CHAPTER ONE.

THE MURDER OF CASEY BECKER

TWO years after killing her parents, Cynthia Archer lounged around Casey Becker's house, waiting for the other blonde to start the movie. Since the fateful night of her parent's death, Cynthia had been living alone, with her friend's parents looking in on her each day. Her sister had been made to live with their aunt across the country and Cynthia was only able to speak with her once a week. She'd fought not to go into foster care or to live with her aunt and fortunately, Stu's mom had spoken up to look after her. So now, she lived in her home alone in the house her parents had died in. She'd changed the study into a library and the flooring to a dark beige carpet. And to be honest, she barely thought about her parents. 

For the first few weeks after their death, she'd been on edge that someone would somehow find a fault in her plan and unravel everything, implementing herself, Billy and Stu. But now, two years later, it was still classed as one of the saddest things to happen in Woodsboro aside from the murder of Maureen Prescott. 

Cynthia hadn't been too sad about it, considering she'd helped her father cheat on her mother, but she did have to admit her situation was tragic. Fucking Cotton Weary, only for him to turn around to rape and murder her. It was sad. And not to mention, Sidney had witnessed it all, seeing the man exit her home after. She'd testified against him; now, he was in prison, awaiting trial. 

Since the death of her parents, Cynthia, Stu and Billy had grown closer, bound by their shared secret. They vowed never to tell anyone what they did or well witnessed in Billy and Stu's case. The two boys would protect her through everything and be willing to put themselves on the line if anything ever came out. 

Cynthia glanced up at Casey as the phone rang. The two were on the cheer team together, along with Tatum and Casey had invited them over. Unfortunately, Tatum couldn't make it, but seeing as Cynthia lived alone, she had no parents to tell her what she could or couldn't do. 

The blonde answered, "Hello? Yes? Who are you trying to reach?" Casey glanced at her with an eye roll. Cynthia chuckled, "What number are you trying to reach? Well I think you have the wrong number. It happens. Take it easy."

She hung up and Cynthia smiled, "Wrong number?"

"Yep," Casey replied. 

The phone rang again and Casey picked it up with a sigh, "Hello. So why'd you dial it again? You're forgiven. bye, now. What? They've got 900 numbers for that. See ya." Cynthia laughed as she put the phone down again, "He wants to talk to me."

"He? Ohhh? Does he sound hot?"

"Maybe," Casey replied, moving into the kitchen. Cynthia leaned against the counter as the other blonde put popcorn on the fire. The phone rang again, and Casey groaned, "Hello. Who is this?" the girl scoffed at whatever the man said, "I don't think so." She shook the popcorn before replying, "Popcorn. Uh-huh. Well, I'm getting ready to watch a video. Oh, just some scary movie. Uh-huh."

Cynthia rolled her eyes as the girl played with the knives on the counter. "Uh, I don't know. Um... Halloween. You know, the one with the guy in the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters. What's yours? Um. Nightmare on Elm Street. Yeah, Freddy Krueger."

Cynthia heard her voice drift as Casey walked away. The blonde girl shook the popcorn on the fire as it crackled. A moment later, she walked back to the kitchen, looking spooked. 

"You alright?" Cynthia questioned, "What happened to the hot phone guy?"

"He's a creep," Casey replied. The phone rang once more, "Can you get that?"

"Sure," Cynthia picked it up, "Hello, creepy phone guy."

"Well, hello there, you're a new voice. I told your friend not to hang up on me."

Cyhtia held the phone away from her lips as she whispered to Casey, "You never mentioned he sounded hot." In response, Casey shrugged and Cynthia asked, "What do you want then?"

"To talk."

"Well, dial someone else," Cynthia responded, hanging up, "Jeez, some people are really fucking persistent." The phone rang in her hand and she huffed in annoyance, picking it up, "Listen, asshole!—"

"No, you listen, you little bitch! You hang up on me again and I'll gut you and your friend like a fish, understand?" He spoke harshly, causing Cynthia to swallow hard. She now realised the severity of the situation. This was someone who wanted to taunt them. Harm them possibly. 

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"More of a game, really. Can you handle that... blondie?" He questioned. 

"Go lock the doors," Cynthia hissed. Casey ran off, and Cynthia said, "What do you want from us?"

"From you, nothing. I'll even let you live. Your friend, however... may not be so lucky."

"Why?" Cynthia asked as she followed Casey out to the foyer, looking out of the window in the door. 

"Can you see me?" He eluded her question. 

Casey grabbed the phone, "Listen, I am two seconds away from calling the police. What do you want?" Casey sobbed at his reply and hung up. The doorbell rang and the two screamed, "Who's there? Who's there?"

"Don't say that," Cynthia hit her arm. She'd watched a million scary movies with Billy and Stu, and anyone who ever said who's there or I'll be right back ended up dying. 

"I'm calling the police," Casey cried. As she picked up the phone, it rang in her hand and she screamed. She listened to the man, saying tearily, "Look, you've had your fun now, so I think you better just leave or else. Or else my boyfriend will be here any second, and he'll be pissed when he finds out. I lied! I do have a boyfriend and he'll be here any second, so your ass better be gone. I swear! He's big and he plays football and he'll kick the shit out of you! So you better just leave." As the man responded, she stilled. 

"What did he say?" Cynthia questioned. 

"How do you know his name?" Casey rushed to turn on the patio lights and Cynthia gasped. Outside, tied to a chair, was Steve, Casey's boyfriend. He was bloody, bruised, and screaming for the two girls, "Oh God!" Casey hurried to unlock the door and Cynthia slammed it shut. "Where are you? Where are you?" Casey sobbed, "Please don't hurt him. Why are you doing this? No. No! No! Well, what kind of game?"

"Casey, no. We should call the police," Cynthia begged. Casey listened to the man on the phone and turned off the patio lights, again engulfing it in darkness. She then sank beside the TV. 

Casey held the phone up to Cynthia, "He wants to talk to you."

Cynthia grabbed it, "Listen here, you fucker. You leave us alone. I'm friends with a cop and when I call him, he's gonna come here and put a bullet through your head!"

"Oh, come on doll. No need to get angry. I'm letting you live, remember. I'd suggest you hide somewhere I can't find you. Now, hand the phone back to your friend, Cynthia and run along."

She didn't bother asking how he knew her name, not to mention the pet name. Billy always called her 'doll' and it was odd hearing it from another voice. Cynthia shoved the phone back into Casey's hands and ran toward the kitchen. She picked up a giant knife and looked outside carefully as Casey yelled at the man on the phone. She went back into the room and gagged as she caught sight of Steve's body. His guts spilt onto the chair, and his head lolled against it. 

Casey pushed the phone toward her, "I thought I told you to hide, doll."

"I'm not going anywhere. I've got a knife and trust me I know how to use it," Cynthia warned. 

"Alright then, I'll ask you my final question. What door am I at?"

"What?"

"There are two main doors to your friend's house. Which one am I at, answer correctly and I won't even touch you."

"Patio door," Cynthia whispered. 

"Good, now give it to our friend. And don't help her," he snapped. 

Casey sobbed as she took the phone, "I don't know!" she cried. 

A second later, a chair flew through the patio doors, knocking Cynthia back into the coffee table. Cynthia heard Casey scream as she collapsed through the glass, unconscious. 

Cynthia didn't know how long she'd been out, but a figure stood above her, knife in hand as she came too. She whimpered as his knife pressed into her chest. It wasn't hard enough to permanently hurt her, yet it drew a minuscule drop of blood from where the knife tip pressed, "Shh, doll. I'm not gonna hurt you," His gravelly voice resonated through her body. Now up close, she could hear a faint crackle, almost like his voice wasn't authentic, "See you soon." He gripped her neck and returned her head to the glass-filled ground. 

After that, Cynthia passed out and was awoken again by Casey's parents.

"Cynthia, where's my daughter?" Mr Becker questioned. Cynthia shook her head, it was still spinning from being knocked out twice, and she could barely comprehend what was happening. Mrs Becker spoke into the phone carefully before Mr Becker spoke sternly. The woman cried as Cynthia stumbled to a stand. Casey's father pushed her and his wife toward the door, telling them to call someone for help. As Casey's mother opened the door, she let out a horrified scream. Cynthia gagged as she turned away from the scene. Casey Becker dangled from a tree outside, her body tangled in a swing. 

Cynthia sat in the back of an ambulance as Sheriff Burke questioned her about what happened in the house. She recounted the events almost blankly. She couldn't believe what had just happened. Casey Becker was getting killed while she was knocked out and surrounded by glass. She felt weak, unable to help her friend when she needed her. However, she didn't necessarily feel grieving pain much like the Beckers. 

After her parents died, Mrs. Macher found a therapist to help her deal with her grief, though she had none. She'd been diagnosed with a desensitvity to violence, but seeing Casey's hanging body was different. She felt sick. Not grief-stricken. Sick. She'd watched the morbid sight of the coroners taking Casey's body down with an unblinking stare. They had actually had to push her insides back in to wrap her in the black bag before taking her off.

She glanced up as a car pulled up to the scene. Billy hurriedly got out, and Cynthia shrugged off the blanket the paramedics had wrapped around her as he came up. She didn't stand as Billy hugged her tightly, pressing gentle kisses to her head as she sobbed into his shoulder. 

"It's okay. I'm so sorry," he whispered gently. He pulled back and his finger brushed over the cut above her eyebrow from when she fell through the glass coffee table. He shook his head to himself before pressing a kiss against it, "How about we get you home, alright?"

Cynthia nodded blankly and Billy spoke to the Sheriff. He assured the man that he'd stay with Cynthia for the night and Sheriff Burke let them go.