A/N: Sorry for the wait! We are now at 248 views for this story. Thanks as always for all the support! Without further delay, enjoy. THIS IS A REUPLOAD BECAUSE MY ORIGINAL CHAPTER WAS LOST IN A SYSTEM GLITCH.
The dim glow of a television screen flickered across the darkened living room of a suburban Woodsboro home. Jenny Randall leaned back against the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, her eyes glued to the unfolding chaos on the screen. Beside her, Marnie Cooper sat cross-legged, a skeptical expression on her face as the infamous opening scene of Stab 7 played out.
"You know," Jenny said between handfuls of popcorn, "I don't care how many times I've seen this. It never gets old. It's so good."
Marnie tilted her head, her expression unimpressed. "Good? Are we watching the same movie?"
Jenny gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. "How dare you! Stab 7 is a masterpiece."
Marnie rolled her eyes, gesturing at the screen where yet another hapless victim met their end. "It makes no sense," she said. "If the beginning of Stab 7 is actually Stab 6, and the beginning of Stab 6 is Stab 5, then what the hell is Stab 4 even about?"
Jenny groaned, tossing a handful of popcorn in Marnie's direction. "You're overthinking it! These movies are supposed to be fun. Who cares if the timeline's a little… flexible?"
Marnie brushed the popcorn off her lap, shaking her head. "I thought these movies were supposed to be based on true stories," she said.
Jenny smirked, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie. "Okay, first of all, the first three are based on true stories. The first two are about Sidney Prescott—you know, Woodsboro's own final girl—and the third one is about her and her long-lost half-brother, Roman Bridger. But after that?" She shrugged. "They ran out of truth and just started making stuff up."
Marnie raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"Yeah!" Jenny said, leaning forward eagerly. "Fun fact: Roman Bridger directed Stab 3 through Stab 7. He turned his whole traumatic past into Hollywood gold. The guy's, like, a legend now."
Marnie frowned, her skepticism still evident. "A 'legend'? For what? Exploiting his own family drama?"
Jenny waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, come on. He turned his pain into art. Besides, it's not like Sidney complained. She worked with him on the later ones—consultant or something. I think it's kinda cool, honestly."
Marnie shook her head, letting out a soft laugh. "Only in Hollywood could someone like that become a legend."
Jenny grinned, unpausing the movie. "Exactly. Now shut up and watch. The next kill is iconic."
Marnie, still half-immersed in her phone, rolled her eyes. "If you say so."
A faint creak echoed from upstairs. Both girls froze for a moment, their attention snapping to the ceiling.
Jenny shrugged, standing up. "Relax, it's probably nothing," she said, brushing off the sound as she made her way toward the stairs.
Marnie frowned, her eyes narrowing as she followed her friend's movements. "Where are you going?"
Jenny looked over her shoulder. "I think I left a window open in my room. Be right back."
Without waiting for a reply, she climbed the stairs, her footsteps muffled against the carpeted steps. The second floor was dark, the only light spilling from her partially open bedroom door. As she approached, the faint breeze confirmed her suspicion—the window was indeed open, the curtains fluttering slightly in the cool night air.
Jenny sighed, shaking her head as she pushed the window closed and locked it. "Gotta stop doing that," she muttered to herself.
An idea sparked in her mind, and a sly grin spread across her face. She pulled out her phone, navigating to a Ghostface voice app she'd downloaded as a joke. She hit the button to activate it, holding the phone to her ear as it distorted her voice into the infamous rasp.
"Hello, Marnie," she said into the app, her tone low and menacing.
Downstairs, Marnie stiffened at the sound of her phone ringing. She picked it up, glancing at the caller ID—Jenny.
"Jenny? What are you doing?" she asked, her voice tinged with annoyance.
The voice on the other end was chillingly familiar. "Do you like scary movies?"
Marnie groaned, rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on. Really?"
Jenny couldn't help but stifle a laugh as she emerged at the top of the stairs, her phone still pressed to her ear. "It's just me!" she called out, her voice shifting back to her own as she leaned over the banister. "Relax, it's a joke."
Marnie glared up at her, crossing her arms. "Not funny, Jenny. I swear, one of these days—"
Her sentence was abruptly cut off, her words strangled into silence as if someone had grabbed her mid-sentence.
"Marnie?" Jenny called out, lowering her phone as she frowned.
No response.
Her playful grin faded, replaced with a flicker of concern as she slowly descended the stairs. "Marnie, seriously, stop messing around," she called out, her tone growing sharper.
She reached the bottom step, her eyes scanning the dimly lit living room. The popcorn bowl sat tipped over on the couch, but Marnie was nowhere in sight.
"Marnie?" Jenny called again, her voice trembling slightly.
The overhead lights that had been on just moments ago were off, plunging the space into shadow. She rolled her eyes, forcing herself to stay calm.
"Let me guess," she said aloud, her voice tinged with irritation. "You want me to walk past a door so you can pop out? Real original, Marnie."
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen—Unknown Number.
With an exasperated sigh, she answered. "Nice try, Marnie," she said sharply. "But you don't have the app on your phone, so you can't do the voice, can you?"
The voice that answered wasn't Marnie's. It was the familiar, chilling rasp of Ghostface.
"Yes, I can," it said smoothly.
Jenny froze, her frown deepening as her grip on the phone tightened. "Who is this?" she demanded.
"Not an app," the voice replied, its tone dripping with menace.
Jenny's stomach twisted. "Is this Trevor?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly despite her attempt to sound annoyed.
The voice let out a low, mocking laugh. "Do I sound like a Trevor to you? Think of me as your director. You're in my movie now, Jenny. You got a fun part, so don't blow it."
Jenny's brow furrowed, her irritation giving way to confusion and unease. "What movie?" she asked, her voice sharp.
"The one about the dumb blonde with the big tits who gets gutted," Ghostface said, his tone casual, almost amused.
Jenny's jaw clenched, her fear momentarily overtaken by anger. "I have a 4.0 GPA and a 135 IQ, asshole!" she snapped.
The voice didn't falter. "Good for you," Ghostface said. "But intelligence doesn't make you immortal."
Jenny's heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to stay composed. "Where's Marnie? What did you do to her?"
"She's on the cutting room floor," Ghostface replied, his tone almost sing-song.
"That's not funny," Jenny said, her voice trembling slightly despite her defiance.
"This isn't a comedy," Ghostface said, his voice dropping into a menacing growl. "It's a horror film. People live, people die…" There was a deliberate pause, the silence on the line heavy with malice.
"And you'd better start running."
The glass sliding door shattered with a deafening crash, sending shards spraying across the living room floor. Jenny jumped back, her phone slipping from her hand as a limp, bloodied body landed on the carpet with a sickening thud. Her breath caught in her throat, her mind struggling to process the horrifying sight in front of her.
"Marnie?" she whispered, her voice trembling as her eyes locked onto her friend's lifeless, glass-strewn form.
Her trembling legs took a step forward, as if compelled to confirm the impossible, but a shadow shifted behind the shattered door. From the jagged frame of the broken glass, Ghostface emerged, his white mask glowing faintly in the dim light, his black robes billowing as he stepped forward with slow, deliberate intent.
Jenny's scream tore through the room as panic seized her. She spun on her heel and bolted toward the staircase, her socks skidding slightly on the hardwood floor.
"Help!" she shrieked, her voice breaking as she scrambled up the stairs two at a time. "Somebody help me!"
Ghostface followed with chilling silence, the sound of his boots crunching over the broken glass the only noise accompanying her screams.
Jenny reached the top of the stairs and darted into the first room she saw—her bedroom. She slammed the door shut and fumbled with the lock, her hands shaking violently. Once the lock clicked into place, she stumbled back, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing.
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapon, a hiding spot, anything. Her gaze landed on the baseball bat leaning against the wall near her bed. She lunged for it, gripping the handle tightly as she positioned herself near the door, her body trembling but her jaw set in determination.
The silence was deafening. She strained her ears, trying to hear any hint of movement.
Then, the door rattled violently, the sudden noise making her scream and stumble back. The knob jiggled, twisted, then stopped. For a moment, there was nothing but silence again.
Jenny's knuckles whitened on the bat. "I'm not afraid of you!" she shouted, her voice quivering.
The next sound was a loud crack as Ghostface's knife plunged through the door, splintering the wood near the lock. Jenny screamed again, backing further into the room. Another crack followed, and then another, as the knife tore through the wood like a predator clawing its way to prey.
The lock gave way, and the door flew open. Ghostface stood in the doorway, his knife glinting in the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Jenny swung the bat with all her might, letting out a feral scream. The bat connected with Ghostface's arm, causing him to stumble back slightly, the knife clattering to the floor.
Seizing her chance, Jenny bolted past him, her bare feet pounding against the carpet as she sprinted down the hall. She turned sharply into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her.
She pressed her back against the door, her breathing ragged, her heart hammering in her chest. Her eyes darted around the small space, her mind racing for a plan. She climbed into the bathtub, crouching low as her fingers fumbled with her phone.
But her phone wasn't in her pocket. She'd dropped it downstairs.
Tears streamed down her face as the reality of her situation began to sink in.
The doorknob jiggled again, and then a heavy thud hit the door. Another thud. And another.
With a final, forceful crash, the door burst open, and Ghostface stepped into the bathroom. Jenny screamed, grabbing the detachable showerhead and hurling it at him. It bounced harmlessly off his chest.
She tried to climb out of the bathtub, but Ghostface was faster. He lunged forward, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her back. She screamed, clawing at his gloved hand, kicking wildly as he raised his knife.
"Please!" she cried, her voice raw with desperation. "Don't—"
The knife plunged into her chest, silencing her plea with a wet, sickening sound. Her body convulsed as Ghostface twisted the blade, his mask tilting slightly as he watched her eyes widen in terror.
Jenny's body fell limp in the bathtub, blood pooling beneath her as the knife was wrenched free. Ghostface stood over her, the faint sound of her blood dripping onto the porcelain echoing in the small space.
He wiped the blade on the shower curtain, tilting his head as if admiring his work before turning and disappearing into the shadows, leaving behind the shattered remains of Jenny's final moments.
The dark suburban street was quiet, illuminated only by the soft glow of a streetlamp as a sleek black car idled at the curb. The driver's side window was rolled down slightly, allowing a faint breeze to drift inside. Behind the wheel sat Jill Roberts, her expression calm but her fingers drumming impatiently against the steering wheel.
The passenger-side door opened abruptly, and Ghostface slid into the seat, his black robes still billowing slightly from the motion. The door shut with a quiet click, and the figure reached up to remove the iconic mask.
Charlie Walker's face emerged from beneath it, his hair damp with sweat and a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He tossed the mask onto the dashboard, leaning back in the seat as he let out a slow breath.
"Good job, Charlie," Jill said, her tone light but laced with approval. Her lips curved into a smile, one that was sweet on the surface but betrayed the darker intentions simmering underneath.
Charlie grinned, his chest still heaving slightly from exertion. "I told you I could handle it," he said, his voice tinged with pride. "Jenny and Marnie… they didn't see it coming."
Jill chuckled softly, her hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "Of course they didn't. That's the beauty of it. Nobody ever does. But you…" She turned to look at him, her smile widening. "You were perfect."
Charlie flushed slightly at the praise, his smirk faltering into something more boyish. "Thanks," he muttered, glancing down at the mask on the dashboard.
Jill's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she shifted her attention back to the road. "You know what this means, right?" she said, her tone turning conspiratorial.
Charlie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What?"
Jill's smile grew sharper, her eyes gleaming with determination. "We're going to be the new Sidney and Roman. The ultimate survivors. The stars of the story."
Charlie's grin returned, this time matching her intensity. "The ones who rewrite the rules," he added, leaning forward slightly.
"Exactly," Jill said, her voice steady and confident. "We're the future. And by the time we're done, everyone will know it."
The two exchanged a look, their shared ambition and malice creating a bond as strong as it was twisted. Jill shifted the car into gear, the engine purring softly as the car pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the night, leaving behind only the aftermath of their carefully orchestrated horror.
The new Ghostface legacy had begun.
A/N: Here we go! Jill and Charlie vs Sidney and Roman! Who will win? Find out on the next episode of Ghostface Ball Z!