Stab

It was a heavy, rainy night with a thunderstorm that dazzled the skies—ominous and foreboding, as if something terrible was destined to happen. A silver, luxurious Audi A2 raced at high speed down the lonely highway. The road was slick and silent, empty of any other cars or cycles. Suddenly, the vehicle began to swerve erratically, as if the driver were intoxicated or had lost control. The car’s speed increased unnaturally, hitting its peak in mere seconds. It whipped around curves recklessly, with every second more chaotic than the last. Something was clearly wrong—the driver was either unconscious, possessed, or the car had become a vessel of doom.

After minutes of wild acceleration, the car barreled forward toward a gas station. The staff inside the station noticed too late, their faces etched with horror as the vehicle plowed toward them. They had no time to scream, to run, or to process what was happening. In an instant, the black Audi collided with the gas pumps, triggering one of the most catastrophic explosions in the region’s history. Fire swallowed the building whole. The night was ripped apart by the deafening boom, and the gas station was reduced to ashes. Blood splattered across the wet pavement. No one survived.

December 25th, 1996

Rain lashed against the streets like nature’s fury unleashed. The winds howled, a chaotic symphony of storm and fear. Jason Zelinski and his 14-year-old son Zack were running down the street, drenched from head to toe, desperate to make it home after a late-night movie screening. They had just watched Scream, a modern slasher masterpiece that both thrilled and disturbed them. Jason, a humble and kind-hearted man, clutched Zack’s hand as they darted through puddles, laughing between gasps.

At home, they changed into dry clothes, warmed up, and shared a simple dinner of ramen and chicken. The mood was light, even joyful.

“So, did you enjoy the movie?” Jason asked, slurping his noodles.

Zack’s eyes sparkled. “Yes! I loved it. The kills were so cool—and Billy Loomis was such a surprise. I can’t wait to tell everyone about it.”

Jason chuckled, brushing his fingers through his wet hair. “Even I didn’t expect some of those scenes. Poor Sidney.”

Zack went to bed shortly after, exhausted but content. Jason stayed behind to clean the dishes, humming along with a soft tune playing on the radio. The night seemed quiet—until the phone rang.

He ignored the first call, thinking it was a prank. Then it rang again.

Frustrated, Jason wiped his hands and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

A deep, eerie voice answered, “Hello, Jason. What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Jason laughed. “Is this a joke, babe? Looks like you’ve seen Scream too? By the way, our son is dying to talk to you about the movie. Quit the prank and get home!” He hung up.

But the phone rang again.

Sighing, he answered, “Babe, please. I’m washing dishes. I’ll call you back—”

“There’s no babe now… and soon, there will be no husband either.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Jason felt a chill creep up his spine. Something about the voice unsettled him. Still, he tried to laugh it off. “These movies are really getting to us…”

He returned to the kitchen. But when he entered the living room, he froze in horror.

On the mirror, written in smeared red lipstick, were the words: “I know what you did last summer.”

Jason’s heart stopped. He turned slowly—and found himself face-to-face with a cloaked figure in a Ghostface mask, identical to the killer from the movie.

He tried to fight, throwing a desperate punch. But the figure was too strong, too fast. The knife pierced his stomach once, then again, and again—thirty-five times in a frenzied assault. Jason’s screams were muffled by blood. The killer used Jason’s intestines to tie him to the wall in a grotesque display.

On the wall, he wrote in blood: “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The murder shocked the entire town of Houston. Jason’s mutilated body became a symbol of a new, twisted era. The media blamed Scream and similar movies, inspiring dozens of copycats. But this killer… was different. Purposeful.

Zack survived the massacre. He was found crying in a closet, unable to speak for weeks. After the funeral, he was taken in by Jason’s closest friend—Sheriff Tyler—who relocated him to Philadelphia and protected him like a son.

Zack grew into a quiet but brilliant young man. He loved storytelling, horror movies, and had an uncanny knack for writing disturbing yet fascinating short stories. Three years later, he earned a scholarship to the elite Blackridge University—a place known for its state-of-the-art campus, elite faculty, and deeply rooted traditions.

He saw this as a fresh chapter. A new beginning. But fate had other plans.

PART II – The Script That Kills

Life at Blackridge was almost dreamlike. The sprawling, gothic-style campus was cloaked in autumn leaves, ivy-covered walls, and secrets. Zack, now 17, was introverted yet ambitious. After surviving so much, he had learned how to wear a mask of confidence.

In his second month, he was approached by the drama society to write and direct a play for the annual Halloween festival. Zack agreed, eager to make his mark. Inspired by his past, he wrote a chilling horror script titled “The Horned Silence”, featuring a mysterious antler-faced killer who stalked and murdered students across a campus not unlike Blackridge.

The killer, named “The Hollow Hart”, wore a bone-white deer skull, shrouded in a black cloak. In the script, the killer was a cursed spirit awakened by student ignorance—targeting those who mocked traditions and used technology to spread lies.

Rehearsals began, and the cast loved it. The play was eerie, theatrical, and visually terrifying. Posters were hung all over campus with the tagline: “He listens in silence. He hunts in shadows.”

But then… the murders began.

One week before the play’s debut, a student named Miranda Scott—who was playing one of the victims in the show—was found dead near the theater. Her body was discovered hanging from a tree with a pair of antlers forced through her skull. Written in blood across her dorm room mirror were the words: “ACT ONE.”

Panic spread through the university. Campus security called it a tragic accident. But Zack knew better.

The killer was following his script. Word for word.

Days later, another actor, Kyle Henley, was murdered—his corpse posed on the stage under a spotlight, holding the script of The Horned Silence. The killer left a note: “ACT TWO.”

Zack became paranoid. He combed through every draft of his play, searching for patterns, clues, mistakes. The deaths mirrored his scenes too precisely. Someone had adapted his imagination into a real-life killing spree.

He suspected everyone—his castmates, his roommate, even professors. The line between fiction and reality was crumbling.

But the most terrifying part?

There were three acts in his script.

And Zack was meant to be the final victim.

To be continued...