There were only five days before the dreaded anniversary, so perhaps the dark cloud hanging over Drake's head is what prevented him from sharing his opinion on which clown he thought would win in a fight to the death. It was Art, by the way. His answer. It was Art the Clown.

"Pennywise?!" Stephen exclaimed, as if with disgust, and he nearly choked on his overpriced theater soda. As the unofficial leader of their friend group, it was unusual for him to be in the minority when it came to the topic of horror films, or really anything else. He had a way with words, so even if he started out alone, he could usually sway at least one other person to join his side. People listened to him. He had a kind of charm to him that drew others in. "You're fucking kidding me, right?"

"He can shape-shift," explained Ja'won, and that's all he said, as if that point alone ended the argument. He didn't get as heated as the others. He was more patient and kinder, but still confident enough in himself to speak his mind. When it came to the typical high school stereotypes, he leaned towards the geeky side of the spectrum, yet he still had the charisma to fit in well with the popular kids.

"And did you see the way he bit that kid's arm off?" Trevor added, his eyes large with wonder. "His mouth is huge! He could swallow Art whole, I bet. Do you think?" Ah, Trevor. How does one describe him? Trevor is just...Trevor. He's mellow (stoned) and happy (stoned). He goes with the flow, while still somehow managing to be the wildcard of the group (probably because he's stoned).

"Is Art...like...a little person?" This came from the girl with the low-cut top seated next to Drake. Her dirty blonde hair was in a single braid that rested over one shoulder. There wasn't much to say about her personality because she didn't really have one, and if she did, none of the guys knew her well enough to know, including Drake, the boy she had come with. She seemed flustered when she noticed everyone staring at her. "Isn't that — that's what they're called, right? I mean, what they like to be called? You can't say the m-word, right?"

Three pairs of dumbfounded eyes turned to Drake, who lowered his gaze while raising his drink to his lips. He clearly had no interest in her — not really — and even he wasn't sure why exactly she was there. She was hot, he was bored, and making out was fun. It's not like they were hooking up. Besides, she had a boyfriend, and it wasn't Drake.

Ja'won felt the need to explain. "He's pretty tall actually. It's just that Pennywise can open his mouth really wide."

"Like a hippo!" she said, understanding now.

"Uh, right."

She seemed quite pleased with herself, and an awkward silence blanketed the table, then was broken by the sound of Drake slurping out of an empty cup.

"I'm gonna get a refill," he said.

"And I'm gonna run to the little girls' room." The unnamed teen grabbed her purse and stood. "Could you get me some candy? Those long things with all the sugar on them? Thanks." Without waiting, she gave him a quick peck on the lips and hurried off.

Drake, too, left the table, and just before leaving earshot, he could hear Trevor picking their conversation back up again.

"Okay, okay, I got one. Leatherface..." He paused for dramatic effect. "...or cocaine bear?"

"What's up, brother?" Josh greeted when the boy approached the counter.

"Can I get a refill?" he said. "And sour patch straws."

Josh picked up the nozzle and pointed it into the empty cup. He glanced up at his stepbrother for a moment and noticed him staring absently at the downpour of soda. "You okay?"

Drake lifted his eyes then, slipping out of whatever trance he had been in. "Yeah. Why?"

"You seem down," he pointed out as he returned the lid to the cup.

"I'm fine."

Josh placed a green pack of candy on the counter. "You sure?"

"I'm fine," he repeated, but with a hint of irritation this time.

The cashier dropped the subject. "That'll be six dollars and thirty-five cents."

"Cute." The teen turned to leave without paying, but Josh wasn't surprised. Drake hadn't dropped a penny here since his brother got this job seven months ago. He escaped punishment because the manager loved him. Drake could get away with things like that. He always did. Well, mostly. He was a love-or-hate kind of guy. Although there were many who idolized him, there were still those who despised him.

Returning to the table, he found that the conversation had circled back to clowns. Apparently, Leatherface vs. cocaine bear hadn't been a hard choice. Knowing his friends, he was sure they had chosen the latter. He went the opposite way. There was something about a crazed psychopath murdering people with a chainsaw that terrified him.

"He's just superior," Stephen was saying. "I mean, Pennywise got his ass handed to him by a bunch of kids. Jesus, even M3gan could beat Pennywise. Art, on the other hand, would skin them both alive and wear it like a scarf. What kind of death is worse than that? Help me out here, Drake."

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but he was frozen. He didn't expect to be put on the spot, for they all knew he didn't really feel like talking about this stuff. Not in the last year, at least. Before, he was just as into the horror genre as his friends were, but now he was a bit pickier about which scary movies he allowed himself to watch. "Um..."

Immediately, Stephen was internally kicking himself. He looked at the others, desperate for help.

Trevor, being Trevor, didn't quite get the hint, but it still led to a less graphic conversation. "Sure, the way Art the Clown kills is horrifying and painful, but Pennywise can do way more with the shape-shifting."

"Hey, Drake, isn't that your ex over there?" Ja'won said, looking towards the ticket counter.

Drake followed his gaze. Standing in line with an unknown guy was none other than Linny Tifton. She had long brown hair, with her signature double hair clips holding back her wavy locks on one side. From behind, he could see that familiar pear-shaped figure, and he caught himself looking at her ass. She had a nice ass, and she was well aware of that fact, so she often wore tight jeans that complemented it well. Unlike with most girls, he'd spent enough time with her to learn about her personality. Linny was a nice Christian girl, but far from perfect. After all, she did cheat on her boyfriend with Drake. She liked coffee, cursing and Christ, and also those lame wall decor pieces that said quotes like that and the ever popular "live, laugh, love". Favorite book: The Bible. Favorite animal: horse. Favorite horror film: The Passion of the Christ. Okay, that one gave Drake a chuckle.

Despite her flamboyant spirituality, which Drake neither agreed nor disagreed with — he wasn't above admitting that he didn't have all the answers — she was actually pretty fun to hang out with, and not just for making out. Linny had interesting things to say, and she lived her life in constant spontaneity and impulsivity, which is probably what led her to developing a relationship with Drake despite being taken.

In that moment, Linny turned around, and her eyes immediately landed on Drake, as if she had already taken note of his location before he'd noticed her. She was surprised to find that he was looking at her, but she didn't turn away. Instead, she held his gaze, like maybe she was trying to send him some kind of silent message.

Drake averted his eyes as a ball of guilt settled in his chest. "She's not my ex. We were never together."

"Not technically," Stephen said, lifting his eyebrows as he squirted ketchup on his fries, "but..."

"I guess she's not with Huntley anymore either," Trevor said after examining the new guy, then he retracted his statement. "Well, I mean, she could be. She's not exactly the most loyal." His eyes met Drake's. "No offense."

"They split," Stephen informed. He knew this because he was the one who had pulled Huntley off of his best friend in gym class last week. "And good for Linny because Huntley is a total fucking dick."

"She's definitely still into you, dude," Ja'won said.

"Right, you better watch out or you might end up like that guy Kathy Bates tortured in Misery."

"Fuck off," Drake said. "She's not fucking psycho. She's a nice person." Quietly, he mumbled, "Unlike some of us."

Josh approached the crew and sat down in the chair that belonged to Drake's current forbidden fling. "I'm off," he told his stepbrother.

"Oh, great." Ja'won turned to him. "Settle this for us. Pennywise or Art the Clown? Who would win?"

Josh didn't hesitate as he took one of Ja'won's fries. "Definitely Art. No question."

"See?" Stephen said. "And Josh is the movie nerd, so he would know."

This compliment made the boy smile. It wasn't often that he received a nice word from one of the most popular guys at school. In fact, he couldn't recall it happening before. He and Stephen never got along, although he wasn't sure why.

"Great, so it's a tie," Trevor said. No one asked Drake to break it.

At that moment, Drake noticed...um...the girl with the dirty blonde side braid returning to the table. "You ready to go?" he asked his brother.

"Yeah. Mindy's supposed to come over soon."

Drake couldn't stop the noise of disgust that left his throat as he stood. He noticed Josh's disappointed stare but didn't apologize. Instead, he addressed dirty-blonde-with-a-braid. "We have to get home. You want us to drop you off?"

She accepted and said she would meet them at the car, although she didn't give a reason for her delay. Drake didn't care enough to question it. He said his goodbyes to his friends, then the stepsiblings made their way towards the exit. They had to pass the bathrooms on their way, and unfortunately, Linny was making her way to the ladies' room at that very moment — probably planned.

"Drake," she called. "Hey."

He almost outwardly sighed, but managed to stop himself as he turned around. "Hey," he said.

"I haven't seen you in a couple weeks. How have you been?"

"I've been okay." He was short, and he didn't reciprocate her questions.

"Hi, Josh," she said.

He'd hung back to give the two their space, but here he was being pulled into the conversation. He didn't reply — not in words. Instead, he gave an awkward smile. It's not that he disliked her because he didn't. It's just that he knew she hadn't been single when she got with Drake, so he didn't really want to associate with her. He didn't place all the blame on her, but he couldn't avoid his brother — they shared a bedroom — and even if he could avoid him, he didn't want to.

"Is that your new girlfriend?" Linny asked, nodding towards the table.

He noticed she said "new" girlfriend as if she had been the "old" one. Drake followed her eyes even though he already knew who she was referring to. The table crew was looking their way, speculating what this conversation was about, no doubt. Braid girl was also watching, her normally air-headed grin wavering. Even though Drake had just met her two days ago, he didn't want to deal with the ramifications of making his current fling jealous, so he cut the conversation short.

"No," he answered because he also didn't want to hurt Linny's feelings. "But anyway, we have to get going. My stepdad said I have to come home. It was good seeing you." He didn't really give her much of a chance to say more than a confused and disappointed goodbye before leading his brother into the warm afternoon sun.

Maybe he didn't like Braid Girl, but she definitely was skilled when it came to kissing. She didn't use too much tongue, like some of the more eager girls he had made out with, and she wasn't weird about where to put her hands, although there wasn't any heavy petting going on. Josh was a foot away in the driver's seat after all.

Josh was used to this — his brother's revolving door of girls. He came off as an asshole, but he knew him better. He knew Drake feared commitment. Drake never told him this, but Josh had overheard the conversation he'd had with Linny in their bedroom. She'd dropped a bomb — the big "L"-word — and that had scared Drake away. He remembered the agonizingly lengthy awkward silence that followed, then the frustration he'd heard in his brother's voice, as if Linny's feelings had ruined a good thing. He knew Drake didn't mean to be so cruel, but to protect himself, he stomped on the hearts of other people.

"Is it this one?" Josh asked, reading the numbers on the mailbox.

She turned her head to check, and Drake's lips moved to her neck. "Yep, that's it. The one with the red car." She giggled as she pushed the boy away, then gave him one last peck on the lips. Braid Girl grabbed her purse and went in for another last kiss as the car turned into the driveway. "Thanks for the ride." Okay, and now a last last kiss. For real this time. It was on the cheek because Drake wasn't expecting it.

Afterwards, she got out of the car while Drake climbed between the seats and sat down on the passenger's side. He wasn't looking when Braid Girl turned back and waved, now occupied with his phone, so Josh waved in his place, then backed out of the driveway.

"Why do you do that?"

Drake looked up at him with furrowed brows, so taken back by the question that he had to be sure his stepbrother was speaking to him. "What?"

"You know she likes you."

"I like her," he said.

"No, you don't."

Drake didn't reply. Perhaps Josh was right, but he couldn't help the feelings that other people had towards him. Either way, if the feelings Braid Girl had were obvious enough for someone else to notice, it was probably time to cut her off.

Changing the subject, Drake asked, "So does Mindy coming over mean you're canceling Scary Movie Sunday again?"

"Come on."

"What?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Just because you refuse to allow yourself to find true love doesn't mean I should have to do the same."

The brutal honestly caught Drake off guard, and he was speechless for a moment as he tried to decide what part of that loaded reply he should respond to. "I'm not saying that. It's just that Sundays are our nights, I thought." He added, "And I'm not scared of 'finding true love' or whatever. I just haven't."

"You're literally Rebecca from Lights Out," Josh disagreed, calling out his commitment issues.

"Well, thank you for that Buzzfeed psychoanalysis personality quiz result, but it's fucking bullshit."

"Language," Josh scolded lightheartedly.

"I'm just saying, I think it's a crime that we still haven't finished the Saw series yet."

"You said you wanted to take a break from that."

"I did," he said, quieter now due to the underlying context of his brother's words. "But it's been two months, and you know I'm gonna start forgetting the timeline and how everything connects."

"I didn't know you were ready. I can't read your mind. I'm not Danny Torrance."

"Well, I'm telling you now."

"Next Sunday, okay?" Josh promised, and he shrugged innocently, yet apologetically.

"Sure," Drake said, putting his attention back on his phone. "I mean, if I don't find true love and get swept off my feet by then."

Josh grinned toothily at his sarcasm.

The boys' bedroom was spacious. Previously a storage/lounge room, what was once the place where Drake's band practiced had begun to transform during his early preteen years into a bedroom for a young boy demanding independence. He had spent roughly two years or so with great privacy before Josh and Walter had moved in, turning his family's home into the Parker-Nichols household, and his room into the Parker-Nichols bedroom. Things were quite rocky at first, as one could imagine with two dissimilar boys being forced to share a space one had once considered a safe haven. However, as the next two years went by, he and his new roomie became acquaintances, friends, best friends, brothers.

The entrance to the room was on the left, and it opened on a platform that led directly to Josh's bed and armoire. The couple of steps next to the door lowered into a living space, with a couch and comfy mismatch chairs replacing what used to be a drum set back when this was a solo suite. To the right of the room was a loft, on which was a mattress belonging to the original occupant.

Drake and Josh were opposites, and their joint room confirmed this. Josh's bookcase was organized alphabetically by the author's last name, and then by publication year if he collected multiple works from the author. Meanwhile, the shelves made into the bottom half of the loft were covered with vinyl records and CDs, disorganized and placed with reckless abandon. Josh's shirts were ironed and hanging in his armoire, first divided by season, then by occasion, from comfy to formal, and his bottoms were folded and neatly tucked away in the armoire's drawers. Drake's clothes were not placed in any particular way, and were, in contrast, spread out all over the room, some dirty and some clean. Josh's many awards, ranging from school achievements — such as perfect attendance and A honor roll — to extracurricular wins — like a t-ball participation trophy and a medal for best chili at a chili cook-off competition — filled in spaces on his shelves and computer desk and decorated his walls. Drake's walls were a vibrant mess of band posters, concert memorabilia, photos with friends, stickers, album covers, painted records and CDs — so many odd things that one could find something new upon each viewing.

Currently, the oldest of the two (only by four months and three weeks) was sitting on his mattress while strumming his electric guitar. Music emanated from the amp it was plugged into at a surprisingly reasonable volume. First, Drake plucked at random, listening to each note as if the vibrations alone soothed him, then he moved into a song, the process so gradual that he hadn't even realized it until it was time to sing the lyrics. His voice was soft and melancholic.

Tonight
Bleedin' from the holes in my face
But I don't wanna give it away
You did it for the family name
Crash collide into space

You
Your favorite color red
I guess that I'm the hypocrite
You're not responsible
I'm responsible

Who's to blame?
Tell me, who's to blame?
Tell me, who?

I won't ever do that again
I've been all over the place
I watched the strawberry fields
Dry up and wither away

And if you ask me to stay
You know that's where I will be
Won't ever do that again
Don't wanna do that again

"Jesus, I thought a dog was dying up here. Don't scare me like that."

Drake abruptly stopped playing and lifted his eyes to see Mindy. The softness in his features was gone, and his face twisted with repulsion. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"Josh said to wait up here. He's in the bathroom."

Without an invitation, she made her way to the couch and sat down. She sat at a ninety-degree angle, her posture sharp. Mindy was like this in class, too, and Drake always imagined that she even sat this robotically in her own home. She was a perfectionist, even more so than her boyfriend, and before meeting her, Drake hadn't thought that was possible. Her unflattering clothes never had even the slightest wrinkle, and there wasn't a single hair on her head that was out of place.

"What was that song you were playing?" she asked. "I know there's no way you could write anything that actually has legibility."

He didn't know what that word meant, but he didn't have to know in order to understand that she was trying to offend him. "Kinda hard to take your insult seriously when you listen to 2010s Justin Bieber. 'Baby' isn't exactly the work of a lyrical genius."

"Talk trash about him all you want, but you and I both know that you'll never amount to even a fraction of the artist he is," she said with an uppity attitude. "Haven't you been unable to get a gig for...what? Two months?"

He took the bait, his frustration growing. "Yeah, because I was grounded."

"But even before that, too. You were struggling to find anyone that would let your band play." She looked up at him to see if she had struck a nerve and was pleased to find that she had. "Josh told me."

He internally cursed his brother for sharing that information with Mindy. "That has nothing to do with our music. It's because we're not old enough to get into bars and clubs, and there aren't many other opportunities for kids our age."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," she said, and she yawned as if bored with their conversation. She had won this round, and it made Drake's blood boil.

"You're such a fucking—"

"Drake!" Josh interrupted as he entered the room. "Come on. What are you doing, bro?"

The grin on Mindy's face irked him. "She started it."

"What are you, six? Or sixteen?"

"Whatever." He turned off his amp and unplugged the guitar, then set it off to the side. "Fuck you both." Drake climbed down the ladder, and started towards the exit, but paused as he passed Mindy. "Cunt, by the way. That's what I was gonna say. You're such a fucking cunt. In case you needed me to spell it out for you."

"Jesus, Drake!" Josh exclaimed with pointed brows and his arms spread out in question. "What is wrong with you?!"

Mindy chimed in with the final word. "A lot, I imagine."

"Would it kill you two to just be nice to each other for once?!"

"Yeah, actually. I think it would," she said.

Drake said nothing more as he stormed out of the room. He had nothing kind to say, and he'd already been so harsh that he wondered if his stepbrother would tell Walter. The last thing he wanted was to get put on restriction again. For a social butterfly like himself, that was absolute torture. Well, he wasn't as social anymore, but he hated being trapped in this house after last year.

Speaking of last year, his footsteps slowed as he approached the master bedroom, its door open. He almost froze completely, and a sickening feeling rose in his throat, but the teen forced his feet to keep moving. As he passed, he kept his eyes glued to the floor until he made his way downstairs.

Drake could see his little sister's hair over the back of the couch and made his way into the living room. He plopped down in a chair and rested his head in his hand, his elbow on the chair arm, then looked at the television. A SpongeBob rerun was playing, but not long after his arrival, the sound cut out. He turned to look at his ten-year-old sister, who had the remote controller in her hand as she stared at him with a frown.

"Yes?" she said. "Can I help you?"

"Just watching tv," he replied.

"Isn't there a tv in your room?"

For a moment, he sat there, dumbfounded, then he stood without a word and walked out the front door. The sky was dark enough that a few of the brighter stars were visible. The temperature was cool, a drastic change from the heat of the day. He wished he would've grabbed a jacket, but he refused to go back inside right now. Instead, he was going for a walk. He probably shouldn't be walking this late, and if Walter came home and found him out after dark on a school night, he would surely get onto him. However, his stepfather was at work, and he worked a lot, so Drake was willing to risk it.

Just as he made the first few steps, there was movement in his periphery, and he whipped his head around to see a dark shadow figure, his face only lit by the dim porch light. It was Vance.

"Jesus! What — what are you..." Drake noticed that his classmate was over by the kitchen window, nowhere near the concrete path to the door. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"My ball landed in your yard." He held up a baseball, then offered an eager smile.

The boy was shorter than Drake, although not by much, and he had short black hair. Not only was he a fellow student; he also lived a few houses down on the other side of the street, which was rather unfortunate because he was always trying to get into Drake's business. He was one of many who idolized him for one reason or another, but he went a little harder than the others by being a massive pest. After all, who played baseball alone this late and this far away from their own house?

"What's wrong?" Vance asked, noting his irritated mood.

"Nothing." Drake headed towards the road.

"Where are you going?"

"For a walk."

"Can I come?"

"No! Just leave me alone, okay? Leave me alone." He didn't want to be so mean, but Jesus, when would this guy take a hint? He's been dodging Vance since the boy moved in during their fourth-grade year, and it got a little tiring after a while.

Thankfully, Vance stayed behind, and Drake was able to enjoy his stroll in peace.

"Hello?" Linny said into her cell phone. She'd ignored the first call because she'd just walked through the front door and the screen said, 'Unknown ID', but the same person was calling again, so she didn't think it would be a scammer.

"Hi, I'm looking for Linny." The rough voice belonged to a male, and it wasn't one she recognized, but she felt like she must know this person because he referred to her as Linny rather than her full first name Melanie.

"This is she." Linny set her purse down on the accent table that was near the coat closet, then she pressed the toes of one foot against the heel of the opposite foot, removing a shoe, then the other. "Who is this?"

"Let's just say...I'm a secret admirer."

The girl's brows furrowed, but she couldn't help the smile that took over her features. Her voice rose an octave. "A secret admirer?"

"Mm-hmm."

Linny opened one of the table's elegantly carved drawers and pulled out a bottle of fish food, then she moved over to the large aquarium, a statement piece in the center of the grand foyer. "What's your name?" she asked, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear to free her hands so that she could open the container.

"If I told you, then it wouldn't be a secret now, would it?"

She giggled as she sprinkled some fish food over the aquarium and watched the colorful little fellows race to the surface. "Johnny, is this you?"

"Johnny? Is that the guy you saw the movie with tonight?"

The teen seemed flattered to have a stalker. "How did you know that?"

"I was there, too," replied the scratchy male voice. "I saw you when you came in. You're really beautiful. You lit up the whole room."

She knew her ex Huntley would never say anything like that to her, but she did recall one sweet-talking boy who she'd seen at The Premier today. Again, she giggled, "Drake, you gave yourself away."

Linny put the fish food away, then she walked through a large archway on the left side of the foyer, which led her to the kitchen. There was a giant island in the center, with country-style bar stools tucked underneath the overhang on one side. The cabinets were a medium-dark brown with light brown countertops, which were cluttered with everything Rae Dunn: coffee mugs, jars, bottles, canisters, baskets, utensils, etc. It went really well with the large, wooden 'gather' sign that hung on one wall behind the bar stools. She crossed the room, then pulled apart the sliding doors that divided the laundry room from the kitchen. Linny put the phone on speaker while she changed out of the itchy, sequined blouse and replaced it with a comfy tee.

"What movie did you see?" the voice asked.

"Just some scary movie." She didn't pay too much attention to the movie because she spent a great deal of that time with Johnny's tongue down her throat. Now that she thought about it, he wasn't that great of a kisser in comparison to Drake.

Linny retraced her steps, exiting the kitchen. This time, she walked through a large archway on the right side of the foyer, which led to the living room. She turned on a lamp, lighting up the farmhouse-style space. In the center of the room was a couch with a white quilt draped over the back. It faced the flat-screen television that was mounted on the wall, underneath which was an ivory fireplace, its mantelpiece covered with picture frames, candles, wooden letters in a purposely faded gray, cream and blue that spelled out the word 'family', and similarly colored pampas grass divided into mason jars painted white with either the word 'live', 'laugh' or 'love' written on it in black calligraphy. An atrocious number of canvases and frames hung on the walls bearing similar messages as if a mid-thirties single soccer mom of four, who was addicted to iced coffee — Dunkin's, not Starbucks — had vomited her basic personality all over the room.

"Do you like scary movies?"

"No, not really," she said, and she sat down on the couch, leaning against the arm with her feet next to her on the cushion.

"Why not?"

"Well, because they're scary."

"They're just movies. They're not real."

"What about The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?" she pointed out. "Or The Strangers? Wes Craven even got the idea for A Nightmare on Elm Street from a true story of a refugee kid who was plagued by nightmares dying in his sleep or something like that."

"I guess you're right," the guy replied. "Plus, there's The Exorcist, The Conjuring, The Exorcism of Emily Rose."

"Yeah, but those aren't as scary as having some guy chase after you with an enormous weapon."

"I thought, as a Christian, you would find the supernatural more frightening."

"It is scary," she agreed, "but God gives us power over those things. Maniac killers, on the other hand, are just humans, and we're all on an equal playing field." Linny was home alone, and she didn't like to think about these things, so she steered the conversation elsewhere. "Anyway, I'm sure you didn't call to discuss my horror movie opinions, so why is it you wanted to talk to me?"

"What are you wearing?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "You used to be smoother than that, and what is this thing you're doing with your voice? It's really creepy, Drake."

"This isn't Drake."

"Oh," she said, frowning with disappointment. "Sorry. I thought you were..."

She didn't say the name again because what if it was Huntley? She didn't want to cause anymore problems for Drake. She felt guilty enough after the alpha male had picked a fight with the smaller, wiry teen in front of her, as if proving his strength would win her back, like they were lions displaying their dominance.

"So who is this then?" she asked.

"If I tell you," said the rough voice, slower now, "I'll have to kill you."

She wasn't that alarmed by this strange conversation. Sure, the guy was a total weirdo, but they lived in a mid-sized town. There wasn't much to do other than go to the mall or to the movies. Film was a topic she heard about regularly amongst fellow classmates, especially horror. Still, it was nighttime, and she was home alone. This probably wasn't the best time to talk to an anonymous stranger.

"Okay, I think I've had enough of this When a Stranger Calls bit," she said. "Bye now."

"Wait, wait," the man said. "I wanted to ask you something."

"What?" She wasn't snappy yet, but she was running out of patience.

"Well, I saw you today, and I thought you were really hot."

She was grinning again. "Do you wanna ask me out?" she teased flirtatiously.

"Maybe," he said, flirting back. "I mean, I'm not completely shallow. I thought I might call and get to know you a little better first."

"And?" she asked, waiting to be buttered up.

"And I like you," the gruff voice said. "You're very nice, and you have a cute giggle."

Linny couldn't help but giggle again.

"There it is," he said. "Your dislike of horror movies threw me off a bit, but I think we can get past it. Hey, and maybe you'll even give them a try if you have a big, strong guy there with you. I mean, you seem to already know your stuff, what with the Wes Craven facts and the When a Stranger Calls reference."

She was blushing.

"Oh, and the Black Christmas tee you had on," he said. "So you must like some horror."

The smile on Linny's face dropped. Her voice was no longer playful, but rather unsteady. "What'd you say?"

"I mean, it was the 2019 remake, which is a choice, but it's a start."

"How did you know I have on a Black Christmas shirt?"

"I saw you today," the man said. "Remember?"

"I wore a blue blouse to the theater. I didn't put on the Black Christmas shirt until I got home."

Linny rose to her feet when she heard a dog barking in the distance — probably one of the neighbor's, but something must've disturbed it. Or someone. Without another word, she hung up, then made her way into the foyer. She needed to make sure she had locked the front door upon entering the house. When she saw that she hadn't, she hurried towards it and turned the lock. The teen went to peek through the long, vertical glass off to the side, but jumped when her cell phone started ringing, disrupting the eerie silence. Like before, the screen read, 'Unknown ID'. She didn't answer.

She looked out the window, watching for any sign of movement. The porch light was on, illuminating the nearest areas, but her front yard was dark and filled with shadows. Linny pressed her face against the glass and cupped her hands — one still gripping her cell phone — on either side of her eyes to block out the light. It helped some, but it was still hard to see. However, she refused to turn off the porch light. Her eyes darted right, left, then right again. Still nothing.

The ringing of the phone sent a jolt through her, and she backed away from the window. She looked at the screen, hoping it was her mother or her father or anyone else but the movie-obsessed creep from before. Unfortunately, it wasn't. Her fear hardened into anger, and for a moment, she felt brave enough to answer.

"Who is this?" she demanded, the kindness gone from her voice.

The man spoke, still rough, but no longer innocent. "I'm the last person you're going to see before you die."

Those words hit her so hard that, for a moment, Linny lost her breath. The bravery was gone. Her eyes were now wide with fear, and she was frozen in place. She wanted to hang up but couldn't control the needed muscles. She wanted to run, but her feet felt as if she had weights taped to the bottom of them.

"Here's Johnny!"

The moment he finished the iconic horror film quote, a loud burst filled her ears. She whipped around to the opposite end of the foyer where the glass double doors are — or were. Now they were a shattered mess all over the floor, and laying on top of the shards was her Premier date Johnny. His body convulsed, and a gurgling sound left him as he choked on his own blood. There was a knife sticking out of the center of his back. The red streaks and rips on his clothes showed that this wasn't his first stab wound, but rather the final of many.

Out on the back patio, a figure came into view, entering from the side. He wore a long black robe with sparkles that shimmered in the moonlight. The bottom was cut in a zigzag pattern, long and uneven, and the wings underneath the arms were stringy and wispy. He had black gloves and boots to match. There was a hood pulled over the stranger's head, and he wore a mask, a white one with peanut-shaped eyes and a long, gaping mouth.

Linny remained unmoving as fear overtook her. The man took a slow, daunting step over the threshold, entering the home. Glass crackled underneath his shoes. He bent over and gripped the knife handle, then, without compassion or consideration, yanked the weapon out of Johnny's back. There was no vocal response from the teen. Johnny was dead.

"Oh my God!" Finally, Linny moved into action. She spun around and grabbed the doorknob, then turned it, but it wouldn't budge. Of course. She had just locked it. She checked over her shoulder and saw the man sprinting towards her, knife in hand. She just had enough time to side-step, dodging the attack.

Screaming with terror, she ran into the kitchen. Her assailant wasn't far behind her, but far enough away that she was able to put the island in between her and the intruder. Both stood, facing off with one another, waiting for any sudden movement.

"Go away!" Linny commanded at the top of her lungs, then she broke down into sobs.

The man started toward the inside of the island, so Linny moved, too, keeping her distance. The masked villain quickly switched directions, taking the side with the barstools and forcing his prey in a corner. She felt trapped here in the smaller space between the island and the counters. She had to get out, and she had to get back to the front door.

On the island top was a coffee mug display, where her mom showed off her favorite seasonal cups. It was mid-October, but her mother didn't celebrate Halloween, so she skipped the witches and ghouls and put her Thanksgiving decor out early. Linny grabbed a cup, one reading 'food coma', and threw it at the man. It definitely made contact because she heard some kind of groan or yelp coming from under the mask. She picked up another one and got him with that, too. Linny did this once more, then, while he was recovering, she raced past him and into the foyer.

Shakily, she fumbled with the lock, but the distance she had created wasn't enough. She heard heavy boots stomping behind her, getting closer and closer. Linny gave up on the lock and dashed into the living room, but not before getting cut on the back of her forearm. The adrenaline was enough to keep her from feeling the pain.

There weren't many routes for her to take. Either she could play another game of monkey-see-monkey-do around the couch, or she could make her way through the arch to her left, the second entrance into the living room, which would lead right to Johnny's dead body. It wasn't a hard choice. She couldn't trap herself in this room. Maybe she could zip out the broken glass doors and get to a neighbor.

A sudden force pushed against her, sending her off track, as the killer intercepted her escape with the speed and intensity of a football player. Both rolled over the couch together and landed on the floor, one on top of the other. If it wasn't for the fact that he was trying to kill her, this might've looked romantic, like in the cheesy rom-coms she enjoyed watching. Instead, this was all straight out of some horror movie. He'd cushioned her fall, so she sat up easily. With quick thinking, Linny grabbed the decorative glass vase off of the coffee table and raised it over her head. Before she could hit him with it, her attacker pushed the knife into her stomach.

She folded, dropping the vase and caving into herself. This didn't protect her from stabs number two or three. She screamed as she threw herself back — anything to get away from the masked killer. She kicked at the floor and scooted with her elbow, doing a sideways crawl away. The teen couldn't help but look back at him and watch in horror as he got onto his feet. He seemed to tower over her like a skyscraper now.

"Please leave me alone," she begged in between whimpers and whines, which grew louder as he approached.

The man grabbed a fistful of her hair and snatched her onto her knees. He kept his grip, forcing her to look up at him as he went in with the knife again, underhanded. She stared up at him with wide, wet eyes and a dropped jaw. A deep sob left her when she was stabbed again, and with this one, she felt copper on her tongue. She pleaded with him, or at least she thought she did, but there were no discernible words leaving her lips.

Finally, he let her go, and she cried loudly. However, he wasn't finished with her yet. The intruder grabbed a large, glass frame that was hanging on the wall — one that read 'bless this mess' — and swung it at her head. She fell onto her back, dazed and hurting. Her face had cuts all over, and even a small shard was sticking out just below her left eyeball. Even more blood was pooling up in her mouth now, choking her.

"Who are you?" she managed quietly.

He didn't answer. Instead, he brought the knife down again, directly in the center of her chest.

Author's Note: Long time no see! I know it's been a while, and this is a little different from the genre and subject matter that my stories are normally about. I've been working on horror/gore for a while over on my Wattpad account, which I started so I could write a Sam & Colby fanfic (so if you're interested in that, my Wattpad username is ChooseLife2). I've been going through a massive Scream obsession, and I've had this idea for a while now, so I finally got around to starting it. Let me know if you like it. Reviews really push me to write and update faster. Also, I would love to hear your predictions as we go. Thanks for reading! Also check me out on Wattpad.