Predators In The Night

by Comedy Monarchy

The past can haunt one's footsteps like a ghost. For Sam and Tara Carpenter, their twisted past looms large over their lives and is restless, if not malicious to the core. As they should know from Sidney Prescott, some ghosts don't stay dead and some can lure in horrors from other urban legends, being born of a more sinister nature. (Cover Image is by Jallarie on Deviant Art).

3. Still Alive, But Already Died

Hello all, here is the new chapter as promised!

This is a massive chapter (16,000 words), I extended it due to certain scenes needing further development, but I will largely treat it as a one off. The next chapter shouldn't be as big and I have it mapped out, but do enjoy this one as it was immense fun to write!

Chapter uploads will be whenever I have finished the next one, not rushing them out.

Still a huge thank you to: Jebs78, Reaper797, MyersReader, UmikUnite, Skifch78, Reaper6666, FavSubprime13 and Emily StarLover for both following and favoriting this story; your kudos does mean alot. ;-)

Another massive thank you to: Jebs78, Reaper797, AmmityLux, ThunderFive and Reaper6666 for leaving reviews. I intended for Ghostface #1 to be Ethan, given his bloodlust and manic behaviour when revealed he seemed to be the most eager of the three Ghostfaces in Scream VI to attack first, although granted I can see why people suspected it to be Quinn instead. . .it is always the quiet ones isn't who are the most unhinged.

How will Scream and Five Nights at Freddy's intermix, there are so levels where the two universes can connect and I am pursuing them all, well most of them! Paranormal mascot horror collides with detective slasher.

Although this is on Fanfic, I want to give credit to Archive Of Our Own author 'Kailyr' for their works providing me with inspiration for Sam's and Tara's dynamic. They have written some great works on the Carpenter Sisters and I highly recommend their stories if you are interested.

Now regarding William Afton's involvement. . .just read.

Apologies for any grammar mistakes that I have missed.

---

Chapter 3

Still Alive, But Already Died a Thousand Times

"Hello Sidney. . ."

"Hello there, where'd you go?"

"Oh, this isn't Amber, I'm the other one!"

"Oh, there's two of you. . .again."

"I've seen this movie before."

"Not this movie Sidney!"

Sidney and Ghostface exchange from Scream (2022)

"Talk. . .NOW!"

Sam's voice radiated anger and a far-reaching dominance, a command that would be hard for anyone to ignore.

Once more she forced her fingers deep into Ethan's neck wounds, making him emit agonising screams which only partly soothed Sam's frustration.

Torture. . .it was ideal.

With a free hand, Sam brutally pushed one of her fingers into Ethan's eyes, forcing the eyeball back deep into the skull. The act finally forced Ethan to give way, crying at the top of his impaired lungs.

"RE. . .VE. . .NGE!"

Suddenly, Tara grabbed Ethan viciously by the hair, painfully yanking his neck up as she glared into his frighten eyes with her own vengeful gaze of murderous rage and hurt that made Sam feel. . .proud.

The feeling of disgust immediately replaced it, swiftly taking up root in Sam's gut.

"What the fuck Ethan, revenge for whom, you just became my roommate by 'sheer chance' so you could kill me and my sister?" Tara demanded, her voice was thick with both anger and shock. Any lingering strain of her breathing from earlier was completely gone, supplanted by her anger.

"Why, for who Ethan, for Richie or Amber, or for both and don't feed me bullshit!"

Ethan only smiled, again with what appeared to be confidence, it was completely misplaced given the fear his eyes held, and it only served to anger Tara even more.

"I'll leave it to you to guess Tara," he muttered defiantly.

"You'll get no answers from me."

"You mentioned others, that every franchise needs an epic conclusion, and this is ours, so who are the others?" Sam inquired authoritatively; she couldn't help but insist, directing Ethan's eyes back to her.

"I am not answer-"

"We'll see about that," Sam remarked cutting him off, as she swiftly grabbed the knife from Tara's hands and viciously stabbed Ethan in his abdomen again, making him cry out in pain.

"You're not so tough when the roles are reversed," Sam muttered coldly, twisting the knife further in.

"Still why did you do it, we know that there are other Ghostfaces, who are they?"

Ethan could only scowl and whimper amidst his pain.

Sam brought the knife out and brandished it close to Ethan's face, so close that she could see the blood stained blade being reflected in Ethan's pupils.

"I told Richie to not fuck with the daughter of a serial killer, despite being aware of that, given what you know Ethan, you made the same fatal mistake."

"You're a fucking idiot!"

Sam slowly ran the blade along Ethan's chin, leaning in as the cold murderous fire returned to her eyes.

"Though, I'll be completely honest with you Ethan, a prison cell might be too good for you," she whispered sinisterly, widening her eyes for effect.

"If you want to honour the original, then you know how it always ends. . .for the killer."

"What did we do to make you want to kill us, what exactly?" Tara demanded, anger being the by far dominant tone of her voice, with her eyes being ablaze with rage and the all too familiar unrelenting sting of betrayal.

She and Ethan were not close, a friend of a friend. Yet the fact that everything he did was merely a set up for this event only served to greatly infuriated Tara.

And it brought in another round of damming questions with ominous answers if true.

Who else among her housemates and friends were really Ghostface in disguise, pretending to be caring until the right moment. Tara's mind, what small part of her that remained untouched by her anger and emotional pain frantically searched through a list of faces, questioning how well she truly knew them all.

Quinn and Anika, not essentially close, but Anika was Mindy's girlfriend and Tara knew that Mindy would have checked that Anika was trustworthy; before dating her and then bringing her into the friendship group.

Mindy had not fully forgiven herself for not seeing Amber as the killer; neither had Tara, but the depths to which their self-loathing ran were radically different from eachother.

Quinn, she had answered the anonymous tip to be Tara's housemate and she was nice, sex mad, but sweet, trustworthy, and quiet. . .when she wasn't entertaining guys in her bedroom every night.

Mindy and Chad, the twins, no, they were safe, but then again Tara had been far closer to Amber than either Mindy or Chad and she still didn't see any of the warning signs.

And who could not say that the next Ghostface might be a survivor who had snapped under the mental trauma, that for one would be a twist.

Tara couldn't help but feel a sense of paranoia creep up from the depths of her mind, bringing her worst fears along with it, all vividly imagined.

Ethan meanwhile remained whimpering in pain as Sam held the knife against his already bleeding throat. Ethan seemed to be struggling to breathe, no surprise given that his throat had been viciously stabbed and slashed.

"You did this for revenge Ethan, who was Richie and Amber to you?" Sam asked determinedly.

The lack of an answer only infuriated her more.

"I said who were they to you!" she roared, shaking Ethan by the neck.

"TELL ME ETHAN!"

Enraged by his lack of a response, Sam just dropped him, letting his head hit the solid cold floor.

Ethan breathed in and out, each time he did his breath sounded shaky, with his eyes becoming dark, glazed, distant. Yet, he muttered between each breath, speaking an almost a detached manner, when he wasn't lowly groaning in pain.

"It was. . . only fair. . .with how. . .you cruelly portrayed them. . .in your stories, after what happened in Woodsboro."

"That still doesn't answer why though Ethan!" Tara replied angrily, leaning forward she was looking down at him, her brown eyes alight with fury.

Ethan weakly smiled and for once his brown eyes seem to light up with. . .excitement for lack of a better word. . .no. . .anticipation.

"It doesn't. . .matter Tara," Ethan muttered smugly.

"You bitches deserve. . .everything that is coming. . .for you."

Ethan's gaze flickered over to Sam, moving his head caused him a great deal of pain; as he gritted his teeth before speaking in a husked tone, the lights in his eyes had died down.

"Like. . .like you said earlier. . .Samantha, you slip up. . .you always do."

"And we will. . .be waiting. . .for when you do."

"Who are the other Ghostfaces Ethan?" Sam asked, her voice was tense, but collected.

She recognised that time was rapidly running out for him and so did Ethan. Now he was barely able to smile; before shakily drawing in another breath, weakly whispering with suspense.

"It is. . .more fun. . .when you. . .don't know. . .the answers."

He exhaled, barely making a sound as his body relaxed, his muscles unclenching themselves from any tension that they previously held.

Yet, he didn't inhale again, remaining still and unmoving, with his eyes closing, going completely dark, the light of life rapidly fading.

Sam immediately pushed her free hand against Ethan's neck, feeling for his pulse.

She took a few good seconds to register any activity underneath the skin, but found nothing, no activity of any kind, Ethan was definitely dead.

Tara though wasn't convinced.

Tearing the knife out of Sam's hand, Tara surged forward and stabbed Ethan right in the forehead, forcing the blade in deep.

"I am not taking any chances, no 'last scare'," she whispered coldly, but the anger in her voice was beyond evident, as she pulled out the knife with a sickening sound.

After all a good Ghostface was a dead one. . .

---

Slowly withdrawing her hand from Ethan's neck, Sam carefully pushed herself backwards, resting against the side aisle, caring not how uncomfortable it felt against her back.

Tara had followed suit, dragging herself to lie directly next to Sam along the same aisle, the floor was slippery with both blood and spilled food condiments.

The unceasing agony that Tara felt from her muscles, especially her broken right elbow ruled out any attempt at standing. Her anger had forced her muscles to work, and she had used both arms to brutally stab Ethan. Now she was regretting it with how much pain her right below was in. Besides, she was far too exhausted to move, let alone crawl her way out and drag Sam along with her.

Tara still retained the knife, although she wanted to be rid of it. Yet it provided her and Sam with security, should another Ghostface decide to make their entrance.

Although neither sister was in any ideal condition to mount an effective defence should that actually happen.

Amidst the sounds of police sirens racing out, both sisters were close enough to hear the other one breath, but when compared to Tara's shaky and wearily inhales and exhales, Sam's was laboured and weak, the full impact of her earlier stab wounds now being registered as the rush of adrenaline died down.

"Sam?" Tara asked, turning herself to face her elder sister. Tara had to grit her teeth when her back muscles scream out in protest at the slight movement of her neck.

Sam slowly but with weary effort raised her head and looked in Tara's direction. Blood was dripping down from a nasty gash on right side of her head and getting into her eyes. Then there was the gaping slash on her left arm that was threatened to bleed not to mention the various bruises that marked her face. There was that vicious bleeding cut which ran up the entire length of her left leg. Finally, there was that deep cut on her collarbone which had created several streams of blood that ran down Sam's chest, soaking her shirt.

"Sam don't fall asleep," Tara urged, feeling the pull herself, flooding through her mind and senses. She felt exhausted, worn out, battered and more than beyond bruised. She couldn't move even if she wanted, the pain was becoming excruciating now that her adrenaline spike was dropping.

"Stay awake and please don't fall asleep!"

"I will try not to Tara and neither do you," Sam replied, her voice still carried a great degree of determination, but the fear was undeniable.

"We need to stay awake for the ambulance, kick me if I start to fall asleep, no matter how hard."

Sam had to maintain her blinking to keep the blood out of her eyes, but at such a close distance she could see Tara clearly. The younger woman's black eyes, the countless blue and purple bruises that covered her face that had already started to swell. Then, there was the small wound in her lower stomach, Sam could see the blood stains on her clothes; including the upper area of Tara's shirt where Ghostface had plunged the knife in her left shoulder, leaving a nasty looking cut that continually bleed. Only now with having sufficient time to observe did Sam notice just how badly bent Tara's right elbow was, the twisted angle disgusted her, but she suppressed the urge to vomit.

"You look like crap," Sam muttered observantly, she couldn't help but comment to break the tension, yet she had to divert her gaze away from Tara's crocked elbow.

Tara followed Sam's gaze and noticed the awkward shape; the bone having been snapped in two by Ethan in a vicious rage. It explained why it was hurting so much, every tiny movement caused Tara to painfully wince and grit her teeth to suppress the desire to cry out.

Looking back at Sam and comparing herself to her elder half-sister; no sister, there was no half about it. . .Tara could only reply with dry humour.

"Yeah, I do look like crap, but to be fair, you ain't much of a looker right now Sam, either way we should get quality painkillers."

"I bloody hope so," Sam muttered exhaustedly, raising her hand to her head to wipe away the excess blood from her head wound.

The sound of raging sirens had become a shrieking wail. Soon very soon, the police would be here and then they would be safe. . .for a while.

Amidst the relative quiet, despite the sirens, Tara's mind pushed various questions to the forefront, but one stood out above all others.

"Why?" she asked slowly, breathing steadily, her mind racing with a demand for answers.

Her brown eyes flickered over to the motionless body of Ethan. . .she didn't really know him and yet he carried so much murderous hatred for her and Sam.

"He said revenge Tara, revenge for both Richie and Amber," Sam answered, wiping the blood out of her eyes as she gazed back at Tara.

"Why he was doing it in their name, he wouldn't tell us, gave us the middle finger by taking it to his grave."

"Maybe he admired them and hated the way that Gale had written about them in her best seller."

Sam uttered that last part with scorn, bloody Gale and her need to maintain a hold on the story of Ghostface and the killings. Her book 'Requel: Terror Returns To Woodsboro' wascreated solely because Gale had surmised that if anyone was going to write about what happened in Woodsboro again last year then it might as well be her.

"You had to be creative with the license and play into the idea that I was the true killer, you were fucking there with Sidney for God's sake, you saw what happened!" Sam grumbled; her low voice laced with venom. Gale had a lot to answer for and Sam was determined make sure she was held to account for what she had written.

Sam's eyes wearily looked over to Ethan's corpse.

"So much for letting Amber and Richie rot in fucking anonymity."

Not that Gale was personally responsible for what had happened just now, but one couldn't deny the part that her books had played in giving Ethan 'inspiration' to don the infamous facemask.

No wonder that Reddit and Twitter were awash with theories and fake news that she was the real mastermind behind the killings. Sam reasoned that she was luckily enough for it to have taken a full year before someone tried to come after her.

Next time she may only have half as much time to prepare.

Meanwhile the truth lay hidden, but not inaccessible, just very hard to reach right now.

Sam frowned, feeling the frustration boil within her as she spoke.

"We'll get our answers though somehow, there'll be a clue somewhere."

She gripped her head, groaning in pain as the wound from her left shoulder flared up when she raised her arms.

"Sam, don't move, you need to stay still," Tara urged, lightly grabbing Sam's right arm to pull it down to her side.

"I can't Tara, I need to. . .God. . ."

Sam held her head in her hands as she began to exhale frantically, venting her emotional turmoil as the adrenaline faded.

"I shouldn't have come, I lead them here, I gave them what they wanted!"

"I tried to get you out, but no matter where I go, they always follow, the killings keep on happening!"

"They will not stop hunting and the last thing I wanted was to drag you into this hell!"

To see Sam, someone who was normally composed and authoritative begin to uncoil into a fearful state pained Tara, so much that she ignored the agony from her back muscles when she reached over and grabbed Sam tightly by the hands.

"You came back for me Sam; you came to get me to safety," Tara said firmly, but equally pleading, focusing Sam's attention on her and her alone.

Frantic brown eyes glanced over to meet another pair of fearful brown eyes. They locked, with Tara speaking as softly as she could, whilst keeping the fear in her voice to a minimum.

"You promised that you wouldn't leave me behind after Woodsboro, you declare so in the ambulance when they took us away from Amber's house."

Tara had to bite down hard to supress the lump in her throat at the mere remembrance of that hellish night. At the mention of Amber.

"Welcome to act three!" Amber declared coldly, before pulling the trigger of her pistol at Sam and her secret accomplice Richie.

All the while Tara stood behind Amber, gripping her manic girlfriend's shoulders in complete shock before snapping back to reality when multiple gunshots rang out. . .

"I did promise you Tara and it is why I stayed with you in New York, to make up for the years that I missed out with you," Sam replied ardently, her voice, still filled with dread caught Tara's attention and allowed her to push away the hurtful memories.

"I know. . ." Tara muttered softly, turning to look back at Ethan, still lying nearby.

"It is a good thing that you came, no matter the risk, you will always come running to help me."

"As much as I have been pushing you away lately, with your overprotectiveness."

"I only do it to keep you safe from a legacy that has no right to hurt you."

"It is my curse to bear it, being Billy's daughter, but if I can focus its attention solely on me, then it'll leave everyone else I cared about well alone," Sam muttered, her tone changing from fearful to deadpan serious.

Tara's eyes widen with surprise with how Sam's words sounded like a commitment, but in truth, there was a part of herself that already knew Sam's mentality.

Martyr's Complex. . .coupled with a bottomless chasm of self-loathing.

Nothing would ever be enough for her; it would be a price that she felt obligated to keep paying, not having any happiness because she didn't deserve it with the legacy she was tied to. Although making other people happy was enough for her.

"You deserve so much more Sam," was the overriding thought that filtered through Tara's mind.

She mentally scolded herself for acting so childish earlier when Sam was trying to get her to pack and leave their shared apartment. To just drop everything at the mere mention of another Ghostface killing had irritated Tara immensely because she didn't want to abandon the seemingly safe bubble that she had created for herself at Blackmore University. To do so meant going back to the past, to acknowledge its presence when Tara just wanted to leave it all behind and never look back.

The past had other plans though. . .

"Carpenters togethers remember, we both declare that when we were kids, age six and eleven," Sam remarked reflectively, further interlocking her fingers with Tara's.

"Yeah," Tara added thoughtfully, giving Sam a small smile.

"I remember, right before I declared that I could jump off that high tree branch in our backyard."

"I insisted that you shouldn't do it, but we were so adamant," Sam muttered, she couldn't help but grin at the memory at a bossy Tara aged six. Although Sam would often take the lead in most cases and Tara fell into line out of admiration for her elder sister.

"I ignored you and ended up in hospital with a broken leg for two weeks and in the end Mom and Dad were madder at you than we were at me for not being a 'good older sister'," Tara laughed, ignoring the pain from her bruised ribs.

She felt, a little bit better than before now.

"Yes," Sam noted slowly, going quiet and closing her eyes.

"Being a good older sister. . .I wasn't one when it mattered, when Dad walked out, the years in between when I spiralled and then when I just ran. . ."

Suddenly Tara launched herself at Sam, instinctively burying her head into Sam's shoulder, allowing the older woman to wrap her arms weakly around Tara's chest and pull her in close into a sideways hug, with Tara resting her head on Sam's shoulder, nuzzling her face into her neck. It was close enough that despite the noise of the nearby sirens, Sam could comfortably make out Tara's heartbeat.

Steady, a bit frantic, but present.

"Don't," Tara whispered, her voice was soft, but Sam detected a deep seated sorrow, a painful recollection as Tara spoke again.

"Don't go back to those times Sam, I know why you left, you were afraid, but it is old history now."

Tara ignored the agonised scream from her various aching muscles, her right elbow was wacked with an intense stabbing sensation.

"I am still a bit hurt by it all, but you are here now, and you are more attentive and engaged in my life than mom ever was."

"Tara, I need to remind myself, so I can avoid repeating it."

"You didn't do anything wrong Sam!" Tara argued compassionately, wrapping her left arm around Sam's waist and pulling her in close.

Her act of affection made Sam's checks flush, giving them some much needed colour.

"You were scared, and mom was an utter bitch who blamed you for everything because she couldn't reconcile the fact that her lies destroyed our family, she lied to Dad for a decade plus," Tara argued, her voice was both firm though soft, delicate and reassuring.

Sam sighed, looking away as she wiped off more blood from her head before speaking with a weary and despondent tone that made her sound far older than her twenty five years.

"I left you with her though Tara, I abandoned you because I was too scared to be near you and I thought that removing myself with my fucked up heritage would be enough to keep you safe from any harm that I incurred, that was my sole hope by leaving."

A hand lightly grabbed Sam's face, its fingers affectionately tracing her jaw line and pulling her gaze back towards Tara, who looked up at Sam with heartfelt determination.

"And I am grateful for every day since you came back into my life Sam and I want you to stay in it, if you can't be happy for yourself then at least promise me that you will be for my sake."

"You deserve a life too."

Seeing the disagreement in Sam's eyes, Tara tightened her grip on Sam's face, pulling her closer, so close that all they could see were each other's eyes.

"I. Want. You. To. Be. Happy. Because. It. Will. Make. Me. Happy. Ok?" Tara stated her voice a mixture between firmness and sincerity.

"Promise me Sammy."

Sammy. . .

The old affective nickname that Tara had called Sam before she left sent a shockwave through her memories, jolting them free.

Vivid images of herself and Tara when they were children huddled up together on the couch watching Saturday morning cartoons.

Climbing trees in their back garden during the long warm summer days, with Tara urging Sam to climb higher and being amazed by her ability to do so.

Joking with eachother at the dinner table when it was just the two of them; with Sam often teaching a new rude word that she had learnt from school, much to Tara's delight and giggles when trying to pronounce it.

The two of them sharing the same bed at night, when Tara had a nightmare, she would immediately go to Sam's room. Sam would always let her stay and hold her tightly, enough for her whimpering and cries to have died down with her settling into a more peaceful slumber.

Sam relaxed a bit more, feeling a bit of that emotional weight lift from her mind and a sense of tranquil settle in her chest. Even if it was brief, it was a relief to feel the fear being pushed away.

"I promise that I will be happy for your sake Tara," Sam muttered, giving Tara a small reassuring smile.

"No faking it either, I can read you Sam, easily," Tara warned, but she spoke with playful jest, yet she held a serious look in her eyes, a warning for Sam to not give up.

Sam closed her eyes and sighed, allowing her body to relax, her muscles unclench themselves and the tension they were holding subsided. However, most of her fear remained though, weighing down on her mind; coupled with the guilt of abandoning Tara gnawed away at her; compelling her to right that wrong. Even though Tara understood why Sam when nearly aged nineteenth had suddenly taken off one night, only to return six years later when. . .well that event was old history too.

Their mother Christina had tried to raise Tara single handed from the age of fourteen onwards, but under the pressure of being a single parent and struggling with the loss of an estranged daughter and husband; the former whom she ceaselessly blamed for breaking up the family sent her spiralling into the throes of alcoholism.

Time can heal all wounds most people would say, but Sam and Christina had never seen eye to eye since Sam's departure and her re-entry into Tara's life had only resulted in a furry of resentment from Christina with how capable Sam turned out to be in getting Tara to college. Their social interactions when in Tara's presence was barely sincere, if not going through the motions simply for Tara's sake.

Yet with the old saying on time healing all wounds Tara had forced herself to believe it could be true. Just to avoid thinking about Amber and that terrible week one year back. If she ignored it, allowed it to fade away with time, the emotional anguish would eventually stop as she moved forward in her life. It would become bittersweet but submerged by hopefully more pleasant memories as her life progressed.

Tara sighed, looking away and finding her eyes becoming locked on Ethan, he looked even paler than before and remained unmoving.

"For you Sam, your happiness is worth everything to me. . ."

Tara made the vow; it was only fair that Sam got to be free from the actions of her psychotic father. Children were not their fathers and despite Sam straying towards her inherited bloodlust at times, it was heavily counterbalanced by the sheer efforts she made to not fall over that line; sacrificing her own needs and wants for Tara's sake. She only killed Ethan in self-defence, as she had with Richie and as Tara had done to Amber.

Given what those three monsters had done, the murders they had committed with a cruel smile and sadistic euphoria; to enjoy watching them squirm and even beg when the knife finally came for them was completely justified.

If anything, it was an act of public safety to remove such monsters from the world. . .

Tara didn't deny that she enjoyed watching Amber bleed out on the carpet with a bullet hole in her head.

But she also felt something else, more potent than satisfaction.

Regret, sorrow, sadness . . .heartbreak.

At times when Tara allowed herself to reflect on Amber and those hellish events, the vividness of what happened and how it all felt only came back stronger. It was like there was a part of Tara that wanted to relieve it all; that knew she was deliberately avoiding it altogether, both mentally and physically.

It was why she had gone to New York, on the far opposite side of the country from Woodsboro in California and why she had not attended therapy despite Sam's insistence.

It hurt too much to talk about it, Tara wouldn't know where to even begin when asked about how she felt or what she thought about it. Above all though, she couldn't stomach the very real possibility of how negatively people would react if she confessed to there still being a significant part of herself which despite everything that had happened, amidst the psychical and emotional agony. . .that she still loved Amber Freeman, as much as she hated her.

Her first love and seemingly her last, for no one else had come to close to Amber, not in terms of how she had deeply loved Tara throughout the preceding years.

It was on that observation that Tara's memories suddenly kicked into high gear.

Amber sitting next to a sullen Tara at the picnic tables along with Mindy, Chad, Liv and Wes at high school, trying to distract her from her downtrodden home life, following Sam's sudden departure.

Being paired with Amber for a creative writing class, project horror themed. For Amber such a project was her dream and it practically revealed her on drive love for the genre especially the Stab franchise.

She could ramble for ages when the conversation was on her favourite topic, and she always looked cute when doing it.

Their first kiss one Christmas nearly four years ago, Tara could still recall the taste of Amber's lipstick. . .sweet and seductive cherry.

She had just given Amber her Christmas gift, a glided necklace from her mother (which she no longer needed) with a face symbol of Stab's Ghostface at its end. Amber immediately loved it, gushing over its design and calling it her most treasured possession.

All their shared pent feelings just came to the fore at that moment for both of them. . .it felt just right.

Then. . .the bad memories came rushing in like a flood, marring everything that was once good.

Amber viciously stabbing Tara through her left hand with her blade, nearly splitting it in two. The coldness of the blade and the burning agony that surged throughout her hand had left Tara screaming.

"Do you still like elevated horror Tara?" Amber sneered from the behind the Ghostface mask, as she pushed the blade further in.

"Do you still think that slashers are beneath it?"

Then came the ominous footfalls of Amber in her Ghostface costume, as she slowly walked down the hallway of the hospital; steadily gaining on a bloodied Tara as she painfully crawled forward.

Tara reached out for the elevator, desperate for safety from the murderous madwoman that was her girlfriend.

"You just have to give me answer Samantha, Richie or Tara, which one?" Amber asked on the phone, having it on loud speaker so Tara could hear.

"Make one or I'll make it for you and trust me when I say that I am strongly leaning towards Tara with the amount of noise she is making."

"I can easily hit all of the organs that I deliberately missed last time and shut her up for good!"

"You leave her the fuck alone!" Sam screamed from the other end of the phone.

"Then it is Richie that you want dead?"

"Neither one you asshole!"

Well, then Samantha, perhaps I should just kill Tara."

"You kill her and there will be no stopping me from ripping you apart!"

"We'll see Samantha, we shall see. . ."

When the end finally came, when Amber's still warm body lay on her blood stained carpet; Tara had lifted her head up to reveal that Amber was still wearing her Ghostface necklace around her neck.

She had kept it, had always worn it, despite the risk that its discovery on her person would reveal her identity and yet what it symbolised meant nothing to her in the end.

Why?

Tears began to build up in Tara's eyes and she was too tired to brush them away.

Forcefully pushing such memories to the far back of her mind, Tara sank further into Sam's embrace, seeking comfort. The elder Carpenter seemed to sense Tara's distress and cradled her up with her right arm, pulling her in close, as though they were joined at the hip.

"I know," Sam whispered gently, affectionately rubbing Tara's sides, being extra careful to avoid any scars from previous stab wounds. At this rate both sisters had injuries which crisscrossed their bodies like an artistic tile floor.

"I can read you easily too Tara."

"I know that you think about Amber when you are quiet, it is still a lot to take in."

"It is ok to think about her, you don't have to suffer in silence."

Tara merely responded by further burying her head into Sam's shoulder, happily accepting her sister's display of affection.

The warmth, the closeness, the love, it took Tara back to their childhood, to those summer days.

Sam for her part just closed her eyes, taking comfort from the rhythm of Tara's heartbeat.

It was rapid, as was her own, but if she could hear it, then Sam knew that both she and Tara were alive and breathing and only that mattered.

Unlike Ethan, who remained motionless on the floor not two steps away, surrounded in a pool of his own blood that was mixing in with the blood that had already been shed and whatever spilled food was nearby.

His black robes were stained with enough blood that there were now turning into an even deeper shade of black. The deep stab wound in his forehead made it clear that he wasn't getting back up.

Ethan Landry definably wasn't coming back.

"Tara," Sam whispered softly, but the urgency in her voice earned Tara's undivided attention.

"I need to sleep. . .actually, I think I am. . .going to blackout," Sam continued, keeping her eyes closed as she rested her chin on Tara's head, learning into her further for support.

"I feel the same, but I think you really need sleep more than I do, I'll remain awake until the ambulance arrives," Tara replied adamantly, blinking her eyes in quick succession to fight off her mind's call for slumber and rest.

"If I ever. . .stop breathi-"

"Don't!" Tara cried pleading, jerking her neck upwards at the rapidity of her reaction.

She only now noticed how pale the elder Carpenter's face looked.

"Don't talk like that Sam, you are going to survive ok!"

"I don't want to scare you Tara. . .but considering how blood. . .I've lost, we can't. . .rule it out, Sam replied slowly, although she managed to carry a degree of seriousness in her voice.

"Don't worry. . .I am tougher than I look, but. . .even that isn't. . .enough to get me to. . .crawl my way out. . .right now."

"Ok, but I will be watching you very closely and if I think the worst it about to happen, then I'll you wake up," Tara muttered, forcing herself to concede, despite being entirely opposed to it. She knew that she couldn't really stop Sam if she happened to blackout.

"You sleep Sam, I'll wake you up if anything happens, I promise."

"Do you still. . .have the knife?" San asked wearily, keeping her eyes closed.

"Yes, I still have it and I am not letting it go until the police arrive," Tara replied firmly, glancing down at the said bladed weapon, tightening her grip on its slippery blood covered handle.

"Make sure. . .that you do," Sam remarked firmly, but the weariness was beyond evident in her voice.

She tried to relax, easing back against the aisle that she was resting against, allowing her muscles to uncoil. Exhaustion was steadily overcoming her senses, calling her to sleep and making her eye lids feel all the more heavier with each passing second.

"Tara," Sam called softly, making Tara look up at her again, raising her head.

"Don't forget your inhaler. . .you have it right?"

"Yeah, I thought I had lost it earlier, but I have it now, safe and sound."

From her memory Tara could recall that she had 50 puffs left in use, for a moment she thought about letting Sam use her inhaler, but she reasoned that as Sam didn't have asthma, using it might make her breathing worse.

"No," Tara mentally muttered.

"I won't take that risk unless I have absolutely no choice."

Sam moved her right around from Tara's side and gently stroked her brown hair, intertwining her fingers with the younger woman's curls.

It felt motherly and Tara felt a blush creep up her checks, making her smile.

"Good. . .don't let your inhaler. . .get out. . .of your sight ok," Sam whispered, her quiet tone was the most she could manage currently.

"I know, you worry too much about me Sam," Tara remarked reflectively as Sam continued to stroke her loose hair strands.

"How can I not. . .after everything, even if it feels intrusive."

"I know that you do it because you care Sam."

"Even if we don't agree, I don't want my life to be dictated by constantly needing to look over my shoulder, like Sidney and prepare to go into hiding every time there is another Ghostface murder."

"Like I said earlier we are surviving, not living."

"It will end one day Tara. . . there are not. . . an infinite number of Ghostfaces." Sam replied, sounding hopefully.

"Don't fucking jinx it Sam!"

Sam chuckled lightly at Tara's blunt reply; it brought a smile to her otherwise weary pale face.

"I just had to. . . didn't I."

With another ragged exhale, Sam effortlessly slipped into sleep, her chest rising and falling in a somewhat heavy pattern, but her breath now didn't sound as ragged or laboured before, but it was still noticeably weak with an evident drag.

"I would drag you out of here if I could Sam, if only my right arm and back weren't screaming every time I move an inch," Tara muttered to herself, low enough so that Sam didn't hear her.

"I know why you are so protective; I don't want you to feel guilty anymore; I know that Amber. . ."

Tara bit her swollen lip, forcing down that familiar lump in her throat, stuttering on her words when again past images of Amber burst into her mind's eye. First it was the good and wonderful moments shared during both middle and high school. . .and then the nightmare from hell of that torturous week.

Yet this time, before the images could get vivid, Tara forcefully shoved them back down, mentally locking them away in the deep recesses of her mind as she always did.

But they kept pushing back. . .refusing to remain quiet.

"Amber was there for me every step of the way and that only makes me question all the more why she tried to kill me; I can't help but ask myself," Tara whispered reflective, but she could feel the rising sorrow in her own voice as she spoke.

"She did hate you for abandoning me and perhaps she felt jealous when you returned to Woodsboro, despite that being her intention by attacking me, feeling that you might usurp her place in my life, girlfriend never, but as someone who saw themselves as my carer, yeah, she was rather obsessively protective of me."

Yet in Tara's mind, a thought emerged, reminding her.

"She planned the murders with Richie long before Sam came back."

"She attacked you to get to Sam, don't you remember overhearing Amber and Richie's confession."

In response to her own thoughts, Tara firmly replied with,

"It is torture not knowing why Amber did it and I know that Sam has wondered the same whenever she mentions Billy Loomis and why he committed the original murders."

The name of Sam's real father made goosebumps rippled up across Tara's skin from her head to her feet.

Tara's jumble of thoughts responded with.

"He was a monster, pushed by petty reasons, wanting revenge against Sidney's family, there was no other motivation, Sidney said as much, and she alone knew him better than anyone else."

"Everything is royally fucked up," Tara mentally groaned, shifting herself in Sam's embrace, practically curling up in her sister's arms.

"They are all fucked up, no sane person would do what they did without diving off the deep end first."

"It is hard to come back . . ."

That last part was uttered the tone of recognition, a recognition of Sam's own experiences when she briefly entered that red mist mindset. Understandably Sam mostly wanted to forget it, but in times of crisis she used it to understand the various Ghostfaces. To see the twisted mind that lay behind the facemask.

Tara had felt it too, tonight when repeatedly stabbing Ethan in a murderous glee. The ravenous fires of bloodlust had called to her, and she had willingly answered.

Yet, like Ethan all previous Ghostfaces were mere copies of Billy Loomis, trying to live up to his 'legacy'.

Granted the bastard was dead in every sense of the word and Sam only referred to him as her biological father given their unfortunate familial connection; but Billy's blood-soaked actions had casted a long shadow through the years. Let alone spawned a film franchise.

Unfortunately, everyone else knew who Sam's real father was as well, due to Christina when drunk one night revealing that detail in a bar in Woodsboro to none other than Amber Freeman herself. Christina never missed an opportunity to dig the knife in at Sam for ruining her family life when Sam discovered the lie herself in her mother's old school dairies.

Right on the eve of Christmas too. . .

The angry shouts, the heighten tension that filled the house, the pain on her father's face, seeing him age thirty years with the damming revelation of his wife's decades' long lie. Demands, accusations, swiftly followed by panicked apologies and tearful begs for forgiveness from her mother.

Shock, dread, fear.

A loud door slam. . .a car rapidly driving away.

All Tara knew was that dad was gone, had just abruptly left and there was no clear sign as to when he was coming back. Eventually, when she was old enough to fully understand, Sam gently told her that dad had left forever.

The pain of realising it had felt so raw that not even Sam's warm embraces each night could sooth Tara's cries.

Even then Tara didn't know the full truth until Sam returned to Woodsboro a year ago, after that she mostly severed ties with Christina. Tara remained on speaking terms with her mother bar a few personal visits, although Christina still helped to cover their expenses.

Tara returned to resting her head on Sam's shoulder, enjoying what little peace she could gain from the stillness, besides the ongoing police sirens.

She signed in frustration, this was completely unfair, life had given her and Sam both short straws; only her early childhood she could recall as being a truly innocent time, the rest was just outright depressing and marked by severe pain.

The ghosts who had caused so much pain continued to haunt them both, Tara had to question why she, let alone Sam hadn't yet snapped under the pressure.

It would be terrifying to see. . .

"We're both haunted, that much is fucking true," Tara commented bitterly to herself, it pretty much summed up everything so far.

She could feel the call to sleep grow stronger, with her adrenaline now having faded, she felt her eyelids become heavy, slowly closing under their own weight.

All she had were her own thoughts and the sound of Sam's breathing. It was weak, but still steady. A quick glance at her elder sister showed her chest to be rising and falling in a predictable motion which helped to put Tara further at ease.

Sam was tough, far tougher than her, but she wasn't invincible.

Yet that didn't mean she would go quietly if the worst should ever happen, and Tara didn't want to be left alone.

"Thank you for coming back into my life," she whispered softly, noting how she hadn't said it when Sam returned earlier tonight to get her out that drunken student party, armed with a taser. Tara was truly grateful, despite their arguments and rows that Sam would always care for her, unlike Christina who gave up by losing herself in drink and their father who just walked right out of both their lives and Amber. . .well, less said the better.

Sam came back when it really mattered, and she had stayed ever since, despite her own problems and how much she selflessly blamed herself for everything.

---

CLICK!

The sound of a nearby door opening immediately snapped Tara to attention, momentarily shrugging off the need to sleep as her bodily senses when on alert like lighting striking a tree.

Slowly turning in the sound's direction and gripping the knife tightly Tara learned forward slightly. She gritted her teeth in response to the pain which flared up from her aching back muscles.

CREAK!

She saw the double backdoor of the store, which she believed to be locked being pushed open.

Then the call to sleep resurged throughout her system, mixing in with the distant humming sound of the overhanging lights.

Tara hadn't really noticed the humming sound that they made, unsurprisingly, given everything else. Yet as Tara strained herself to focus, her vision became blurry. No surprise as she was practically running on fumes at this point regarding her energy levels and even adrenaline couldn't hold exhaustion back for along.

Eventually she would literally drop off into sleep.

As Tara fought to keep her vision focused on the opened door, a figure walked in, they were blurry, a misshaped blob, but their colour was clear, jet black.

They seemingly turned in Tara's direction, striding directly towards her and generating a series of soft thuds as they walked forward.

Like shoes. . .or boots.

The closer they got, the more Tara's vision cleared, despite the strain her eyes were under to remained focused.

Black boots, they were the first thing that became visible.

A short dark reddish skirt with matching black tights. A black shirt and open button jumper

A gasp escaped Tara's mouth, her eyes going wide.

She tried to speak, but now her mouth refused to move; she couldn't articulate her words as she struggled to fully take in what she was seeing.

Standing before her, casually dressed without a care in the world, was the last person Tara expected to see. . .Amber Freeman, pushing back her raven black hair.

Back from the dead but looking more alive than ever.

Amber's brown eyes seem to soften and then go wide as she fully took in Tara's bloodied appearance.

"It's ok, I know that this is a surprise," Amber said, her voice, it sounded so clear, smooth with a mischievous flare that Amber was known for.

"You've been through a lot Tara, you really should sleep, I'll take care of everything so the cops don't suspect any wrongdoing on either you or Sam's part."

Finally, Tara regained control over her own mouth and willed herself to speak.

"No, you're dead!" she argued fiercely, grabbing hold of the knife from her right hand with her left and swiftly thrusting it forward at 'Amber'.

"I fucking shot you in the head!"

"You'll be surprised at what doesn't kill you these days," 'Amber' replied, she briefly glanced down at the knife, seeming to be unfazed by it.

"How?" Tara angrily demanded, narrowing her eyes. Yet 'Amber' responded casually with an amused smile.

"That would be telling Tara."

"Are you here to kill me and Sam, to finish your fucking movie?"

"No, that would not be fair to you."

"How merciful of you, like the time you stabbed my hand, broke my foot, left me in sheer agony, but avoided hitting any vital organs that would kill me."

"You really had my interests at heart didn't you."

'Amber' gave her brief nod.

"It was for the best Tara, if I hadn't been there that night, Richie would have killed you outright, I wanted to spare you."

"At that point you did," Tara growled menacingly.

She was scared shitless, her heart was racing wildly in her heart. Despite her immense anger, Tara couldn't stop her hand from shaking as she held the knife.

"Why, did you do it back in Woodsboro?" she asked, her voice seething with both rage and pain.

Her heart was firmly encased in the all too familiar cage of hurt and betrayal.

"Was it really worth it Amber?"

She fully wanted to stand and grab Amber by the neck, throw her against a wall, hold the knife to her throat and drag every answer she desired out of her. Even slowly drag the blade against Amber's throat if she refused, just to make her talk.

"Why did you try to kill me Amber, fucking why!?"

'Amber' didn't respond, instead she slowly walked around the pair, before stopping before Tara herself, looking down at the young woman with a sober expression that was almost borderline serious. Tara tracked her movements, her knife arm following Amber, ready to react if she dared to attack.

Yet Amber never did, choosing to remain standing.

"You look so tired Tara, you've been through so much these past years, I can practically see the weight you have been carrying on your shoulders."

Amber's eyes flickered over to Sam, who remained asleep, resting her head against Tara's, as she kept the younger woman wrapped up in her arms.

"Only she bears a greater weight than you, so much that it is crushing her and that's just by sheer observation alone."

"Why are you here, what do you want?" Tara demanded, keeping the anger in her voice to overcome her shock. Her eyes and ears were fighting with her brain to make it register what she was truly seeing when her brain was screaming on how irrational everything was.

"If I believe for a second that you are actually alive, why?"

Amber was dead, she had laid dead on the floor with a bullet hole through her head, she never moved once she hit the floor, let alone breath.

So how could she be standing here without a single sign of being undead?

"If I told you, you would not believe me anyway?" Amber answered clearly, her tone was casual, completely unconcerned by Tara's aggressive posture.

"I really don't want to, you when you lied about everything to me," Tara growled, tightly keeping her grip on the knife.

"I know, well, not everything Tara."

Amber then crouched down, reaching Tara's eye level, the latter tighten her grip on the knife to stop it from shaking in her hand.

Frantic brown eyes stared back into opposing stoic brown eyes which shouldn't be vibrant with life at all considering everything that had passed.

Amber was dead and buried, Tara had visited her gravesite in Woodsboro cemetery.

"Somethings that I told you back then were true, have always been so, if you really think back Tara, you will recognise which conversions were the ones where I was speaking from the heart," Amber said clearly, her tone being both factual and yet filled such a conviction that it seemed unshakable.

"If I was able to fully register whenever you lied or spoke truthfully back then, I would have known that you were lying about a lot of things, so sorry, but I don't buy your bullshit revision of events!" Tara growled venomously, she felt disgusted that Amber would dare to try and manipulative her recollection of events.

"Don't you dare try to gaslight me!"

"Just think about it, you'll have the time to do so," Amber said nonchalantly.

"Wh-"

"You need to sleep Tara, please just let your body rest," Amber muttered softly, her causal expression shifted to become reflective.

"I won't hurt you, not anymore."

The humming, the soft humming barely audible, but it felt like a soothing lullaby to Tara's exhausted mind, calling it to slumber.

She couldn't fight it, her energy levels were too low, she was running on empty.

"It's ok Tara, I'll take care of everything from here, just rest sweetheart."

Because that is what Amber had done, taken care of everything for Tara, been there for her whenever she needed it, stuck to her like glue.

"Don't worry anymore, just sleep."

"I need to know. . ."

"Did you truly love me?"

Amber just smiled sweetly, brushing her black hair back behind her ears; her gaze softened as her brown eyes lit up.

"You know the answer Tara, through all of the pain. . .I do still love you."

Just not enough to stop me from carrying out what I did. . .

Amber leaned forward and quickly planted a soft kiss against Tara's swollen lips. It was fleeting, but the physical sensation felt real, too real to be dismissed.

At least that is how Tara sought to recall it, real lips pressing against her own.

Amber reached out and gently stroked Tara's hair, tucking loose strands behind her ears.

"You won't die Tara," Amber gently soothed, she looked to be the most relaxed that Tara had ever seen her. . .so quiet without the abundance of energy that she often possessed.

"You won't die, you won't die ok, neither will Sam, you won't die."

She kept repeating her words, like a soothing lullaby.

Tara's eyes slipped shut, her arms slumped to the floor, with the knife dropping out of her grasp as her body finally gave into exhaustion and the sweet embrace of sleep.

Amber's words replayed in her mind, being carried with Tara as she rapidly departed for the subconsciousness where her dreams and nightmares waited.

She felt a peaceful sensation of relief wash over her, a small part of her being pleased to see Amber, even if she rationalised that it was all an hallucination.

Blood loss from her various wounds, dizziness from her asthma attack and wishful thinking would have all played a part in mentally resurrecting her former girlfriend/attempted murderer to the best of her wishes.

Still. . .it was nice to hear Amber's voice again, even if it was from a collection of memories that formed a realistic ghost.

In those isolated moments Tara supposed that she could feel glad to receive such visits, even if it really was herself projecting such moments into reality.

A brief tinge of concern travelled through her though.

It was unfortunate that for Sam, she only ever received visits from Billy Loomis, just when she was alone; suffering a complication of doubt, anger and self-loathing and facing anything with a reflective surface.

Seeing his cold eyes and demented smile. . .

Hearing his words of passionate encouragement whenever she had wielded a knife and drawn forth blood; or cruel condemnation for her refusal to accept her 'heritage' and see who she 'truly' was and be free.

There were or had been no encouraging visits from anyone passed or alive who had loved Sam or had genuinely shown any form of warmth towards her.

There were no happy visits.

If Sam would face the ghost of her father, she wouldn't do it alone, not anymore. The struggle with her inner demons that her father personified wouldn't be one that Sam faced alone going forward.

Sam deserved more than the bad hand she had been given and Sam would get it; when she had a younger sister who would who fight tooth and nail for her right to live free, as Sam constantly fought for Tara.

Together, they could be each other's shields and protect eachother from whatever hell may throw at them. . .and from what lurked within themselves.

It was a promise that Tara could not resist making. . .

---

Creak

Clang

Hum

Click

Deep below ground

Where memories sleep

Where anger is restless

An empty tomb devoid of all joy, where only malice resides.

Survived a ravenous fire that would have sent anyone else screaming into the depths of hell.

Where agony permeates the air and has soaked into the surroundings like water and leaving a dark taint behind.

A mask once broken now reformed from shattered fragments.

Single parts, mere copies that could be greater if united, then they could succeed to greater heights than the original that spawned their inspiration of spreading the terror and cementing a blood soaked legacy.

Yet, there is much darker legacy, one equally drenched in blood and has flowed unseen throughout the decades. A maelstrom of murderous anger, agonised sorrow, bitter depression coupled with vengeful and unforgiving rage that cannot be buried.

Where once fun and fantasy came to life has long since been firmly replaced by horror and mystery.

Now. . .the horror spawned from fun and fantasy reaches out with a firm hand to grasp that of those who have donned the infamous mask of a killer phantom.

To connect. . .to know. . .and together, forged new undreamt heights of. . .pain.

Sweet, addictive pain. . .

HISS!

Deep below ground, almost beyond the reach of humanity, in an age long forgotten room, deliberately chosen for such a reason; power surges forth from several generators and through metallic covered wires as the command to power on rings out.

Lighting up in a purple and reddish haze, streams of coloured lights blaze a trail through the darkness. As the pattern spreads, the collective light emitted reveals a series of dust covered metallic rooms, a sprawling complicated labyrinth with the wires reaching deep into its centre. . .like veins running through a body.

In the maze's core, its central hub, a console lights up, colourful lights blink, readings flicker to life on nearby screens. Distant alarms sound out, unheard by those far above, but audible to any habitants.

One of whom was on guard duty, traversing through the labyrinth, already knowing it like the back of their hand.

They had been awoken and summoned to the labyrinth's heart, the concrete and steel warren's heart. The faint ballerina music that they emitted was filtered out by the loudness of the alert alarms.

Skating forward on the flexible turn wheels built into their feet, they practically flew through several cold metallic rooms which held no life; but which hummed with great activity, as they bypassed various lit up consoles, flickering monitors and rolling conveyer belts.

And they weren't the only ones up and about. . .

Residents very much like themselves were either lumbering about or turning on from a long period of 'hibernation' if one could call it that.

Spinning by their fellow co-occupants without so much as a sidesway glance the figure continued to race forward.

Notification received, checking.

Central pod is unlocking, sleep state ending.

No errors detected so far.

All systems turning online.

All registered occupants are now activating, pods recharge cycle has now completed.

The figure was in what one could call the main atrium and about to turn a corner into the main corridor that would take them directly to the central hub when a new message suddenly popped into their CPU overview.

Alert!

Temporarily cease previous command!

Motion alert at main entrance

Visual conformation confirms registered visitor.

"Our honoured guest has arrived on time it seems, check validity and then bring them to me immediately!"

"All required doors have been unlocked for ease of passage."

"Main door unlock and relock codes granted: 1985 and 1987."

Their new command received and understood, the figure twirled round and headed into the opposite direction.

Multiple metallic shutter doors opened up in quick succession as the figure passed through. Their hands were raised above their head with their mid-section turning them in a constant circular spin as they rolled forward on their skates.

Soon, despite the distance involved they reached the front entrance in no time flat.

Standing before the control console, the figure looked up at the monitors which displayed the subterranean entrance outside. It was almost completely shrouded in darkness, save for a few bright white lights shining out of the entrance door, illuminating its immediate vicinity, but no more.

In that lit up space stood their honoured guest; staring up at the main camera with such intensity it was as though they were trying to gaze through the screen to the viewer on the other side.

Like they could sense their presence.

Given that they had good detection skills, in line with their profession. . .or was hobby a better word, it was not surprising.

The figure typed in the door code, which resulted in an approving beep sound, followed by heavy gears shifting and grinding as they raised the large, heavy thick steel shutter door upwards like a portcullis.

Outside, Guest turned their gaze towards the developing opening, as their escort glided into view, further revealed by the rising door.

"Welcome back, we have been expecting you," they said, speaking elegantly but there was a noticeable detachment to their tone.

"Come, he is waiting for you, in fact you have arrived at the right time."

Guest walked through the entrance way with the figure backing away to give them space and to evaluate their appearance.

Checking for validity.

They looked normal, wearing their usual attire, save for the clipped bag that was slung over their right shoulder.

Guest stopped in mid stride when the figure held up their hand.

"I require complete validation before you can advance any further, if you please," the figure stated clearly, with a smooth, but commanding tone that didn't quite suit their otherwise sleek appearance.

Guest complied without saying a word, providing the necessary validation.

"Excellent," the figure remarked, clasping their hands in approval with a slight nod.

"Validation check completed, perfect match, we can proceed, follow me please, we best be quick, while he stirs," they called, turning to go on the spot and gesturing for Guest to follow with a wave of their hand.

Guest did so without needing encouragement, walking forward in quick succession.

Figure reached over to the command console and swiftly pressed a few buttons in a seemingly random order. Instantly the entrance door quickly lowered itself shut, sealing off the outside.

On retracing their route back to the central hub, the figure barely said anything, but occasionally they glanced back to see if Guest was still following obligately.

Guest themselves did nothing more than case their gaze at their surroundings, although nothing they saw seem to make them pause.

They had been here before. . .

"I should warn you, that the rest of my kind are active, but pay them no mind, they know that you are friendly," the figure remarked coolly, turning back to look at Guest, whilst the final shutter door before the main atrium was being raised.

"Nothing which I have seen so far could really faze me," Guest replied, their voice was deep and cold, as they stared intensely at their escort. Figure, despite having been seen by Guest several times beforehand never opened their eyes and yet they always moved without any hinderance.

"You would be surprised, if I were you, I wouldn't say such words lightly," the figure muttered, still sounding elegantly, but with a touch of dismal in their voice.

"This world, is very different from the one that has been cultivated by you and your predecessors."

"I am already aware of such facts," Guest answered with their tone of dismal, but their voice held an ominous edge to it.

It always did whenever they spoke.

The door opened and the figure lead Guest through, under the colourful array of purple and red wires that seemed to pulsate with an unknown energy, like it was alive.

Advancing through the main atrium, Guest looked wherever at once, easily spotting the assemblage of eyes that glared down at them, either from above, at eye level or from the ground. Despite their earlier words about not being fazed, Figure did notice Guest clutch their clipped bag closer to their side, an instinctive reaction to wariness perhaps?

The army of eyes that surrounded the traveling pair, ranged from curiosity, intrigue, questionable hostility on some levels and the more recognisable inner expression of bloodlust.

A kinship that Guest duly felt often, marred by other equally volatile emotions.

Amidst the shifting sounds of gears and joints creaking that emitted from the owners of eyes which were physical artificial and yet so alive; Guest's soft footfalls went almost unheard as was the alluring ballerina music that the figure played whilst they twirled forward.

Following the figure into the main hallway and leaving the others behind, a previously submerged sound came to the fore.

Humming, a growing distant noise, being a deep but soothing hum coming from further down the hallway.

Guest glanced upwards, their fixed eyes following the trail and interweaving band of wires that crisscrossed the ceiling like running streams of water. There were several grey steel shutter doors situated on either side of the hallway; behind of which came sounds of gears churning, electricity cracking and heavy thuds from an unknown source.

The sudden act of their escort speaking did cause them to jump ever so slightly.

"Admittedly these are strange circumstances that have brought us together, but they are most fortunate for us in the end," the figure remarked confidently.

"I would completely agree, but that greatly depends on the outcome," Guest replied sternly.

"He certainly agrees," the figure remarked informally.

"How do you know, remind me again?" Guest asked with intrigue, mixing in with their otherwise ominous tone.

The figure glanced at them whilst still moving, speaking factually.

"I am speaking to him right now, remotely of course; he is ready to meet you and you both have much to discuss I imagine."

The final shutter door opened, revealing a large room lined with various assortments of machinery, monitors, fuse boxes and consoles, all leading to one sizable rectangular shaped pod at the far end which nosily hummed unceasingly.

The colourful array of ceiling wires finished at the pod, connecting to it from the top. The pod itself was old, clearly worn by age as shown by the battered peeling reddish paintwork. It hung open, its door having fully swung rightwards, with the faint remnant of purple haze lingering in the still air.

Both Guest and the figure stopped shortly beyond the doorway, with the figure clasping their hands together in a formal manner as suited their elegant appearance.

Guest merely stood stationary, cradling their bag with one hand, and leaving their other hidden in the folds of their clothing. They gazed about the room, further noticing the complete complexity of machinery that was situated around the pod. Their unseen eyes quickly spotted an immense array of newspaper clippings all linked by coloured strings on both sides of the room, each group situated above a metallic table on which some old looking toys lay neatly arranged. Both sides mirrored eachother perfectly, like a symmetrical reflection and minced spider webs.

"It is good to see you again, just as the pace of events start to quicken," a voice called, immediately catching Guest's attention.

Guest's gaze turned to face the literal elephant in the room, as did Figure's, directing their head likewise.

Standing dead centre in the room, like a spider at the heart of its web was a being that could best be described as a terrifying mixture of twisted mechanics and rotten body horror and that was putting it lightly in descriptive terms.

Yet the being's gaze was directed upwards, watching a large monitor screen that showcased the news as it ran live. Currently, a news company, whether it be ABC, CBS, or Fox was currently reporting on the latest Ghostface attack at a measly convenience store in downtown New York.

Against a backdrop of police cars and ambulance first responders with their blaring sirens and constantly flashing warning lights, a local anchor passionately broadcasted from the scene.

"Another one of your outings, I take it."

There was no question, the being's observant tone merely conveyed what they knew to be the truth.

"We needed to try and get in quick, even with an no leave order issued, Samantha might still try to flee, you remember that she tried to last year!" Guest answered, their tone carrying immense hostility towards the name.

"Or worse, she might try to sneak Tara out of the city, granted that a no leave order was not issued to her, but she cannot be allowed to leave either!"

"Where would either of them run to, what other safe haven do they possibly have?" the being answered, still not turning in either Guest's or Figure's direction. Their eyes remained glued to the screen.

"None, when they left Woodsboro they had no intention of ever returning," Guest muttered, the reflective edge in their voice marred by its sinister undertone.

The being's tone remained observant as ever.

"Yet the horrors of Woodsboro followed them and how can it not, those two are walking embodiments of agony, it flows from them like rivers gushing into an ocean."

"They will remain in New York, we won't let them leave, they'll stay and play our game of cat and mouse."

A bemused, but inhuman chuckle erupted from the being as they shook their head.

"That is an elegant phrase for a murder hunt, but I admire your passion nonetheless."

"Although we cannot confirm currently that this is indeed another Ghostface related attack, we can identify the victims involved, most notably the two survivors as both Sam and Tara Carpenter."

The words from the news reporter immediately caught everyone's attention. Their eyes, both unseen or inhuman looked upwards.

"They are reported to be in a stable, but critical condition as they are being taken to one of New York's hospitals and obviously for security reasons, the location will remain disclosed."

"Born survivors those two sisters are, we choose well," the being remarked observantly.

"They shall not outlast the justice that seeks them both!" Guest voiced angrily, their ominous tone clearly dripping with malice.

"Eventually they will slip up, dodge too slowly, or make a wrong decision at the last second!"

"I agree, their luck will run out, but it is all about the timing," the being replied firmly, turning round, their feet creating sizable thuds on the metallic floor.

"After all, is not that why you have come here to see me now?"

The being's eyes, they were almost beautiful to gaze at it, were it not for their unholy nature and the coldness that they radiated.

Guest walked forward, in doing so they brought their clipped bag off their shoulder.

"It is, as it is better to speak to you in person and of course, what is better than having a fan meet their heroes."

The being smiled proudly; the premature slasher grin that stretched across their face seem to grow wider.

"I mean, it is truly an honour still, to again meet a living legacy such as yourself. . .mister Afton."

"I am pleased to see that you recognise my contributions to the world."

Guest handed over the bag to the being named Afton, the latter taking a firm hold of it, as they unclipped and opened it up.

"My associate was kind enough to raid both Samantha and Tara's rooms for such items; despite being adults, it seems, unsurprising given their circumstances that they have not grown beyond some childish habits," Guest muttered amusedly, but uttered the last part with derision.

Afton pulled out two small soft toys, one being a blue green eyed rabbit, the other a black golden eyed bear. . .childhood toys, clutching them both in one hand or. . .was claw a better description.

"I told my fellow associate that I wanted to use them as bait, it wasn't a complete lie, given their potential," Guest stated, again their tone carrying ominous tone, as it always did.

Not matter whatever emotion they put into their voice; it would always sound ominous.

Afton's eyes narrowed, inspecting the toys up close. A questionable hiss escaped their mummified lips as he handed the clipped bag back to Guest who eagerly took it.

Suddenly Afton turned away, striding over to the one of the two desks that stood parallel to eachother from across the room.

Guest and Figure both followed, with the former noting that among the various newspaper clippings were numerous pictures, some being aged and dated from decades before whilst others were far more recent. Guest also noticed a small pile of seven books on the tabletop, the seventh at the top carried a bookmark at the very back.

"Mmmm, ahh. . .yes. . .an identical match," Afton muttered, his eyes set on a particular picture, it immediately caught Guest's attention.

It shown a family picture of both Sam and Tara from when they were younger, roughly aged seven and twelve, kneeling on the grass and surrounded by both their parents in what was a happy family picture in a park.

The cheerful smiles, a bittersweet echo of happier times now long gone. . .

Yet in either Sam and Tara's hands were the same blue eyed green rabbit and black golden eyed bear.

Casting a quick glance by Guest from the picture to the toys themselves revealed the said items to have faded a little with their colour.

Afton emitted a delightful sigh as they gripped both toys tightly, closing their eyes and seeming to inhale deeply; even though such bodily function had long been rendered obsolete by their decades long life beyond death.

"Can you feel it?" Afton asked, compressing the toys tightly, as though he was crushing the life out of the inmate objects.

"Can you feel the agony?"

"It penetrates so deep; I can see the moments they have shared with their childhood relics."

Afton passed the green eyed blue rabbit into his other hand, clutching it firmly.

"I can feel Tara's sorrow, I see a frighten little girl in a cluttered bedroom crying to the moon every night begging for her sister to return."

"The heavy suffocating sensation of mistrust, marred by betrayal so agonising that it strikes the heart. I can see. . .Amber standing over her, knife raised. . ."

Guest suddenly turned to face Afton directly.

"You see Amber Freeman?" they asked curiously, once more marred by their natural sinister tone.

"I can," Afton answered, deeply enthralled by what he was sensing from the toy.

"I can feel Tara's confusion, shock, fear, horror and heartbreak all blending together in that singular moment."

Afton opened his eyes, turning his attention to the black golden eyed bear, squeezing it tightly.

"And for Sam, I can feel. . ."

"Immense pain, crippling physical and emotional agony, but so much self-loathing and doubt as well."

"Constantly teetering on the edge of committing suicide, questioning if the world would be better off without her in it."

"What do you see mister Afton?" Guest asked, tilting their head as they watched the being in question draw in the emotions that had soaked into toy.

"I see a terrified young girl, watching as her parents fight before her; clutching a book, no, a diary in her hands, trembling with fear, shock, betrayal and volatile anger."

"Her mind races with so many questions, the rage in her father's voice, the desperate pleading of her mother, she wished for death in that moment, for the ground to swallow her whole."

"We shall grant Samantha her wish!" Guest remarked coldly.

"And by sending Tara to join her, both bitches can burn together in hell, it will be their only comfort!"

Yet Afton shook his head, turning away and muttering dismissively.

"You don't know hell, not really, I have glimpsed its darkest pits, its raging fires."

"When your former business partner and ostracized son tried to burn you alive, yes, I already know about that," Guest muttered with their tone of mocking dismissal.

"That part of the past means nothing right now, you lived."

"Yes, I live, I survived to tell the tale, unlike your predecessors," Afton responded firmly, but he growled as he spoke, turning round to face Guest directly, eye to eye.

"We get better every time, with repetition comes results!" Guest replied resolutely.

"We always come back; we never leave, we are literal phantoms in the night!"

Afton smirked, but his expression was condescending as they handed the two Carpenter childhood toys over to the figure, dropping the toys into their waiting hands.

"I will give that, but only in a superficial sense, each time you do, it is never the same person underneath that mask."

"Don't boast above your station, let alone your own capabilities."

Afton walked forward, bringing their full height to bear, being considerably taller than Guest, who maintained their ground as Afton approached. Most others would have instinctively backed away, but Guest fought against the urge.

"The voice yes, that is always the same, keeping the tradition alive. Being the creepy voice at the other end of the phone, taunting the victim and playing a deadly guessing game that always ends in blood curdling screams!" Afton stated with a passionate fury.

"You devote yourselves to keeping the franchise going, adding another blood soaked layer to it with each new reincarnation, but for all your talents, let's remember that you actually never 'won' your game with your intended victims."

"This time will be different; we are diverging from the script!" Guest argued confidently.

"Plus, those bitches don't know about you, an unexpected twist compared to the previous outings."

Afton chuckled, shaking his head with dismissal.

"Don't rely on me to be your saving grace should you mess things up at your end; yes, you 'always come back', but are you smarter than your forebears, let alone your inspiration?"

"They paved the way for me, for all of us in the present to deliver the final blow."

"Did they, or did they not think that they would also deliver the final blow and bore the legacy themselves as they lived, let alone inspire others?" Afton asked mockingly.

"Because if I remember correctly from the reading that you generously delivered for me. . ."

Afton turned, reached over, and grabbed hold of the seventh book from the book pile that Guest had noticed earlier.

Afton opened it, swiftly flipped through to the desired page, and read out accordingly.

"Amber and Richie sincerely believed that they would survive their plan, after framing themselves as the victims and save their beloved Stab franchise after its disastrous eighth instalment, to quote survivor Gale Weathers."

Afton snapped the book closed and only then did Guest view the recognisable title and its author.

'Requel: Terror Returns to Woodsboro' by 'Gale Weathers'.

Anger surged through their veins at seeing Gale's name, the indignation of that woman to deliberately skew the truth!

"They always intended to survive and yet through their unbridled arrogance they died horribly, in fact. . ."

Afton dismissively tossed the book back onto the book pile without much thought as he walked pass Guest, speaking as he did with a strong conviction that annoyed Guest, yet they listened attentively.

"How exactly did your predecessors die. . .let me count the ways for you."

"Your 'creators' Billy Loomis and Stuart Macher both sought to kill Sidney Prescott to complete Billy's revenge against the Prescott family; only they got sloppy, explained their own motivation and gave Sidney the chance to kill them. Ironically in a similar fashion, Stu gets crushed and electrocuted by a TV screen, whilst Billy gets skewed and is shot dead."

"Billy's mother Nancy Loomis, wrecked by the guilt of abandoning her son when she broke up with Billy's father over his affair with Maureen Prescott sought revenge with fellow serial killer Mickey Altieri."

"Nancy shoots Mickey dead to keep her involvement a secret and. . ."

Afton inhaled, rolling their shoulders as he turned round to face Guest.

"Nancy gets close to killing Sidney, but she is unable to help herself and monologues, giving time for framed citizen Cotton Weary to unexpectedly intervene on Sidney's side and shoot Nancy dead."

"Are you seeing the pattern yet. . ?"

"Up next, we have the original mastermind Roman Bridger, Maureen Prescott's bastard son, whose obsessive revenge against Maureen centred on pushing Billy into murdering her and even going after Sidney in petty vengeance for the life that he 'wanted'."

"He succeeded, almost, when Roman revealed himself to Sidney he explained his reasoning; being the visual creative he shown Sidney his recordings of 'mother dearest'."

"Yet Roman's need to revel in the damage he has inflicted on Sidney leads to him to miss one vital fact; Sidney is a survivor now, she can anticipate how Ghostface behaves, knows their tricks and has prepared for such a confrontation and is able to get the fatal drop on him."

"I know how they all died, your point on one's arrogance costing them their shot at winning the game is well made!" Guest replied, the ominousness of their tone was mixed with an inner frustration.

"Every past reiteration thought that they would be the one to deliver the fatal blow!"

"They got better, I cannot doubt that they were clever and ruthless when needed to be, save for the final act." Afton remarked adamantly.

He then sighed, closing their eyes before reopening them.

"Only Jill Roberts came close. . .so tantalising close, she even accrued the highest kill count and remained unsuspecting until the very end."

Afton seemed to become more frustrated as they spoke, their voice rising.

"She did everything right, isolate the intended victim, kill her naive accomplice Charlie Walker, set herself up as a victim with a decent cover story and then move to finish off the only person who knew the truth. . .Sidney!"

"She should have won, killed Sidney for good, but yet again she delayed, allowed herself to get distracted when it really mattered, and Sidney fired her brain before shooting her dead."

"Such a pity, because she was born to be a killer, even if her motivation was pure jealousy at growing up in Sidney's shadow!"

Afton growled, venting his annoyance with clenched fists. . .or claws.

"That stupid bitch, she held all the cards and just let them slip through her fingers, of all of them, she should have won!"

He then looked directly at Guest; Afton's bright vibrant eyes exhibited an unholy purple gaze as they smiled knowingly.

"Finally, we come to Amber Freeman and Richie Kirsch; two frantically Stab superfans, so emotionally invested in a film franchise that its success or failure literally dictated their mood."

"Watch your words Afton, I wouldn't mock those two, they were dedicated, unlike the past lot they didn't do it purely out of vengeance!" Guest argued angrily, the overriding sinister tone of their voice rose to new heights.

"Their undertaking was well planned yes, and one could say it was charitable, doing it for the 'good' of their beloved franchise and they came so close to winning, having nearly immobilised Tara, Sam, Sidney and Gale, but. . ."

Afton lowered his shoulders, his purple eyes remained bright, but his expression was a mix between disappointment and anger.

"Amber and Richie just had to ramble, became too engrossed in the throes of sadism and tasting victory; that cost them."

"They lost focus, got separated and that gave precious time for their victims to turn the tables; with Richie getting viciously stabbed to death by Samantha and Amber getting brutally burnt by both Gale and Sidney, before being shot dead by Tara."

"It is ironic that both killers got axed by their love interests, bittersweet, but fitting."

Afton's eyes narrowed, as he walked forward, his footsteps creating sizable metallic thuds as he approached Guest, the latter quickly falling under their shadow as Afton closed the distance.

"And now, the legacy falls onto you and your co-conspirators, but if you truly understand the past, do you know how to win the deadly game that you desperately want to play?"

Guest stared back at Afton; their fixed eyeholes looked back at their host with an unreadable expression as their facemask was permanently framed as a screaming ghost.

Yet Afton could feel the emotions swirling inside them. Mask or not, he could read them like a book.

"Despite, being in it so deep, will this current incarnation of Ghostface win, or be buried like all the others?" Afton asked curiously, but his eyes held a deep seriousness that almost came across suspicion of Guest's dedication to the cause.

"Will you actually learn from the mistakes of your predecessors, as I have learnt from my own?"

Guest, no, Ghostface, as was their true identity stared back at Afton; the purple gaze of the later reflecting off the plastic facemask of the former, giving them an insidious violet aura.

Yet, after a moment's silence, Ghostface gave their answer, speaking softly with a sinister undertone, as filtered by their active voice modulator.

"I will, I shall, when the moment comes, I shall not hesitate, I will kill without a moment's notice, all that I would want to say to Sam and Tara will have been said previously."

"They might beg, out of desperation and that I wouldn't mind seeing, but otherwise, I will kill them both without thinking twice."

Afton's eyes unnarrowed as he nodded in approval, speaking with reassurance.

"Good, I am glad that you realised, unlike myself, I learnt the hard way, to delay equals folly and near destruction."

Ghostface knew exactly what Afton was referring to.

Fires. . .firetrap, agonised screaming, walls closing in on all sides. . .an old friend condemning another to the deepest pits of hell as everything was deliberately burned to ash.

"Yet, I survived, there has been no copycat killer, no one trying to mimic me for I am still here!" Afton stated vehemently, his purple eyes glowing vibrantly with both confidence and determination.

"I am what you would call the heart and soul of my 'franchise' and no matter what happens, I always comes back, time after time, I am dead, but I am not buried."

Afton held out his hand. . .or claw, extending it towards Ghostface.

"With all that's said and done; let's make sure that we go all out to win this little game, the right way, agreed?"

Ghostface reciprocated, reaching out and grasping Afton's hand tightly with their own gloved hand as they shook firmly.

"Agreed, mister Afton, your words of wisdom are clear, I know how we should approach this game as it nears the final stage," Ghostface uttered agreeingly, their sinister voice expressing a twisted joyful anticipation of future events.

"And speaking of said stage," Afton replied observantly, turning his immediate attention to figure.

"Ballora!"

The figure, now revealed as Ballora instantly stood to attention, withdrawing her clasped hands to her side.

"Yes, master Afton?" she asked curiously, tilting her beautifully decorated head in his direction.

"What do you require?"

"What is the current status of the other Funtimes?" Afton demanded sharply.

Ballora clasped her smooth hands together, the soft ballerina music that she emitted from her hidden inbuilt speakers was barely audible above the heavy sound of working machinery.

"All three are up and active, they are carrying out their assigned roles as you last set them," she answered elegantly.

"Circus Baby in particular has alerted me to her continued progress, she should be ready to provide an update very soon."

"Excellent, the pieces are steadily falling into place, but we best remain vigilant still," Afton remarked, sounding pleased, yet cautious.

He turned his gaze back to Ghostface who remained standing passively. Their hunters knife almost hidden in the folds of their black robes.

"You best now re-join your co-conspirators; you can't stay out of touch with them for too long; but afterwards, immediately head to your assigned position as previously agreed."

Afton turned to glance up at the monitor still broadcasting live news from downtown New York.

"This most recent development, if it hasn't already will undoubtedly get Gale's attention. . .let alone Sidney's."

"Gale Weathers will certainly come to New York like the ravenous news vulture that she is, she cannot miss a story around Ghostface; she has centred her entire career on the lies she has forged of us!" Ghostface hissed, their voice emitting nothing but pure malice as they clenched their free fist.

"That bitch will get hers!"

They then exhaled deeply, the act resulted in most of the tension leaving their body, their free hand unclenching and returning to their side, as Ghostface focused their thoughts.

"Yet Sidney Prescott remains a problem still; understandingly she has been in hiding since last year's events, none of us have been able to locate her," they muttered with grim annoyance.

"Not even with help from your 'glitching' avatar as you put it, she has hidden herself well."

Afton shook his head, his tattered rabbit ears shaking as he did, his glowing purple eyes remained fixed on the live monitor screen.

"Locating Sidney was never an issue though, it is admirable that you tired, but we only really need to lure her out," he remarked observantly.

"Once done, her location will become visible to us."

Afton then directed their attention back at Ghostface as he turned round.

"Admittedly, with just you lot alone causing chaos, she would wisely run and hide, but thanks to our joint efforts, we can deny her that privilege."

"In the end, getting Sidney is as much my desire as it is yours; the original Final Girl, the one who survived everything. . .even me."

Afton smiled, not that it made much difference to his appearance, with the slasher smile of rusted animatronic teeth that permanently stretched across his face.

He spoke reflectively, with a sense of bittersweet joy filtering through his words.

"I never forget a face. . .I would observe her at Freddy's, she loved that place, it was a child's paradise."

"She loved SpringBonnie the most out of all the animatronics, she was starstruck."

Ghostface learned their head to one side, before remarking with what almost approached causal observation, still marred by the ominous overtone of their voice modifier.

"You killed so many mister Afton and I know you well enough to perceive that you don't like to leave any stone unturned, neither do I."

Afton nodded in agreement, before uttering with a knowing tone.

"Yet, Sidney's involvement in this, is far beyond my obsessive need to rectify a mistake; because together with Samantha and Tara, they complete the key."

Ghostface chuckled menacingly before adding.

"All together in one place. . .one final reunion to set the stage ablaze."

"Speaking of stage," Afton muttered observantly, now looking upwards at the ceiling as though he was trying to perceive through the earth itself.

"Your partners are probably about to return to their 'shrine', a worthy collection I must admit, but an invaluable resource all the same."

Afton turned to face Ballora, the movement making his body click and give out metallic groans.

"Ballora, escort our destined guest back to the entrance, but leave the Carpenters' toys here, I will oversee their. . .modification."

Ballora nodded, as always, her eyes remained closed and yet she seemed able to see perfectly.

"Of course master Afton."

She twirled in Ghostface's direction, holding one hand out to them. With the other she neatly deposited Sam and Tara's childhood toys onto the nearest table.

"Come along now please if you will," she called gracefully, her voice perfectly matching her ballerina appearance, with her blue bikini, purple tutu skirt and blue nylon leggings; aided by her glossy lipstick, blue hair and nails and her pearl tiara.

She moved forward towards the shutter door, constantly spinning about in a circular motion, her hand gesturing for Ghostface to follow.

Ghostface complied, turning to go with a swirl of their black robes, following Ballora's lead.

Yet as the shutter door rose, they turned back, their fixed eye holes staring at Afton.

"I never got to ask you personally before, but out of curiosity mister Afton; what is your favourite scary movie?" they asked, the mischievousness of their voice only amplified the ominousness of their tone.

Afton remained quiet for a moment; his purple brightness of his eyes had diminished somewhat as he appeared distant, before giving his answer with much sinister anticipation.

"The one we are making; it is going to be a killer. . ."

Ghostface nodded, pointing at Afton with their knife hand, its sharp point directed straight at the unholy animatronic.

"Well done, impressive!" they said enthusiastically.

"That is exactly the right answer. . ."

"Great minds think alike," Afton replied cooly.

Ghostface turned away and resumed following Ballora out into the main hallway, back towards the entrance.

"I'll keep in touch mister Afton," Ghostface called back joyfully.

"Events. . .are going to spiral very soon I imagine."

Afton rolled his eyes at the latter's enthusiasm, even though it was welcoming to see. Their zeal and bloodlust had been well nurtured, long before he had made his entrance into this franchise.

Yet, one could easily get too far ahead of themselves, Afton had to keep reminding himself of that truth. The last time he had allowed himself to be fooled, it almost cost him everything.

Distant, yet judging words delivering a final verdict echoed in his mind.

"And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits, they don't belong to you, for most of you I believe there is peace and perhaps more, waiting for you after the smoke clears. . ."

Afton closed his eyes, unable to help himself, but think back. . .remembering a cold and stoic voice emitting through surrounding loudspeakers.

"Although for one of you, the darkest pit of hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't the devil waiting old friend!"

"End communications. . ."

The raging fire, the red hot metal, the metallic and anguished screams, the desperate hammering sounds from nearby rooms in a frantic bid to escape the end as it rapidly closed in from all sides.

Afton remembered screaming as he hammered madly against the scorching walls of his melting prison.

"HENRYYYYYY!"

"MIKEEEEEE!"

"HELPPPPPP"

"ANYONEEEEEE, HELPPPPP!"

"HELPPPPP MEEEEEE!"

Afton reopened his eyes and glanced down at his hands, the same old dark green springlock hands or claws, now marred by burns and riddled with cracks.

He had managed to escape the trap, but only just, with some greatly needed assistance and had left his supposed 'trappers' behind to burn alive in their own creation.

Yet he recalled feeling terror, being consumed by it as he had never known it before; not even dying in the SpringBonnie suit when the ghosts of his child victims chased him into it came close.

This body was all he had, as much as it was an agonising springlock grave, he wouldn't part with it.

Afton vowed to never relive the fear he had felt if he could help it; glancing over at the table upon which Sam and Tara's childhood's toys lay.

The pictures and newspaper clippings stapled above them were a record of his achievements, as well as life.

Pizzeria opening and then closing, children killed in backrooms, animatronics acting haywire, staff being attacked, strange paranormal sightings constantly reported during the night shift.

Mock horror attractions soon followed in the wake of such tragedies, accompanied by a horror game series, then several book series and now even a film was reported being made, set to release this year.

Someone had got lucky in finding a hole in the market and now they sat on top of an indie horror game empire.

Someone called Cawthon if Afton recalled correctly, but he cared not for such details. In the end people like Cawthon owed their success to him and to him alone.

He had made it all possible and he was still here, continuing his work and tying up loose ends.

Speaking of loose ends. . .

Sidney. . .

Dear little Sidney Prescott, eagerly holding her SpringBonnie plushie.

Afton smiled, feeling a great surge of cruel anticipation flood over his still heart. He quickly reached over, and grab hold of Sam and Tara's childhood toys, cradling them in his hands.

He could feel the agony deeply embedded in the toys' fur, so many negative emotions had been unknowingly poured into by the Carpenters; acting as a window into their souls for which he would exploit to the fullest. Afton had time to think long and hard about where events were going, blocking out the sound of the monitor that continually showed live news.

He concentrated on the toys, mentally reaching in deep, embracing the tidal wave of agony that they held.

Sam and Tara were broken, tragic little souls, festering in immense pain and enveloped by shadows, including those of their own making.

Afton would put them back together and they would in return give him his happiest day, Sidney included.

He would even give Ghostface their happiest days. . .all of them.

Afton inhaled and exhaled, despite not needing to, but the motion helped to centre his mind and he immediately thought of Sidney, as he knew her back then.

"Fear not my little Sidney," he muttered with much anticipation.

"You will get your special show with me, as I promised you all those years ago."

"You may not recognise me at first, but I assure you, it's still me, your beloved SpringBonnie."

Afton narrowed his eyes, they glowed an even brighter purple as they clenched the toys tightly, further drawing forth the pain that they were steeped in.

"If you don't come out Sidney, to play one more round, then I will come and find you."

He looked up in unbridled determination, his eyes burned with an ominous purple glow.

"No matter what it takes, I am going to come and find you. . ."

---

Ethan took his secrets to his grave and Amber is. . .back?

How and why. . .you can guess?

My favouritive part of the recent Scream Films is the dynamic between Sam and Tara Carpenter, sisterly love, dread and frustration mixed together whilst weighed down by a dark legacy. They are a joy to write, being complicated characters with their own mental demons, although it isn't always doom and gloom. I missed the films explored their dynamic more.

Yes, Ghostface and Afton are working together and they have done their research. The stage is being set, but how will everything play out?

Honestly, writting their interaction was the hardest part, as I wanted to give them both sufficient space to exist next to eachother without either seeming to be diminished. They are great worthy villains in their own right, with their own distinct characteristics.

Again, the next chapter will be uploaded when it is fully completed.

Thank you for reading and do please review, I really appreciate your thoughts.