Billy Loomis and Stu Macher

The phone rang, the familiar ringtone, but this time, I didn't answer in a sweet voice. I answered silently, barely breathing. I knew I was being watched. I'd felt it for days.

"Are you feeling lonely, gorgeous?" whispered a distorted voice from the other end of the line.

I didn't respond. I turned down the volume on the television, my eyes scanning every shadow in his living room. The knife I'd hidden under the pillow seemed less ridiculous now.

It wasn't the first call. But it was the first time I used that nickname, "Precious." Only two people ever called me that: Billy and Stu.

Grits teeth. It couldn't be. Or could it?
The game had been going on for a while: phone calls, deaths at school, unsettling glances. But tonight, something inside me clicked. I knew it before I saw the mask. Before I heard footsteps on the back stairs.

I ran. I climbed into the attic and closed the trapdoor. Dust covered my hands. I clutched my cell phone to my chest. I dialed. Billy answered.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, with false concern.

“Where are you?” whisper.

“Looking for you… I want to protect you.”

“You’re lying.” My voice trembled.

“It’s you, right? You and… and Stu…” I gathered the courage to say it.

There was a silence.

Then, laughter.

On the other side, I heard Stu shout: “Oops! We’ve been spotted, Billy!”

Billy didn't say anything. He just breathed, calmly.

“We didn’t mean for it to be like this,” Billy finally said. “Seriously. We were going to tell you everything tonight… After the last act.”

“Why?” I asked in a whisper.

“Because we love you,” they said in unison, as if they had rehearsed it.

The trapdoor opened with a loud bang.

The white mask appeared in the darkness. One of them climbed up, the other followed. I backed up against the wall, the knife still in my hand.

“We didn’t come here to kill you,” Stu muttered, removing his mask. His eyes shone with a glow of madness and desire.

“We want you to be part of the finale,” Billy added with a smile.