOUSE – WOODSBORO – AFTERNOON
Mr. Loomis is frantic. He's pacing his living room, on the phone.
MR. LOOMIS: No Billy – you do what the cops tell you to do, okay? No, I'm coming to San Martin now. No, I am not overreacting. If you think it's starting again, I'm not letting my boy get butchered on my watch! You are coming home! Once they clear you, I'm dragging you and Sarah home myself, I am not letting you cavort around! Okay. Love you too. Bye bye.
Mr. Loomis hangs up. He turns and heads up the stairs.
We follow him, into a hallway, into a bedroom. A small suitcase is sitting on his bed. He closes it and grabs it. His eyes fall on an old cell phone in an open drawer. He hesitates, sighing. He grabs the phone and hits the power button. It flares on.
He puts the passcode in and checks it. It's a dated phone, probably hasn't been used in a few years. His eyes soften as he opens the pictures … there are pictures of MAUREEN PRESCOTT. With him. They took selfies together during their short, sordid love affair. It drove his wife away. He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his face, clutching the phone in his fist. With a rage, he chucks the phone across the room and it snaps in two as he sits on the bed, hands folded, looking down in shame.
CUT TO:
Mr. Loomis is dragging his suitcase down the stairs. He reaches the bottom rung, tosses on a light jacket and prepares to leave …
A THUD COMES FROM THE KITCHEN.
The soundtrack STINGS!
He stops.
MR. LOOMIS: Hello?
He puts the suitcase down. He pulls out a gun from his hidden holster, makes sure it's loaded. He slowly creeps towards the kitchen.
MR. LOOMIS: (pressing himself against a wall) Hello?
He jumps into the kitchen doorway. Nothing.
He presses his hand to his forehead. He's hearing things.
V/O WOMAN'S VOICE: Still twitchy as ever, I see.
Mr. Loomis spins around, gun aimed.
A middle-aged woman in a pants-suit is standing there, cup of coffee in her hand. She drops the coffee mug, hands up.
MR. LOOMIS: Debbie?
DEBBIE LOOMIS, maiden name, DEBBIE SALT, stands there, hands raised.
DEBBIE: Relax, it's me!
He aims the gun higher at her head. She rolls her eyes.
MR. LOOMIS: What are you doing here?
DEBBIE: Umm, let's see … the house is still technically in my name, sooo (waves a spare key in her hand).
MR. LOOMIS: (lowers the gun and places it on the kitchen counter) What do you want, Deb?
DEBBIE: A murder in San Martin – where our only son is – and you expect me to stay away? Did you talk to our son? How is he doing?
MR. LOOMIS: Maybe if you called him yourself once in a while instead of running off to Hollywood to reinvent yourself –
DEBBIE: Oh, wait a minute? My hearing must be off. The main who cheated on me and broke up our family is lecturing me on our son?
MR. LOOMIS: Debbie, I don't have time for this. I'm going up to San Martin right now.
DEBBIE: Great. Billy's in San Martin. That's all I wanted to know. Thanks. Something useful for once.
MR. LOOMIS: We could go up together -.
DEBBIE: I'll take my own car, thanks. I already gave you twenty years. I'm not giving you another three hours.
She slides a pair of sunglasses over her eyes and motions for to the spilled coffee.
DEBBIE: And clean up this mess.
CUT TO:
EXT. LOOMIS HOUSE – AFTERNOON
Mr. Loomis watches Debbie get into her new, upscale SUV. She backs up, nearly taking down his mailbox, puts the car in gear, and goes full-blast towards San Martin.
Mr. Loomis has his briefcase in hand, ready to go. He checks his pocket. Oh, right. He's forgetting his gun. He left it in the kitchen. He turns back into the house, closing the door behind him.
INT. LOOMIS HOUSE
We follow Mr. Loomis down the hallway, past the living room, splayed with pictures of himself, Debbie and Billy when they were younger. He goes into the kitchen and up to the counter, peering down.
THE GUN IS MISSING!
Mr. Loomis blinks. Could Debbie have taken it? He didn't remember seeing her grab it. Which means …
MR. LOOMIS: Shit.
He turns, power-walking towards the front door. The soundtrack quickens as he breaks into a run. He wrenches the front door open –
-Nothing is there.
He prepares to step onto the front stoop –
-A BLACK ARM SHOOTS OUT OF THE DARK HOUSE, GRIPPING HIM BY THE NECK, DRAGGING HIM BACK INSIDE!
Mr. Loomis screams, struggling. The killer THROWS him onto the floor, kicking the door shut behind him. Mr. Loomis screams as GHOSTFACE POUNCES, striking repeatedly with a hunting knife, blood shooting up onto the nicely manicured walls.
And we
FADE TO:
EXT. CARFAX HOTEL – WOODSBORO - AFTERNOON
Detective Rogers pulls her car up the long driveway of the old hotel. She stares up at it from inside her car, sighing. Gale's hunch better not be just another wild goose chase.
She opens the door when her PHONE RINGS! She sighs and answers.
ROGERS: Go for Rogers.
WAYNE: Rogers, it's bad! Real bad!
ROGERS: Wayne? What? What happened?
WANE: Woodsboro PD called us. Billy Loomis' father was JUST found murdered in his home!
ROGERS: You're kidding?
WAYNE: Stabbed over thirty times. His body was nothing but ground chuck when they found him.
ROGERS: What about Billy?
WAYNE: We're trying to locate him – he and the others are out in town somewhere!
ROGERS: Find him! Get him someplace safe. I'm going to the Loomis house now!
She hangs up, putting her car in gear and reversing, taking down a fountain on the way back.
INT. SAN MARTIN TANNING SALON – WAITING AREA
Tatum is sitting in the waiting area, watching Carrie, Prudence and Ashley pour tanning lotion onto each other.
CARRIE: Sure you don't want to join us, Tatum? You could use some color.
TATUM: No thanks, I enjoy a healthy pale sheen. You go ahead, I'll wait here.
The girls vanish behind the tanning booth, leaving Tatum alone in the waiting area. She plays on her phone.
She gets a text message … unknown number. She opens it – IT'S A VIDEO RECORDING OF MR. LOOMIS' MURDER! She stares in horror, opening her mouth, unable to produce a sound to scream. It's horrible enough to see the man struggling … but she sees the killer. The same black robe, the same white, screaming ghost mask … it's like she stepped into a nightmare.
THEN THE PHONE RINGS!
UNKOWN NUMBER.
Ah, but she knows who it is. No doubt about it. She presses the phone to her ear.
TATUM: What do you want, you FUCKING COWARD?!
GHOSTFACE: Now, now, Tatum, is that any way to talk to an old friend?
TATUM: You're nothing to me – you're just a piece of shit!
GHOSTFACE: Oh on the contrary – you're a part of me, Tatum. You and me baby – we go way back!
TATUM: Who the hell are you?! Huh? Why wear a mask? Why not have the balls to just come out and face me?!
GHOSTFACE: Oh, that moment will come soon enough, don't you worry! It's all leading to this … the slow boil until the CLIMAX! But before we get to that, I want to have some fun. We're gonna play a little game. You, me, your family and all your little friends. I've planned this down to the last detail, Tatum and trust me - it's gonna be a SCREAM!
TATUM: Yeah, well have you checked the stats? Because I have a body count of my own! Sidney Prescott and Cotton Weary ring a bell? Oh, of course it does. You're copycatting them, right? Huh? Well guess what – you're gonna copycat their ends too! BECAUSE BILLY AND I FUCKING KILLED THEM!
GHOSTFACE: Ooh, someone thinks that they're a badass because they killed a teenage girl and a middle-aged doofus and now they're getting uppity 'cause they think they're the shit! You don't even know … I'm tempted to gut you right now. But patience is a virtue and two years is a long time to wait.
TATUM: Two years … ? Are you talking about Veronica and Brian …?
GHOSTFACE: Now, Tatum – let's not get ahead of ourselves and dig too deeply into cases that are closed and shut. YOU WON'T LIKE WHAT YOU FIND! But we'll talk soon, Tatum. YOU CAN COUNT ON IT!
The line goes dead, the music beating as the trio of girls emerge to find Tatum staring at her phone, paler than usual …