Hello, I'm backkkkkkk!
The next chapter is finally here at last!
Thank you for being so patient with the two month long wait, I've been busy and had been juggling various commitments alongside that of my other story 'Fazbear Escape' my solo FNAF story, if you're a FNAF fan give it a try.
A massive thank you to those who have followed and favourited this story: EliteSang, Danillus, Grivo, FestiviALMage, Horiex, Qura, Miemevi, Nanernan, Fissto, Ghallitor, Anziie, Izahod, Vaney12, Pittey, Pafolbri, Hiconayw, Rayaie, Nahgie, LyaraHallow, Sthang, Xelyxel, Beretha, Asareli, Neialoae, Enusylon, 12Amethystt, Morton199, AlastorFics, SapphireDann08, Minerva147, VictoryVictor01, MyersReader, COREFLAYER, Anne Burger012, MollySavahh, Watcher009, STRANGEROFUPSIDEDOWN, SpringerBreak, SashaWai, Heconan, Tech-Star and lastly Neloly.
For those who left reviews: Jebs78, EliteSang, StarFoxx5, Horiex, Xelyxel and Anno: Showing William Afton this early was intended and yes he does have a history with Sidney Prescott; Afton doesn't take failure lightly.
And yes, there are (or were) four Ghostfaces, because how else can I show that this film has stakes (to paraphrase Amber Freeman). ;-)
I intend to make this story darker and bloodier (when I can) than Scream VI was, given that intermixing Scream with FNAF opens up intriguing possibilities that cannot happen if it was just a standalone. There will be alot of intermixing of the lore and the characters and I hope you will all enjoy what is in store.
I saw the full FNAF film trailer and it gives me great hopes for its release in October, but I'll remain cautiously optimistic to keep my expectations in check.
Really glad that you are all enjoying this story so far.
Apologies for any grammar mistakes that I missed and do enjoy.
Chapter 4
Past Regrets and Bloody Inheritance.
"There is something bad, inside of me."
"I'm broken, I can't be fixed. . ."
Circus Baby from night five of FNAF Sister Location 2016
"Sam. . ."
"Sam. . ."
"Sam. . ."
"SAM!"
The sudden loudness of the voice forced Sam to open her eyes; only to get stung by bright sunlight.
Sunlight. . .
A hand grasped her shoulder, shaking her lightly.
"Come on Sammy, I found something pretty."
The voice Sam could recognise it anywhere, turning to face its owner.
Tara, but not as Sam knew her currently. . .
Instead, a seven year old version of Tara devotedly gazed up at her, with her warm brown eyes gleaming with anticipation as she smiled sweetly.
"Come on Sammy, I want to show you what I have found!" she eagerly pleaded, tugging hard on Sam's shoulder.
Sam gave Tara a light smile before taking hold of her sister's hand.
"Ok, show me," she said warmly to which Tara fervently nodded and pulled Sam forward, her little legs hitting the soft grass with much eagerness.
Wait. . .grass?
Where was she exactly?
Sam glanced around, she was in her old family garden, with a much younger Tara.
Wasn't she grievously injured lying next to her sister in a measly convenience store in downtown New York?
"I fell asleep though, so I am dreaming, this can't be my afterlife. . . I can't be dead," Sam muttered lowly to herself, quiet enough so Tara wouldn't hear.
Vivid images of a frantic Tara desperately trying to wake Sam up and repeatedly failing flashed across her mind.
No. . .no, that can't be happening!
She couldn't leave Tara behind, being separated from her like this was punishment enough for her failures to keep Tara safe.
Even if this personalised afterlife was truly intended for her, Sam didn't want. . .she didn't deserve any of it.
This isn't where she wanted to be, and it wasn't a worthy afterlife if the real Tara was not in it. As a happy and completely oblivious Tara dragged Sam over to whatever she had found, Sam couldn't help but notice the obivious.
Tara, despite being aged seven was able to grab her by the shoulder, she could reach up.
Sam was twenty five, at age seven Tara would barely be able reach Sam's hips with her hands. Yet when Sam looked down at her own hands, she made a shocking discovery.
She wasn't twenty five, she had the body of roughly a twelve year old, she had physically regressed.
Her hands were small as were her feet, and Sam mentally slapped herself hard when she saw the obivious.
Everything around her appeared taller, more so than before, the trees, the bushes, why Tara despite being seven could reach up and grab her shoulders.
The house. . .the family house.
Sam glanced at it, it looked beautifully preserved, straight out of her memory with every little detail accounted for.
The smooth reddish brown tile roof, the reflective windows with its open grey back door leading out into the garden.
"I found them when I was exploring earlier, you'll like them Sammy," Tara said with much enthusiasm, earning her Sam's full attention, as she finally reached the intended spot.
Pausing to breathe Tara glanced down, gesturing for Sam to do likewise.
Upon looking down Sam's eyes took to dwell on a bird's nest, with four little chicks, all chirping away. Just beyond it lay another larger bird, the mother, flapping one of her wings frantically, but seemingly gaining no traction.
"No," Sam muttered sorrowfully to herself, low enough so that Tara couldn't hear.
"No, this, not this memory please."
"Wow, four baby birds and her mother, I have never seen them up close before!" Tara cooed, laying down flat on the ground and examining the birds with avid attention.
"Aren't cute Sammy?" she asked, watching as the mother bird continually flapped its sole working wing in a desperate frenzy that signified fear at Tara being too close, fearing her to be a predator.
"Yeah. . ." Sam replied, repressing the sadness in her voice, and replacing it with a false enthusiasm that hopefully Tara wouldn't detect.
"They sure are cute Tara, very pretty too."
Sam kneeled down, joining Tara on the grass, gazing thoughtfully at the birds, but her eyes didn't hide the pain she felt.
"They must have been knocked out of this tree, but the mother seems to have broken her wing, maybe during the fall?" Sam asked thoughtfully, shoving those darker feelings deep down, but it didn't untangle the knot she felt in her gut.
"Poke, poke, poke," Tara cooed softly, as she gently poked the baby chicks, pushing them around inside their nest. The physical sensation made the birds cry out more, sounding distressed.
"Tara don't poke them, they don't like it," Sam remarked calmly, reaching out and grabbing Tara's hand before slowly pulling it away from the baby chicks.
Tara sighed, pouting her lips.
"I just wanted to play with them Sammy, I wasn't trying to be mean."
"Yeah, well, they clearly don't like it Tara, sometimes you just need to look with your eyes and not your fingers," Sam replied casually. She internally stiffened at the twist she felt deep in her gut, small amounts of pain erupted from there.
"I do however know something that you can play with your fingers," she said playfully.
Tara's eyes lit up; she smiled as she glanced over in Sam's direction.
"Playdough!?" she said eagerly to which Sam smiled in response, forcing her face muscles to maintain the grin she expressed.
"Yeah, we can make replica birds if you want."
"Sure!" Tara cried happily, quickly pushing herself up off the ground, whilst Sam added.
"You get the playdough packets out of the box in your bedroom, and I'll join you shortly."
"You're not coming right now Sammy?" Tara asked suddenly, sounding worried, pausing to look down at her big sister.
"I just want to find where these birds' home is and safely put them all back there."
Sam glanced upwards at Tara, her brown eyes expressing the reassuring look of 'everything will be fine Tara, I'll take care of it'.
"I'll only be five minutes."
"Ok, good luck Sammy, I'll get the playdough out and ready for us," Tara replied reassuringly, her worries swiftly departing as she ran off towards the open back door of their house.
"Don't start without me Tara!" Sam called back, watching the younger Carpenter practically bounce up the accompanying steps to the doorway before leaping through.
Tara was bursting with energy, being as bright as the sun.
The sun, light, Tara was Sam's light and the sun that Sam orbited around as she navigated the world.
A world that held much darkness, Sam recognised that it was her job as the elder sister to protect Tara from the pain that accompanied such darkness. . .for as long as she was able.
At this tender age, certain truths would hurt Tara immensely and right now, this was one of those moments when it had to be smothered. Once she was certain Tara had indeed left, Sam ceased the strain in her face muscles, turning her smile into a tortured frown.
She knew what she had to do, turning to look down at the baby chicks, mindlessly chirping away with their injured mother aimlessly flapping her one working wing.
"Just get it over and done with, Tara will believe your lie," Sam firmly told herself, mentally slapping herself for good measure.
Quickly reaching forward before she could think twice to hesitant, Sam tightly grabbed the neck of the mother bird with both hands. It immediately began to call out frantically, desperately wiggling about in her grip.
SNAP!
Sam felt all tension cease in the bird as it went completely limp, but there was a noticeable purple bruise along its neck where she had snapped it. The baby chicks noticing the sudden absence of their mother started to chirp even louder, moving about the nest in a panic stricken manner and trying to flap their little wings in some frenzied attempt to escape.
"You won't survive on their own, this is more humane than allowing any foxes to eat you, your mother couldn't look after you anyway, you would have starved to death," Sam muttered, keeping her voice low and as emotionless as possible; partly to avoid arousing any unwanted attention, but largely to keep her own bubbling emotions in check.
Sadness
Regret
Guilt
Self-loathing
Apathy
Arousal
Enjoyment
Bloodlust
Sadistic euphoria
All were surging in their system, constantly fluctuating as though they were at war with eachother.
Sam turned and swiftly grabbed hold of the nearest baby chick, quickly gripping its neck before turning it sharply. The act created a barely audible little creak as she severed their tiny spines.
In seconds she repeated the method with the other three baby chicks.
Soon there was no movement in the nest or sound, save for Sam's heavy breathing as she gazed down, horrified at her dirt smeared hands, covered with tiny specks of blood.
Yet, she felt a rush bursting through her veins, flowing through her heart and filling her brain with a strange euphoria that she didn't entirely repress. A considerable part of herself openly embraced it, letting it course through her mind and temporally repress her guilt and shock like a violent tidal wave.
"I'm sorry, but this is better than the alternative," Sam whispered softly, barely keeping the urge to sob or laugh out of her voice. She wanted to, but she didn't wish to open the door to those demons. Tears slowly built up in her eyes, slightly blurring her vision.
She needed to act quick, hide the evidence, put it somewhere in which Tara would never find it and Sam's lie could be a reassuring truth for her going forward.
Swiftly wiping the tears away from her eyes, Sam quickly picked herself up and ran straight for the garden shed, taking the door key out of her trouser pocket. She always took it with her whenever she and Tara went out into the garden should they wanted to get some toys out of the shed.
Now though, Sam only wanted one of the garden tools.
Throwing the old wooden door wide open, Sam stumbled in and rummaged through the collection of garden tools until she found what she needed, the shovel.
Upon grabbing it, she ran back out to where the dead birds were and immediately grabbed hold of the mother, putting it in the nest with her dead chicks.
Picking up the nest with her one spare hand, Sam walked over to a corner of the garden that she knew Tara didn't really visit.
The area immediately around their garden waste bin.
Sticking the shovel into the earth as deep as she could manage, Sam pushed her arm muscles to their limits as she frantically dug a small hole.
Her breathing was heavy, her heart thundered in her chest, each loud thump declaring her guilt, but there was something else beneath the regret, slithering its way around inside her.
The thrill.
She had done something horrible and a part of her was enjoying the rush it gave.
Yet, she didn't stop, pulling more earth up as she desperately craved out a hole that was deep enough to conceal her crime.
This wasn't heaven, this wasn't her afterlife.
This was Sam punishing herself because she deserved it; she had failed to protect Tara again, to keep her out of reach of Billy Loomis's cursed legacy.
She was going to have to relive every horrible moment of her life, every repressed memory, every drug overdose, physical attack, every betrayal, and every stab wound inflicted onto her.
"I deserve this," Sam muttered to herself, swiftly dropping the bird nest with its dead occupants into the hole.
Quickly she shovelled the dirt pile back into the hole. She made sure to leave no revealing mark on what had happened, patting down the soil to make it firm and not loose.
The secret was burred, but not forgotten.
Sam sighed, wiping the sweat off her forehead as she leaned on the shove like a staff.
"It was quick, better than being ripped apart by a dog or fox, it was the only good option you had, it was humane," she whispered, breathing heavily.
"I had to do it; Tara would have been devastated had she known that they had no chance."
Yet, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she had done it solely as a humane act to prevent further needless suffering; she couldn't deny the part of herself that had embraced the feeling of power and bloodlust when she snapped those birds' necks.
Holding the ability to decide the life or death of another being, to control their fate. . .that was power.
Sam closed her eyes, breathing hard as she leaned further against the wooden shovel handle. She knew that soon she would need to go inside after locking the shovel away; or else Tara would become worried and return.
"I did the right thing for Tara; I didn't mean to enjoy any of it," she muttered shakily, trying to stem the rapid beating of her heart.
"And yet you did Samantha, you always do, no matter what you insist on telling yourself."
Sam's eyes snapped open with dread, her heart raced even faster now.
That voice, she recognised it, as much as she hated listening to it, whenever he stalked her mind.
Turning round, Sam came face to face with the one person she didn't want to see right now, if ever.
Billy Loomis. . .standing before her, looking down with a pleased expression, his eyes glinted with a twisted aura of joy, but also with parental pride.
"You always love it Sam, feeling the thrill, you want more, just accept it," Billy remarked proudly.
"It is only natural. . ."
This time though, Billy looked like he did back when Sidney had killed him that night in 1996, when the nightmare started. A blood stained white shirt and ripped trousers, ruffled brown hair, his body, what parts were exposed were marred with bullet holes and the stab wounds that Sidney had viciously inflicted onto him in their life and death struggle.
"You cannot deny your heritage, it is my gift to you Sam," he said warmly, convinced in the truth of his own words.
"GIFT!" Sam yelled, allowing herself to express the anger she had always held for him, making it vocal and clear beyond a doubt as to how she felt.
"THIS ISN'T A FUCKING GIFT, IT'S A GOD DAM CURSE!"
Billy's expression of corrupted pride remained unchanged.
"You love the feeling, when you're in the moment Sam, you are always thankful that you can tap into that destructive rage when you need to and to hold life and death in your hands; the drive it gives you, what it enables you to do," he insisted, his voice carried such great confidence that was impossible for Sam to ignore.
"Without it, you and Tara wouldn't have survived my latest fanatic, although Ethan gave a very. . .passionate performance."
His eyes then flickered over to the small patch of bare ground under which the dead birds were buried.
"No how matter much you try to bury it, it'll always be there, you cannot ignore it."
"I can and I will!" Sam argued back fiercely, her brown eyes burned with an intense hatred for the man who she had to admit as her real father.
Yet she was a Carpenter, raised and bred, regardless of the dark long shadow her heritage cast over her.
"Your legacy lies buried with you; I want nothing to do with your bullshit fantasy!" she yelled, her face conveyed nothing but anger, hatred. . .and something, pity. . .self pity.
She never wanted this life; how much would it cost to turn back the clock and make the choice of not going up to the attic and accidentally uncovering her mother's old school diaries.
Sam would sell her own soul if given the chance.
"Aside from a few bullshit fanatics who tapped into their own fucked up morals through your murder spree no one else wants to emulate you!"
Sam pointed at her chest when she next spoke.
"I am Samantha Carpenter, not Samantha Loomis!"
A dark anger flashed across Billy's eyes, and he pressed his lips together as his forehead creased, his former proudful gaze disappearing.
"So sure, are you Sam, in where you truly belong?" he remarked coldly, but not ominously, more observant with a tinge of disapproval.
"I know who I am 'dad'," Sam answered sternly, her eyes bore great anger, her immense dislike of Billy and the bloody legacy he had left her with, was it finally starting to sink in for him.
"Do you even see yourself Sam, the darkness that you hold inside yourself?" Billy asked curiously, but there was a sternness in his eyes, judging her disapprovingly.
"The more you deny it, the harder it becomes to control it and then to justify why you feel the way you do."
"You were in embracing it when fighting off Ethan and you wanted him to feel the ultimate price of his decision in trying to kill you and Tara."
Billy's eyes grew dark as his voice became cold again.
"You wanted to inflict agony onto him, he wouldn't be allowed to die, not until you were truly satisfied."
A twisted, but proud smile crept across his face.
"You are my little monster Sam, you make me proud, even when you aren't trying to as you always naively insist."
Sam just stared back at him, her gaze being stern, save for her brown eyes through which showed the faintest hint of a begrudging agreement.
That part of herself, the red mist, the darkness that she both treated as an anomaly and an integral piece of herself, simultaneously rejecting and accepting it.
Billy's eyes lit up and his smile grew as he remarked in a knowing tone.
"I can feel it, surging through you Sam, you want to let it out and yet you treat it as if it is something alien. Yet it is a part of you all the same, the longer you fight against it; the more it pushes back."
"I only let it out on my own terms," Sam replied firmly.
"And yes, it did feel right as I fucking stabbed Richie and Ethan over and over again, they deserved it for everything that they did with their bullshit fantasy or dreams of petty vengeance."
"I would never harm anyone who didn't deserve i-"
"LAIR!" Billy shouted; the suddenness of his tone caused Sam to stumble backwards before regaining her footing. Yet the flash of guilt that passed over her heart only matched the sternness of Billy's next words.
"You have harmed people Sam, whether you really intended to or not."
Instantly, Sam knew where Billy was taking the conversation.
"No, I never meant to hurt Tara, everything I did was to ensure her safety, regardless of how things turned out, I am not respons-"
"That's not how you truly feel Sam!" Billy interjected coldly; his eyes now blazed with anger.
"You can't lie to your old man, it is a bad habit, and you were never a good lair, so I wouldn't start now," he added harshly.
"You feel responsible for everything that has happened to Tara; with you being absent in her life for five long years, during that time, who did she turn to for support?"
Sam exhaled slowly, but shakily she managed to utter the dreaded name.
"Amber fucking Freeman."
"And who in your house, in whose loving care did you leave Tara with exactly?" Billy enquired, clearly leading the conversation.
Again, Sam had to force herself to utter the name through gritted teeth, but this time marred memories, some good, but mostly bad came rushing to the surface in her mind.
A judging witch of a mother, whose heart had long since frozen shut and her eyes. . .always judging, cold, unmoving, only thawed in times of anger. It was mostly directed at Sam, with scorn and bitter disappointment, but it was all a distraction to suppress her own engulfing sense of failure, self-pity and the long reaching consequences of her lies.
"Christina Carpenter. . .I left Tara behind with her."
Billy smiled, slowly nodding, and speaking with clear conviction, like he truly knew what he was saying to be the true.
Because it was. . .
"That is why you wanted to commit suicide Sam, drink yourself into oblivion, stand before the rails of bridges and ponder if anyone would care if you just threw yourself over the edge."
Billy stepped closer, coming to loom over Sam. Instinctively she tightened her grip on her shovel, her eyes narrowed, warning Billy to stay away.
She didn't think in a million years that she would ever get the chance to hit Billy for everything that he had 'lovingly' bestowed onto her shoulders.
Maybe literally venting your frustrations out was the best source of healing?
Then again, that approach could easily become a slippery slope. . .
"How many times did you hold a knife against your wrist, or take a shit ton of drugs just to numb yourself for a few measly hours, how many times Sam?"
Sam didn't answer, looking down, unable to meet Billy's judging gaze. . .like a bad behaved child being questioned before their parent.
Sighing in a mixture of disappointment and annoyance, Billy reached down and took hold of Sam's chin, turning her face to look directly up at him.
"How many times Samantha?" Billy asked again, sounding both curious and yet knowing, he just wanted her to admit it.
"More times than I can count or remember," Sam mumbled shamefully.
Billy smiled slightly, removing his hand.
His brown eyes seemed to gleam with satisfaction at her answer.
"But you never did take the last step, because you knew that if you took your own life, it would be the most selfish thing you could ever do and hurt Tara the most."
"I wanted to see her again, but I thought that leaving her would keep her safe from me," Sam remarked reflectively, she felt tears coming to her eyes, before narrowing them and snarling out.
"In case I ever turned into you!"
Billy merely looked unmoved, speaking with conviction, in complete control of the cold hard facts of her life and her mentality.
"Yet, it doesn't make your pain any easier, every day brings fresh torment for you Sam."
"The only time when you are enjoying yourself, beyond all restraint and worry is when you are wielding a knife."
"NO!" Sam argued fiercely but her voice wavered, as Billy continued to lay down verbal knockout blows.
"You are miserable Sam and that's the simple truth of it of the entire matter."
"Shut up, I am not completely miserable!"
"Stop lying to yourself, why are you making this so fucking difficult!" Billy hissed, his eyes flaring up with anger.
"Tara would never accept me if I became you!" Sam yelled; her breathing had quickened with her anxiety racing through her as her heartbeat sounded loudly in her chest.
"And what if Tara is following the same path as you Sam?" Billy asked sinisterly.
"What if you both embraced your inner selves, after all, what did you see in Tara's eyes when you commanded her to stop viciously stabbing Ethan?"
Sam felt herself being knocked back for six, the mere thought of Tara succumbing to her inner darkness racked her brain.
She struggled to accept the idea, let alone fully admit what she saw, her ability to articulate her words abandoned her in that moment.
"I saw. . .I saw, I mean. . .I could have. . ."
"You saw yourself Sam and you were so happy, relieved to know that there was another who could share in the fun!" Billy stressed with great conviction.
"You felt accepted, happy, that there was a kindred spirit who wouldn't shy away from-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Sam screamed, instinctively raising the shovel up like a club.
"TARA IS NOT LIKE YOU; SHE WILL NEVER FOLLOW YOU!"
Billy's knowing smile remained, but his eyes went wide as he slowly shook his head.
"She doesn't need to follow me exactly Sam, but she will follow you, her sun, her light, her big caring sister."
"However, in this. . .pitiful state, you won't be able to put yourself back together, you are internally divided, more than you actually know."
"I will never be you, not to the fullest extent, I don't kill for the sake of it, I know you just want me to be 'daddy's little killer', continuing his bloody work!" Sam growled venomously with narrowed eyes, lowering the shovel, but not loosening her grip.
"That's not how society sees you, majority wise you are the infamous Woodsbro Killer," Billy muttered coldly.
"The court of public opinion was always bullshit!" Sam fumed, her anger not loosening its grip.
"What did you say to your 'therapist'?" Billy asked and before Sam could answer he continued, walking further forward and Sam maintained her distance from him, moving backward. She retained a strong hold on her shovel.
"That when you were stabbing Richie, it felt good, right, satisfying."
"And how did your therapist respond, with an open mind and tired to actually understand; no, he feared you to be a danger to society and immediately stated his need to alert the police."
Billy's words burrowed deep, encouraged by the fact that they were true. Despite trying multiple therapists, they all turned out to be the same, plain, closed minded, had already formed an opinion of Sam before her first session.
A ticking time bomb, a coiled spring of emotions or worst of all, a potential killer in waiting, just searching for a justification. Just merely stating that it felt right was a sure sign of where Sam was heading in their collective minds.
Idiots. . .they wouldn't listen, just conduct their sessions by the book with no imagination on how to address her real problems and open up their eyes to her mindset.
It was easy to understand why Tara didn't go to therapy. Why would she if those assigned to monitor her mental wellbeing weren't even open to understanding the true depth of the complexities that marred both her and Sam respectively.
"No one wants to listen Sam; society doesn't care so why should you?" Billy asked, he almost sounded casual now, but the coldness didn't leave his voice.
Sam glanced away for a moment, feeling her heartbeat still hammering away in her ribcage, as her face was contorted in annoyance and pain.
"Because I should care, I would like to prove people wrong; to actually see me for who I am, rather than what they believe on some crappy webpage," she answered with restrained anger.
"But you still don't know who you really are Sam," Billy remarked coldly and with a conviction that seemed unshakeable.
"At least you don't want to confront it anytime soon."
Sam narrowed her brown eyes; her patience was being quickly eroded away by her father insisting on what was her true nature.
"In the end, as much as you hate me Sam, I am not your enemy, you are," Billy muttered with much distain.
"I know my own limits!" Sam shot back fiercely, the shovel shook in her grip with her fingers twitching.
Billy was unmoved by her open show of defiance, slowly smiling with what looked to be a mixture of amusement and annoyance.
"You're lying yet again Sam, I see the doubt in your eyes, but you shouldn't be afraid of it; because when you were on your last legs, you embraced it and came through alive, you even saved the ones you loved because of it."
"No!" Sam yelled, allowing her anger to express itself more, dropping any attempt to rein it in.
"I will not become the next Ghostface, my life is mine to choose, you're just a ghost, buried, unloved and hated by all besides a few fucked up fanatics!"
Sam held her free hand close to her chest as she spoke, physically shaking as her anger and sadness collided and morphed together inside of her like a violent storm.
"Your bullshit legacy is in the hands of monsters, and I have will no part in continuing any of it!"
Tears threatened to fall again, welling up in her eyes.
"I left Tara because I was afraid of becoming like you and I wanted to be as far away as possible from anyone I loved if it ever become a reality!"
Billy just shook his head dismissively.
"Yet despite your intentions, or dreams, you are my legacy Samantha, the inheritance truly belongs to you and to you alone."
His eyes gleamed with a sinister determination.
"Like it or not you are my successor, and you always will be. . .those who came after me, are merely to remind you of that fact."
"I couldn't agree anymore. . ."
Sam spun round on the spot, raising her shovel up defensively, coming face to face with. . .Ghostface.
The long black robes, the dark leathered gloves, the hunters' knife tight in their grip and of course the infamous white face of a ghost that held the expression of an ominous wail.
"Hello Samantha," they said, the same classic opening line, looming over Sam, sharply reminding her of the current disadvantageous height difference.
"I will always be you, wherever you go."
Their voice, cold, sinister, sadistic, it deeply radiated both confidence and a cruel enjoyment.
"I will haunt you until your dying day."
"Fuck off!" Sam cursed, quickly backing away, but Ghostface followed suit, maintaining an uncomfortable close distance.
Sam quickly glanced behind her to see where Billy was.
He had completely vanished. . .replaced by Ghostface.
Ghostface's hunter's knife was very visible in their grip, its sliver like colour gleamed alongside Ghostface's black robes, making it stand out.
"Your father is right Samantha, no one will truly understand, or want to, not unless they also give into their inherit darkness."
Ghostface's voice was always ominous and full of volatile emotions; but it also carried a stubbornness, an unshakable righteousness in how they perceived the world around them and those within it, as well as their own role.
"You would be surprised by how quickly a person can step over the red line and realise what it means to be truly free."
Sam, being painful aware of her small statue, fiercely swung the shovel back and forth, trying to dissuade Ghostface from attacking.
In truth at her current size, there was little she could do stop this monster, if it so dared to make a serious move.
"You're dead Ethan, Amber, Richie or any of the fuckers who came previously, I outlasted you all!" Sam yelled, resorting to keeping Ghostface distracted whilst she desperately looked around for safety.
A strategy that Ghostface was more than aware of, as they kept a close pace, mirroring her movements and blocking off any avenue for escape.
"You will slip up one day and we will be there for when you do, talking will only delay the inevitable, we all die Samantha, some sooner than most!"
Ghostface then paused in their advance, keeping their arms within the folds of their robes, but still looking directly at Sam.
The wearer's enjoyment was evident in every word as they spoke; all domineering and they knew it.
"You may very well become like us long before then, you fear it enough, so it can become a reality."
They inclined their head, seeming to study Sam with an inquisitive gaze.
"After all, it is why this conversation is happening, right?"
"Let's revisit, take a walk down memory lane. . ."
Sam opened her mouth to immediately protest, but suddenly her surroundings quickly morphed. The garden was seemingly wretched out of existence, with the grass, trees, house and shed all being viciously crushed and then reformed into plain, unfeeling, white halls and rooms. Humming lights, moveable stands of medical equipment and two recognisable figures locked in a tense conversation in one particular room.
Sam felt her heart in their throat when the full realisation of where she was dawned on her.
This was in one of the hospitals in Woodsbro from a year ago.
During the last Ghostface killing. . .
When Sam completely bared her soul to Tara and confined in her the dark family secret.
"This seems like a very good place to start Samantha," Ghostface muttered observantly, quickly gazing around at their new surroundings. Once they were satisfied with things, their gaze fell back onto Sam, shaking before them, without her shovel for it had vanished from her hands.
"Be a good little girl for me and watch, take a hard long look at yourself, no more running and hiding, in here you will play by my rules."
"Fuck your ru-"
A hard gloved hand clamped itself around Sam's mouth, closing it shut as Ghostface leaned in close. Their unseen eyes glared at her with immense disapproval, whilst they spoke with thinly veiled frustration.
"I don't want to punish you. . .yet Samantha, just partake, stare deep into your soul without any hesitation for once in your miserable life, isn't that so hard?"
"Since when. . .did you. . .give a shit. . .about spirituality?" Sam asked, her voice muffled by Ghostface's grip that she could only whisper.
"Since it became necessary for you Samantha and that moment was a long time ago."
Steadily removing their hand around Sam's mouth, Ghostface gripped Sam harshly by the head, their fingers pressing against her skull to the point that Sam couldn't help but hiss lowly in pain. Swiftly Ghostface turned her around to solely focus on the scene that lay out before them, like an audience before a grand stage.
"Let's finally begin!" Ghostface remarked with unbridled anticipation, before they glanced down at Sam. She begrudgingly responded with a look of immense irritation, but her vibrant brown eyes held all manner of anxiety, even fear.
Fear of what she would see if she looked at herself hard enough and what she would have to accept.
Ghostface chuckled sinisterly at her apparent plight. The ominous nature of their voice as it passed through their inbuilt voice modifier further unnerved Sam. She started to shake physically, as much as she desperately willed her body to stop.
"Don't worry about your nerves Samantha, just try to enjoy the show, oh wait you simply cannot, because in here it is all about you. . ."
Although Sam and Billy talked at various points throughout Scream V and VI, I wanted to explore how far their conversations would go if Sam was forced to participate.
Sometimes, if not most of the time, you are your own worst enemy Sam.
Ghostface is always fun to write with their mystery element, as you never know who it is exactly behind the mask.
Good news, this chapter was actually twice as big as originally, so I split it into two to avoid overloading. Therefore you will be getting a second chapter upload ideally next Wednesday, but if not then it will sometime following the week after.
It is going to be an uncomfortable trip down memory lane and there will be a certain surprise in store. ;-)
Thank you for reading and please do review, I deeply appreicate your thoughts.
