Emma Roberts’ house glowed like a lantern above the Hollywood hills.

  From the outside it looked like a normal celebrity gathering — music drifting through open windows, laughter spilling out onto the patio, silhouettes moving beneath string lights.

  Inside, however, it felt like a wake that had forgotten how to mourn.

  Photos of the recently murdered actors sat on a long table beside candles.

  Matthew Lillard.

  Jack Champion.

  Dermot Mulroney.

  Anna Camp.

  Ethan Embry.

  Five smiling faces that had been alive only days ago.

  Now their absence hung over the party like a storm cloud.

  Emma stood near the door greeting people with a glass of wine in hand.

  “Welcome,” she said with a tight smile. “To the strangest reunion Hollywood has ever hosted.”

  The house filled quickly.

  Actors from nearly every era of the Scream franchise drifted through the rooms like characters from overlapping timelines.

  Hayden Panettiere had already claimed a couch in the living room, sitting cross-legged while Rory Culkin leaned against the armrest beside her.

  Hayden stared toward the memorial table.

  “You stabbed me,” she said casually.

  Rory sighed.

  “I was peer pressured.”

  Hayden raised an eyebrow.

  “You stabbed me a lot.”

  Rory shrugged helplessly.

  “Emma Roberts was very convincing.”

  Across the room Drew Barrymore stood at the bar pouring a drink while Jenna Ortega leaned against the counter beside her.

  Drew lifted her glass.

  “Just so we're clear,” she said, “I paved the way for you.”

  Jenna smiled.

  “You died in the first twelve minutes.”

  Drew shrugged.

  “Legendary twelve minutes.”

  They clinked glasses.

  Nearby David Arquette studied Mason Gooding like a proud coach watching a promising rookie.

  “You’ve been stabbed what… twice now?”

  “Three times,” Mason corrected.

  David nodded approvingly.

  “Good.”

  Mason blinked.

  “Good?”

  “That’s how you know the audience likes you.”

  Across the room Timothy Olyphant and Scott Foley were already mid-argument.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Timothy raised his drink.

  “To the two dumbest Ghostface plans ever written.”

  Scott pointed at him.

  “You died because you monologued.”

  Timothy smirked.

  “You died because you trusted actors.”

  Scott considered this.

  “…also fair.”

  Mikey Madison wandered over to Emma Roberts near the couch.

  “Do people still yell ‘killer!’ at you in airports?” Mikey asked.

  Emma nodded.

  “Sometimes they ask me to stab their friend for photos.”

  Mikey sighed.

  “Yeah. Same.”

  They clinked glasses.

  Near the patio doors Trevor surveyed the crowd slowly.

  “Just counting…” he said.

  Rory looked over.

  “Uh oh.”

  Trevor gestured around the room.

  “Fourteen people who’ve played Ghostface.”

  Rory nodded.

  “Yep.”

  Trevor took a drink.

  “So statistically…”

  Rory finished it.

  “…we’re screwed.”

  Outside on the patio the grill hissed under the glow of string lights.

  Skeet Ulrich stood over it flipping burgers like a suburban dad at a family cookout.

  Melissa Barrera stepped out onto the patio and immediately stopped when she saw him.

  “Oh my god,” she said.

  Skeet looked up.

  “What?”

  Melissa pointed between him and the sliding door where Laurie Metcalf had just stepped outside.

  “This is the most cursed family barbecue I’ve ever seen.”

  Laurie raised her glass calmly.

  “Hello, Billy.”

  Skeet blinked.

  “Well,” he said slowly, “if it isn’t Mom.”

  Melissa crossed her arms.

  “Okay let me get this straight.”

  She pointed at Skeet.

  “You’re Billy Loomis.”

  Then she pointed at Laurie.

  “You’re his psycho revenge mom.”

  Laurie nodded politely.

  “Correct.”

  Melissa gestured at herself.

  “And I’m technically Billy’s daughter.”

  Skeet flipped a burger.

  “Well when you say it like that…”

  Melissa groaned.

  “This is the worst family tree ever.”

  Laurie sipped her wine.

  “Ghostface does tend to run in families.”

  Inside the house Neve Campbell approached Laurie near the doorway.

  “Good to see you again,” Neve said.

  Laurie smiled pleasantly.

  “Likewise.”

  Neve tilted her head slightly.

  “You look well for someone who got shot.”

  Laurie raised her glass.

  “You’d be amazed what good writing can do.”

  Inside the living room Jamie Kennedy suddenly pointed across the room.

  “Oh no.”

  Jasmin Savoy Brown followed his gaze.

  Oliver was rolling a joint.

  Mason laughed.

  “Oh yes.”

  Oliver lit it without hesitation.

  Emma blinked.

  “You’re smoking in my living room?”

  Oliver exhaled slowly.

  “We’re probably all going to die tonight.”

  Emma paused.

  “…fair.”

  Rory wandered over.

  “Mind if I join?”

  Mikey shrugged.

  “If this is our last night I’m not doing it sober.”

  Trevor raised his beer.

  “Finally. Reasonable people.”

  Oliver took another drag and looked around the room.

  Everyone was laughing.

  But it felt forced.

  Like the party was trying to outrun something.

  He nodded slowly.

  “Okay.”

  Jamie leaned forward.

  “Hold up.”

  The room looked at him.

  Jamie pointed at Oliver.

  “Is this about to be a rules speech?”

  Oliver blinked.

  “…maybe.”

  Jamie gestured to himself.

  “That’s my job.”

  The room laughed.

  Jasmin rolled her eyes.

  “Of course you’d say that.”

  Oliver thought for a moment.

  Then gestured toward Jamie.

  “You want to take over?”

  Jamie leaned back.

  “Nah.”

  He took a sip of his drink.

  “I’m rusty.”

  He nodded toward Oliver.

  “Go ahead.”

  Oliver stood slowly.

  Still holding the joint.

  “If someone out there is recreating a Scream movie in real life…”

  The room quieted.

  “…then we’re already in the middle of it.”

  He gestured toward the memorial photos.

  “Opening kill.”

  “Public spectacle.”

  “Phone calls.”

  “Chase scenes.”

  He spread his hands toward the crowded house.

  “And now we’re at the party.”

  A few nervous laughs.

  Oliver took another drag.

  “But here’s the thing.”

  “In the old movies Randy gave the rules speech.”

  Jamie nodded proudly.

  “Correct.”

  Oliver continued.

  “But those rules were about surviving.”

  He exhaled smoke slowly.

  “In this one…”

  “…the rules get you killed.”

  The room shifted uncomfortably.

  Oliver continued.

  “The killer knows the tropes.”

  “They know the franchise.”

  “They’re staging their own Scream movie.”

  Trevor groaned.

  “Mate…”

  Oliver raised a finger.

  “And here’s the twist.”

  He looked around the room.

  “In this movie…”

  “…anyone can be the killer.”

  Isabel May tilted her head.

  “Question.”

  Oliver nodded.

  “Yeah?”

  She studied him carefully.

  “Are you really just like your Scream 8 character?”

  Oliver shrugged.

  “Worse.”

  Laughter rippled through the room again.

  Outside Skeet flipped another burger.

  “Hey!” he called toward the door.

  “I’ve gotta grab more charcoal!”

  He brushed his hands together.

  “I’ll be right back!”

  Inside the house Neve slowly turned her head toward the patio.

  Her eyes followed Skeet as he stepped away from the grill and disappeared around the side of the house.

  She looked at Jamie.

  “Randy’s biggest rule,” she said quietly.

  “What was it again?”

  Jamie glanced toward the patio door.

  Before he could answer, Jasmin spoke.

  “Never say you’ll be right back.”

  The room froze.

  Every conversation stopped.

  Everyone looked toward the dark backyard.

  Drew Barrymore whispered softly:

  “Oh no.”

  The silence stretched.

  Oliver finally broke it.

  He took one more slow drag.

  “Well.”

  Smoke curled toward the ceiling.

  “Looks like we’ve got our first suspect.”

  Trevor frowned.

  “…who?”

  Oliver nodded toward the patio.

  “Billy Loomis.”

  And suddenly the party didn’t feel like a party anymore.