Scream: The Storybook

red little warmth, and even less comfort. The town was no longer just quiet; it was hushed, stifled by a collective breath held tight. The yellow crime scene tape at th

alive just yesterday, now grotesquely displayed, refused to leave her mind. It was a stark, brutal echo of her own past, a year ago when her mother's life had been snatc

ver the intercom, announcing a mandatory half-day for all students, followed by indefinite closure until the "situation" was resolved. The students didn't cheer; they simply looked at each o

ning against a locker, her face pale, her usual spark dimmed. Stu Macher, Tatum's ex-boyfriend and one of

spered, her voice still raw. "I can't

ept glancing at the doors, at the windows, feeling a strang

e of morbid curiosity and genuine concern. "It's the sequel, guys. The direct sequel. First, the mother get

r five minutes, not talk about this like it's

ror fan. He knows the tropes, he's playing by the rules. We're all in his movie now." He looked at Sidney, a seriou

d with a terrifying logic she didn't want to admit. The thought that she might be the "final girl" i

hick with paranoia. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat, every unfamiliar car driving by seemed to slow do

go. Tatum, ever the social organizer, even in crisis, decided a gathering at her house was necessary. "We can't just s

sprawled across couches and beanbags in the living room, a half-eaten pizza box on the coffee table. The TV, usually blaring MTV or video games, was tuned to a local news channel, which ceas

at the TV. "It's the vulture queen

eath, turning a family's personal hell into a bestseller. Her presence in Woodsboro a

ying to sound reasonable, though his gaze

ey retorted, her voice sharper than she intended

knows the story, though. She wrote t

erjected, "she'll j

cted noise made them jump. The phone, which rang intermittently with calls from concerned parents or friends, bec

he suffocating fear. Billy offered to stay, but she gently declined, needing to be a

own shades, locking doors that were already locked. The familiar objects, the photographs on the mantelpiece, the old piano, now see

shrill ring of the telep

hone on the small table beside the couch. It rang again, a piercing, insistent sound. She stared at

shouldn't answer. Randy's words echoed in her head: Never answer the phone.

ceiver. Her hand trembled so violently she almost dropped it. Sh

spered, her voic

ted voice, deep and smooth, f

he one that had orchestrated death. Her grip tightened on the phone, her k

a terrifying familiarity. "It's been a yea

der, sent a wave of nausea through her. This wasn't just a random

naged to choke out, her

voice taunted. "Someone who knows what happene

ou... you had nothing to do with that!" she spat

ountered, a sadistic amusement coloring its

that had clawed its way out of her past. She backed away from the phone table, dragging the cord with

idney cried, raw anguish in

. "Did he, Sidney? Are you sure? Because there's always two sides to ever

it was right next to her ear. "You think you're safe, don't you? Tucke

ing against her ribs. She felt utterly exposed, vulnerable. W

ce hissed, "I'm coming in. And I'

e other end of the line. She pressed the phone to her ear, trembling, listening t

phone. It clattered to the floor, the killer's voice still faintly audible, a chilling buzz. She s

pen. Sidney screamed,

as B

eyes wide. He looked from Sidney, huddled against the wall, to the phon

to her side, his arm going around her

barely a breath. "He... he was talking

mething unreadable in their depths. He

hed to a halt in front of the house. Sheriff Burke, his face grim, stepped out, followed by a d

mediately falling on Sidney, then the discarded

ed, still trembling. "T

n back at the phone. "Did you touch the phone,

head. "No. I just got here. I

hand. He listened for a moment, then grimaced. "He hung up."

wanted to check on Sidney. I called her from the gas station, but she didn't

three of them. Sidney felt a knot of confusion and doubt tighten in her stomach. Billy had just arrived, hadn't he? She had heard the crash outsid

lly," Burke stated, his voice firm bu

e, Sheriff." He looked at Sidney, a flicker of hur

rgeoning doubt. She wanted to believe him. Desperately. But the past year had taught her that trust

s features. The silence that followed was filled with the unspoken questions, the growing paranoia tha

. The phone call had been a violation, a chilling reminder that the killer wasn't just an abstract threat; he

, spread like wildfire, adding another layer of horror to the already gruesome events. The media frenzy escalated, with Gale We

rustle of leaves outside, became a source of terror. The usual Friday night parties and Saturday afternoon gatherings were replaced by anx

rty, a defiant act against the looming threat, began to circulate. Stu Macher, with his typical bravado, suggested it. "We can't just hide und

as a reckless idea, perhaps, but in the suffocating grip of fear, it offered a dangerous allure. The plans for the biggest, most ill-advised party Woodsboro h