INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
BLACK.
A ragged breath. Uneven.
RILEY CARTER (17) bolts upright in bed -- gasping.
Her breath clouds the air.
The curtains billow in a sharp, icy draft.
The window is OPEN.
She fumbles for her lamp.
CLICK.
A moth SLAMS into the lampshade -- frantic, manic.
Whump. Whump.
Its shadow twitches across the wall.
Riley glances at her nightstand --
A stack of Polaroids. Face down.
A floorboard CREAKS.
She flips the top one --
Riley, asleep. Tonight.
Her pulse spikes.
The next Polaroid --
Closer. Her lips parted. Dreaming.
Her breath stutters.
The photos slip -- scattering across the floor like dead
leaves.
Stillness.
Then -- a slow, deliberate --
CREAK.
The bedsprings shift -- but she’s not moving.
She leans over the edge...
UNDER THE BED
Darkness. Pulsing.
Suddenly --
TWO HANDS EXPLODE FROM THE SHADOWS
Clamping her throat --
Yanking her off the bed -- tearing hair from her scalp --
Riley hits the floor hard, tangled in sheets.
From the dark, ETHAN ROWE (19) emerges -- unfolding into
view.
Gaunt, feral, eyes burning.
He clutches a ripped lock of Riley's hair.
He lunges --
BOOM!
The door SLAMS open --
SANDY CARTER (50s) bursts in -- shotgun raised. Shaking.
She chambers a round.
Red-and-blue strobes bleed through the curtains. SIRENS wail.
Ethan snarls -- cornered.
He backs toward the window, locking eyes with Riley --
Grins.
ETHAN
You're not done being mine.
Boots THUNDER down the hallway.
POLICE OFFICER (O.S.)
Police! On the ground!
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
2 -
Shadows of the Past
INT. CAMPUS LIBRARY - NIGHT
Wind howls against arched windows. Stacks loom like silent
towers.
At the far end of a long oak table sits RILEY (20) -- bundled
in a thick coat, posture rigid, nondescript by intent.
SUPER: THREE YEARS LATER
A heavy textbook lies open before her --
“Dark Mirrors: The Psychology of Belief, Fear, and the
Occult.”
Pages flutter in the draft. Riley clamps them still -- a
tremor in her grip.
She flips a page -- freezes.
A full-page illustration:
A towering demonic figure with three heads -- human, ram,
bull -- each snarling in a different direction.
The name above it:
"ASMODEUS."
Beside it, a twisted sigil -- thorned lines circling an eye-
shaped core.
Beneath it, in clotted serif type:
“HAIR BINDS. BLOOD RELEASES.”
Riley underlines "Hair binds."
Riley flips the page.
A small archival photograph is tucked into the binding --
1920s women, formal dresses, hair pinned tight.
They’re gathered in a cramped room -- slanted ceiling,
exposed beams. An attic-like space.
Riley stills. Something about the room feels familiar.
She studies the photo longer than she means to. Her brow
tightens.
She shakes it off, turns the page.
A soft CREAK echoes between the stacks.
Riley straightens -- scanning the aisles.
Nothing. Just books.
She pulls her coat tighter.
Her hand drifts to her calf beneath her jeans -- checking
that something is still there. Hidden. Safe.
Her phone BUZZES on the table.
She checks the screen:
VOICEMAIL: 1 NEW MESSAGE.
Her thumb hesitates -- then taps PLAY.
ROBOTIC VOICE (V.O.)
This is an automated call from the
Victim Information and Notification
Every Day service. Offender ETHAN
ROWE --
Riley's jaw tenses. The name hangs like a curse. ETHAN ROWE.
The message drones on.
...has been released from state
custody, effective today, 3:11 p.m.
She ends the message.
She inhales sharply -- four counts. Holds for four more.
Exhales -- out six. Controlled. Practiced.
Her eyes drift back to the sigil.
To the words:
"HAIR BINDS. BLOOD RELEASES."
Another CREAK -- closer.
Riley flinches, turning toward the aisle.
Nothing.
The shadows deepen.
EXT. LIBRARY - NIGHT
Snow swirls around Riley as she exits past the frosted glass.
A SHADOW paces her inside -- perfectly in step.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
3 -
Into the Blizzard: Riley's Arrival
EXT. SORORITY HOUSE - NIGHT
The blizzard SHRIEKS, clawing the sky.
Through the whiteout:
An old Tudor sorority house looms -- sagging under snow,
gables stabbing upward.
Riley trudges up the steps, boots sinking deep.
Mullioned windows glare out like rows of black eyes.
INT. FOYER - NIGHT
The front door SLAMS behind her. Riley spins, locks the
deadbolt -- then checks it again.
She stomps snow from her boots. Frost melts across her coat.
The foyer yawns around her -- once grand, now decayed.
A sweeping staircase curves upward like the exposed ribcage
of a giant carcass.
A cold draft coils around her ankles.
Her eyes drift toward the warped basement door.
Her breath quickens.
A drip of melting snow runs down her wrist.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
4 -
Blizzard Whispers
INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Holiday lights sag in lazy zigzags -- half burnt out.
End-of-semester clutter everywhere: blankets, crumbs, empty
bottles.
CHELSEA (20) lounges on a beanbag—perfect hair, perfect
nails, and under-eye anti-aging strips that glow faint blue.
Scrolling. Expression practiced.
BROOKE (21) perches on the couch arm like a dethroned queen.
Wine in one hand, chips in the other.
LILLY (20) curls in a chair, buried in a blanket and a
battered copy of “Wuthering Heights.”
Riley enters -- cheeks pink from the cold, eyes haunted.
BROOKE
Ayy, she lives. The library goblin
returns.
CHELSEA
Welcome back to civilization. Sort
of.
RILEY
I was in civilization. It’s called
a library. Some of us go there to
do this thing called “learning.”
She surveys the room -- a total disaster.
RILEY (CONT'D)
Jesus. This place looks awful.
Don’t forget -- Sue’s back
tomorrow.
BROOKE
When the house mom’s away, the
sisters will play.
They laugh.
Riley drops her backpack and sinks onto the couch.
Something catches her eye --
A Polaroid, face down, resting alone on the coffee table.
Riley goes still.
Brooke notices.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Oh yeah. Look what I found today.
She flips it.
A captured moment:
Riley, Brooke, Chelsea, and Lilly, two years younger --
glittery cheeks, matching Greek sweaters.
Riley exhales.
RILEY
Freshman year Rush?
BROOKE
Nailed it.
RILEY
God, we look like... feral camp
counselors.
BROOKE
That was the night you dared
Chelsea to shotgun a Natty Light
through a Twizzler.
Lilly looks up from her book with a dry, tiny smile.
LILLY
She did it -- twice.
CHELSEA
And then threw up on Brooke’s Uggs.
They all break into laughter -- real, warm.
Chelsea looks at Riley again, really looks at her.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
You okay? You look kind of... pale.
Riley flinches at the question.
RILEY
Yeah. I’m fine.
Chelsea pulls off her eye strips, angles toward the frosted
window.
CHELSEA
Blizzard selfie!
FLASH.
The white blast washes everyone’s faces—momentarily
ghostlike.
Chelsea checks her phone.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
Ugh. I look like a frozen corpse.
Whatever.
RILEY
Why do you keep putting yourself
out there like that?
Chelsea considers her, then --
CHELSEA
Because if nobody sees me, I don't
exist.
Lilly lowers her book -- eyes sharp.
LILLY
That's shallow.
Chelsea’s smile cracks.
CHELSEA
People only call you shallow when
they’re the ones drowning.
Lilly’s chin lifts -- hurt hiding beneath stoicism.
BROOKE
Ladies, please. I cannot mediate
another emotional breakdown
tonight.
Riley leans forward, voice softer.
RILEY
What I’m saying is... being seen
can make you a target.
Chelsea snorts.
CHELSEA
Please. I’ve got pepper spray, a
rape whistle, and two thousand
followers. I’m immortal.
Brooke gestures grandly.
BROOKE
Behold -- Chelsea of House
Influencer, shielded by brand
engagement.
Chelsea shoots her a look.
CHELSEA
At least I don’t use jokes to hide
the fact I’m --
RILEY
(sharp)
Chelsea. Stop.
But Brooke’s already turning, eyes narrowing.
BROOKE
No, let her finish. What am I, huh?
A clown? What is it?
Chelsea’s face softens -- it’s rare, vulnerable.
CHELSEA
Brookie... I’m sorry. I was being
an ass. Blizzard brain. Really.
Brooke rolls her eyes but looks away -- wounded under the
humor.
Riley notices. The room feels thinner now.
She turns to Lilly, gentle.
RILEY
You good, Lil?
Lilly doesn’t answer. She stares out the frost-glazed window
as snow churns outside -- wild, alive.
LILLY
Blizzards make everything quiet.
(beat)
But that’s the trick. You don’t
realize you’re trapped until
everything’s buried.
Chelsea scoffs.
CHELSEA
It’s weather, not a demonic force
field.
Lilly’s eyes stay fixed on the window.
The house GROANS -- long, aching, alive.
Everyone stills. Lilly leans in.
LILLY
Do you know about the sisters who
went missing here in the seventies?
Chelsea throws her head back.
BROOKE
Every sorority house has ghost
stories. It’s tradition.
CHELSEA
Oh God. Story time with Sadgirl.
LILLY
A blizzard like this one. Three
sisters. Gone. Just... vanished.
Wind slams against the house -- answering.
BROOKE
They never found them?
LILLY
Not a trace.
CHELSEA
Probably ran off with some drummer
in a Camaro.
A sickly-sweet floral scent creeps across the room.
Brooke sniffs.
BROOKE
Smells like... a funeral home.
The overhead lights flicker.
Lilly closes her book.
LILLY
My mom was here five years after it
happened. She said people stopped
talking about it.
(beat)
Like the house wanted them
forgotten.
RILEY
You’re messing with us.
LILLY
I’m not.
(beat)
One of the names was... Jane
Dawkins, I think.
The name vibrates through the walls.
The whole house exhales -- a long, low creak.
RING.
A sound from deep in the house. Metallic. Wrong.
They freeze.
The girls wait, breath held -- but the sound doesn’t come
again.
Brooke forces a laugh.
BROOKE
Well. That wasn’t ominous at all.
Love that for us.
Chelsea exhales shakily and tosses her hair like she’s
shaking off a nightmare.
CHELSEA
Okay, new rule -- no more ghost
stories during blizzards. My stress
wrinkles are forming stress
wrinkles.
Lilly clutches her blanket tighter -- still staring at the
window.
LILLY
We’re not alone in this house.
CHELSEA
Oh my God, Lilly, stop. You’re
giving me cardiac acne.
Brooke hops off the couch arm, fishing for the wine bottle --
empty.
BROOKE
We need a distraction. Something
stupid. Something fun.
Riley gives a small laugh -- but her eyes remain on the dark
hallway leading to the basement door.
LILLY
We could... play something.
Chelsea perks up slightly.
CHELSEA
Like what? Truth or Shot? Emotional
Trauma Bingo?
BROOKE
No. We need something vintage.
Retro. Something that doesn’t
involve Chelsea’s skincare routine
or Riley lecturing us about library
etiquette.
LILLY
(soft)
There’s old board games in the
basement...
A chilly silence sweeps through the room.
Chelsea wrinkles her nose.
CHELSEA
The basement? Hard pass.
Brooke raises an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself.
BROOKE
Come on, Chels. Could be fun. Like
urban exploration... but indoors.
The wind rattles the house.
Lilly stands, letting the blanket fall.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
I’m in.
Chelsea whips her head around.
CHELSEA
Brooke!
BROOKE
What? We’re bored, trapped in a
blizzard, out of wine, and
emotionally spiraling. It’s either
a board game or group therapy.
Chelsea shudders.
CHELSEA
Board game. Definitely board game.
Riley exhales -- uneasy.
Lilly’s eyes glint -- something curious, knowing.
Brooke claps her hands.
BROOKE
Basement adventure it is! Last one
down buys the next bottle of wine.
CHELSEA
The liquor stores are closed.
BROOKE
Then you owe me one emotionally.
Chelsea groans but stands anyway.
Riley hesitates, looking once more toward the dark hallway.
LILLY
Come on, Riley.
(smiles faintly)
What’s the worst that could happen?
The lights flicker -- just once.
Together, they start toward the basement.
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
5 -
Anticipation and Affection
INT. RILEY'S BEDROOM – NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
Pop music bleeds faintly through a closed door.
Seventeen-year-old Riley, radiant in a midnight-blue dress,
leans close to her mirror, applying lip gloss with careful
precision.
She smiles at herself -- nervous, excited.
Behind her, taped to the wall:
Scrapbook photos of Riley and TOM -- goofy selfies, movie-
ticket stubs, pressed flowers. Real. Mutual.
The DOORBELL DINGS downstairs.
Riley’s brows knit.
RILEY
Tom’s early...
She grabs her clutch, slips into her heels, and heads out.
INT. STAIRCASE – CONTINUOUS
Riley descends carefully, lifting her dress hem so it doesn’t
snag.
Her Mom peeks out from the kitchen, smiling warmly.
MOM
You look gorgeous, Rye.
Tom is one lucky buck.
Riley blushes, half-laughs.
RILEY
Don’t jinx it.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
Confrontation on the Porch
INT. ENTRYWAY – CONTINUOUS
Riley reaches the door, smooths her dress, and opens it --
The world STOPS.
Ethan stands on the porch.
Black tuxedo. Perfectly pressed.
A single red rose in his hand.
Still. Pale. Dead-eyed.
Riley’s smile collapses.
Her breath catches -- she freezes.
ETHAN
Riley. You look beautiful.
Riley’s instincts scream don’t react.
She swallows. Forces calm.
RILEY
Ethan... What are you doing here?
He steps half an inch closer -- not crossing the threshold
yet.
He extends the rose.
ETHAN
I thought I’d walk you out.
Tom doesn’t really... see you.
Riley glances back over her shoulder.
The kitchen light glows warmly.
Riley turns back.
Ethan is still holding the rose.
Waiting.
Her fingers twitch.
For half a second -- she considers taking it.
Her hand lifts --
Stops.
She clenches it into a fist.
RILEY
You can’t do this.
You need to leave.
Ethan’s smile tightens. Quivers.
ETHAN
I’d be good to you. You know I
would.
Something sharp flashes behind his eyes -- gone just as fast.
Riley takes a breath. Grounds herself.
RILEY
Please. Just go.
A long silence.
Ethan drops the rose.
It hits the porch with a soft, ugly thud.
He steps back. Turns. Walks down the path.
Riley doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
Just before he reaches the sidewalk --
Ethan stops.
Turns back.
Stares...
Riley SLAMS the door.
Genres:
["Thriller","Psychological Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
A Frightening Visitor
INT. ENTRYWAY – CONTINUOUS
Riley presses her back to the door, shaking.
Her breath comes shallow.
She looks down.
Through the glass sidelights --
The rose lies on the porch.
Perfect. Red.
The DOORBELL DINGS again.
Riley flinches.
TOM (O.S.)
Riley? You ready?
Riley closes her eyes.
Her mom steps into the hall.
MOM
Honey? Who was at the door before?
Riley opens her eyes.
She looks at the rose.
Then at her mother.
She shakes her head.
RILEY
...No one.
END FLASHBACK.
Genres:
["Thriller","Psychological Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
8 -
Game Night in the Dark
INT. BASEMENT STAIRWELL – NIGHT (BACK TO PRESENT)
The girls huddle together at the top of the basement stairs.
Darkness stares back.
BROOKE
Okay. No one scream unless it’s
sexy.
CHELSEA
Brooke, literally shut up.
Riley grips the railing.
Brooke flips the pull-chain bulb on.
BUZZ.
The bulb steadies.
The basement yawns beneath them -- low ceiling, exposed
beams, stone walls sweating moisture.
Dust motes drift in the cold air like tiny spirits.
They descend the creaking wooden steps.
BROOKE
(to Riley)
You know, for someone who reads so
much horror, you’d think you’d be
less scared of stairs.
RILEY
I’m not scared of stairs. I’m
scared of things that live under
stairs.
Chelsea squeaks -- jumps closer to Brooke.
CHELSEA
Stop. I’m wearing my cute socks.
They reach the bottom.
The air thickens -- still, stale.
Riley pauses, frowning.
RILEY
Do you feel that?
BROOKE
What? The mold? Because yeah.
RILEY
No. It’s like...
(beat)
Pressure.
Lilly nods once -- she feels it too.
They move deeper.
Old sorority junk fills the shelves -- faded composite
photos, cracked candle holders, paint-peeling paddles.
Riley waves a hand in front of her face.
RILEY (CONT'D)
There’s that smell again.
BROOKE
The funeral home smell?
Chelsea coughs.
CHELSEA
I’m literally inhaling ghosts.
They pass a pile of old mattresses. A dresser with no
drawers.
Lilly slows. Something catches her eye.
She notices a faded Greek letter banner nailed above a wooden
storage trunk.
Brooke kneels, brushing away cobwebs.
The trunk is carved with ornate symbols -- too ornate for a
sorority prop.
Riley crouches beside her.
Brooke tugs the latch --
CREEEEAK.
The trunk opens. Cold air spills out.
Inside --
A black lacquered box -- glossy, precise, board-game sized.
Neon pink lettering gleams -- oddly fresh:
DREAM BOY.
Chelsea hugs herself tighter.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
Nope. I don’t like it. Put it back.
Brooke lifts the black box carefully.
BROOKE
Dream Boy? This is awesome.
Riley freezes mid-breath.
RILEY
We’re not really going to play
that, are we?
Brooke wiggles the box at her.
BROOKE
Game night, bitches.
Chelsea gasps, stumbling backward.
CHELSEA
Oh my God. Absolutely not.
Brooke smirks.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
What kind of game is this?
The house GROANS. Loud. Deep.
Dust shakes from the beams above.
Brooke stands, cradling the box like a prize.
BROOKE
Who cares?
(smiling)
Let’s play.
Lilly stares at the game, pale.
Riley locks her gaze onto the underside of the box, where A
SIGIL is carved.
Twisted lines looping around a central eye shape.
THE SAME SIGIL FROM RILEY’S TEXTBOOK.
RILEY
(to herself)
Asmodeus...
Brooke grins, already heading toward the stairs.
BROOKE
Game night starts now.
The light flickers.
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
The Game of Dread
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
The storm outside thrashes. Wind scratches the windows.
In the center of the room --
The Dream Boy box sits on the coffee table -- neon pink
letters glinting.
The girls gather around. The air is thick. Charged.
Riley lifts the lid --
CHELSEA
This better be good.
INSIDE THE BOX
-- A pastel-pink folding board.
-- Two decks of glossy cards
-- A bubblegum-pink cordless phone.
-- Four heart figurines
-- A yellowish dice
-- A single yellowed rule card.
Riley picks up the rule card --
INSERT – THE RULES
ONCE THE GAME STARTS, IT MUST BE FINISHED.
CHOOSE YOUR DREAM BOY AND WAIT FOR HIS CALL.
ANSWER BEFORE THE FOURTH RING
DO NOT HANG UP BEFORE HE DOES.
AFTER EVERY CALL, ROLL THE DICE AND PICK UP A QUESTION CARD
THE FIRST TO THE END OF THE BOARD CLAIMS THEIR DREAM BOY AND
WINS
Riley studies the yellowed rule card. The ink looks slightly
raised -- like it’s still drying.
RILEY
(reading)
Pick your boy.
Answer the call before the fourth
ring.
Don’t hang up before he does
Roll after each call.
First one to the end wins.
Oh, and once you start, you must
finish.
Lilly leans in, scanning the card in Riley's hand.
LILLY
Once you start, you must finish.
She looks up.
LILLY (CONT'D)
That part feels... specific.
CHELSEA
Already bored. Okay -- order goes
me, Brookie, Lilly, and last but
not least...
She eyes Riley.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
Our resident haunted librarian.
Chelsea flips her card.
GARY -- smirk sharp as a blade. Leather jacket. Eyes that
promise trouble and enjoy it.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
Okay. Gary. Bad boy energy.
BROOKE
He looks like he owns a switchblade
and a mixtape of red flags.
Chelsea plants the card on the table next to the board.
Lilly flips hers.
ZANE -- blond curls, smug grin. Too perfect.
LILLY
Of course his name is Zane.
Brooke flips her card.
DEAN -- clean-cut charm with something hollow underneath.
BROOKE
Dean. Tell my therapist I tried.
Riley hesitates. All eyes on her now. She turns her card.
EDDIE -- soft eyes. Kind smile. Normal.
RILEY
He looks... safe.
CHELSEA
And boring. On brand.
Riley forces a smile --
The card FLICKERS.
Just for a fraction of a second --
EDDIE’S FACE WARPS -- collapsing into ETHAN.
Dead eyes. Familiar. Hungry.
Riley recoils.
LILLY
Riley?
Riley blinks.
EDDIE is back. Smiling. Harmless.
CHELSEA
It’s literally a picture of a guy
on cardboard. Why do you look like
you saw a ghost?
Riley swallows. Steadies herself.
RILEY
I'm fine. Just thought I saw
something.
The room shifts -- subtle, imperceptible.
BROOKE
So... what now? We just wait for
our emotionally unavailable dream
boys to call?
The house CREAKS -- settling. Listening.
LILLY
Maybe they text first.
Chelsea snorts -- easy, dismissive -- but her eyes drift to
the pink phone.
Silence.
The lights HUM -- barely there.
Chelsea's smirk flickers.
The phone sits there.
Waiting.
RING.
The pink phone SHRIEKS.
The sound slices through the room.
Everyone freezes.
Chelsea stares at the phone -- her smirk gone.
CHELSEA
No. Fucking. Way.
BROOKE
Answer it.
LILLY
It’s probably a built-in sound
effect.
Chelsea lifts the phone.
CHELSEA
Hello?
Silence. Then --
GARY (V.O.)
(low, seductive)
Hello, Chelsea.
Her smirk fades.
CHELSEA
How do you know my name?
GARY (V.O.)
I see you. I always have.
Her blood runs cold.
CHELSEA
Stop. That’s not funny.
GARY (V.O.)
(voice distorts)
I... see... you...
Chelsea’s face drains.
RILEY
Don't hang --
SLAM.
Chelsea HANGS UP.
A deep, wooden GROAN ripples through the walls -- like
something shifting its weight.
POP.
The lights DIE.
Darkness swallows the room.
A collective inhale.
Chelsea taps her phone screen. Nothing.
She checks again.
NO SERVICE.
She catches her reflection in the black glass.
Her face looks... wrong.
Older. Drawn. The smile lines too deep.
Chelsea frowns, shakes her head -- blinks hard.
Looks again.
Normal.
She exhales, shaky.
RILEY
You broke the rules.
LILLY
What did he say?
Chelsea doesn’t answer. Her face has gone hollow.
A COLD RIPPLE of air slides down the staircase.
BROOKE
You have to roll now.
Chelsea shakes her head -- small, instinctive.
CHELSEA
I don’t wanna play this game
anymore.
BROOKE
(laughs)
You’re kidding, right? We just
started. Don’t be such a funsucker.
Brooke makes a crude sucking noise.
Chelsea snaps a look at her -- sharp.
CHELSEA
Fuck off.
Then -- resignation curdled with fear.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
Fine. I’ll go.
She scoops up the yellowed dice.
Her hands tremble. She rolls.
The dice clatter -- echoing too loud in the dark.
Six.
She moves six spaces. Stops. The square reads: TRUTH.
RILEY
You pick up a Truth card now.
Chelsea hesitates.
Her fingers hover over the deck -- like it might bite.
She pulls the top card. Reads.
The color drains from her face.
Then -- anger rushes in to cover it.
CHELSEA
Whose idea was this? Was it you,
Brooke? This isn’t funny.
BROOKE
I don’t know what you’re talking
about. What does the card say?
Chelsea looks down again -- steels herself.
CHELSEA
(reading)
What will you do when they... stop
looking at you?
Silence.
BROOKE
What the fuck --
Chelsea moves away from the circle, sits apart.
She thumbs her phone — harder now. Dead.
She tilts the screen toward her. Her reflection looks back.
But it’s just... off.
Chelsea lifts her chin. Her reflection lifts its chin a half-
second later. A syrupy delay.
Chelsea freezes. She shifts the phone right.
Her reflection follows -- smooth, calculated -- like it
decided to.
Her breath stutters.
CHELSEA
I’m going to the bathroom. I just --
I need a second.
RILEY
Chelsea -- don’t go alone.
Chelsea lets out a brittle laugh. Too loud.
CHELSEA
Relax. I’ll pee with the door open
if that makes you feel better.
She grabs the lantern -- fumbles -- clicks it ON.
Light flares. Unsteady.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
See? Light. Technology. No ghosts
allowed.
She forces a smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
Chelsea heads for the stairs. Riley follows a step.
RILEY
Chelsea -- seriously.
Chelsea stops. Turns.
For a fraction of a second, the mask drops. Pure fear. Bare.
Then it’s gone.
CHELSEA
Don’t be ridiculous.
I’ll be fine.
She turns away.
The stairs CREAK beneath her.
INT. STAIRCASE - NIGHT
Chelsea climbs, each step groaning under her weight.
Her lantern flickers.
Halfway up --
She stops. Listens.
The house inhales, a deep, wooden sigh.
She swallows hard.
CHELSEA
(to herself)
It’s fine. It’s fine. You’re fine.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
10 -
Echoes in the Shadows
INT. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS
Chelsea steps onto the second-floor landing.
The hallway stretches long and shadow-drenched, old wallpaper
peeling in strips.
Her lantern casts shaky halos of light across closed doors.
She takes a few steps.
Behind her -- a soft TAP.
Chelsea freezes -- turns.
Nothing.
Just the empty staircase behind her.
A strip of wallpaper at the far end of the hall BULGES, like
something pressing from the other side.
Chelsea doesn't see it.
She walks forward slowly, lantern raised.
Her footsteps echo.
She approaches the bathroom door, slightly ajar.
The faintest drip... drip... drip... comes from inside.
She peers in -- pushes the door open.
The dripping stops.
Silence.
She takes a step inside.
Then another.
Her reflection in the hallway mirror just outside the
bathroom delays a half-second.
Chelsea doesn't notice.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
11 -
Uneasy Encounters
INT. SORORITY HOUSE - KITCHEN - NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
A soft HUM from the old refrigerator. The house is dead
still, steeped in shadows.
Riley enters in pajamas and a hoodie.
She rubs her eyes, still half-asleep, and flicks on the
overhead light -- it flickers twice before holding.
She moves to the fridge, opens it --
Bluish light spills across the linoleum. She pulls out a
container of leftover mac and cheese and shuts the door.
She turns --
A CREAK behind her. Long. Old wood shifts.
Riley flinches, then breathes out. She moves toward the
microwave, pushes buttons.
As the spinning tray turns -- something shifts in the
reflection of the microwave’s glass door.
Riley turns --
In the doorway stands SUE (60s). Still. Unmoving.
Her silhouette fills the frame, robe pale, hair pinned
perfectly.
RILEY
Oh, hey, Sue. I didn’t hear you
come in.
Sue smiles -- thinly.
SUE
Late-night cravings. They happen.
Especially in this house.
Riley offers a polite smile -- albeit awkward. She pulls a
spoon from the drawer.
Sue moves forward -- slowly and gracefully.
Each footstep stretches the silence.
SUE (CONT'D)
Winter break’s coming up. Big
plans?
RILEY
(sits on the counter)
Just going home. But I’ll be back
early. I want to get ahead on
coursework for next semester.
Sue pauses, considers this.
SUE
It’s good you’re coming back early.
Means you’ll have the house mostly
to yourself.
Riley stirs her mac and cheese, uneasy.
SUE (CONT'D)
But not entirely. There should be a
few girls around. And this house...
Well. It likes company.
A quiet, lingering smile. Too slow. Too knowing.
Riley tries to fill the silence.
RILEY
I mean... I like it better with
people around. Less creepy. Fewer
noises.
SUE
Ah yes... the noises. Floors
shifting. Pipes breathing. Doors
remembering who used to open them.
Riley’s spoon stops halfway to her mouth.
SUE (CONT'D)
This house is a hundred years old,
you know. Think of it, Riley.
(a beat)
All the girls who have come and
gone in that time.
Her voice isn't warm. It's nostalgic, but something's off.
RILEY
Guess there's a lot of secrets in
these walls.
Sue lingers near her. Too close. The kitchen light glints off
Sue’s dark eyes.
SUE
You know, I consider all of you my
daughters... just one big family.
Riley shifts. Takes another small bite. Her appetite is
fading fast.
RILEY
Yeah. Nice to have sisters.
Sue reaches out -- lifts a loose strand of Riley’s hair
that’s caught in her collar.
SUE
You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?
Riley tenses.
RILEY
No. I don't.
Sue’s hand trails down Riley’s hair. Light. Tender. Wrong.
SUE
Pity. You’re very pretty.
Riley shifts back, uncomfortable. Doesn’t know what to do
with her hands.
Sue brushes hair behind Riley’s ear. Her fingers are gentle
and cold.
RILEY
Thanks. I just -- haven’t met the
right guy yet. I have some... trust
issues.
A pause. Sue studies her.
SUE
This house doesn’t care about
honesty, dear. It listens for what
you're ready to give.
Sue leans in just a touch closer -- her face just inches from
Riley's. Something ancient glints in her eyes.
SUE (CONT'D)
Girls like you deserve to be
claimed.
Riley, throat dry, nods. Not sure what else to do.
Another CREAK -- sudden and sharp.
Riley startles -- Drops her spoon.
It clatters to the tile.
Sue doesn’t even look. Letting it echo.
The tension hangs like smoke.
RILEY
Well... I should probably get back
to bed.
She slides off the counter, not making eye contact. Grabs her
container.
Sue smiles.
SUE
Goodnight, Riley.
Sue brushes a crumb from Riley’s shoulder... and quietly
pinches a loose STRAND OF HAIR between two fingers.
As Riley turns away, Sue absently winds the strand around her
fingertip, tight as thread, then slips it into her apron
pocket.
END FLASHBACK
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT (BACK TO PRESENT)
Chelsea shuts the door behind her with a SNAP -- sets her
lantern on the sink.
Its bluish glow makes her skin look waxy -- like a mannequin.
CHELSEA
I don't look... right.
She leans toward the mirror. Rubs her cheeks.
Her reflection WINKS.
Chelsea freezes.
She rubs her eyes. Stares again.
Her reflection resets.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
Cute. Real cute.
She forces a smile. Smooths her hair.
Her reflection doesn’t move -- it smiles faintly. Too still.
The reflection’s complexion dulls -- wrinkles spiderweb
across its skin.
Chelsea stumbles backward.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
What the fuck --
The reflection leans closer to the glass.
REFLECTION (V.O.)
(deep, masculine)
What happens when they stop looking
at you, Chelsea?
The lantern flickers. The temperature drops.
Chelsea’s breath fogs out in white clouds.
The mirror fogs. A phrase scrawls into the condensation --
“I SEE YOU.”
Chelsea steps back -- her entire body trembles.
Two handprints press from inside the glass -- the surface
bulging like skin.
Her reflection looks sixty years older now --
Sagging skin, yellowed teeth. Hair falling out in wet clumps
into the sink.
The glass bulges wider --
A face PUSHES through --
The handsome face of GARY. Perfect jawline. Dreamy eyes.
Radiant smile.
Suddenly, his mouth splits open to reveal --
Rows of jagged, glistening teeth.
GARY
(soft, hungry)
With me, you’ll never wrinkle.
You’ll be beautiful forever.
Chelsea lunges for the door, pulling at the knob --
It’s locked.
Her wrinkled doppelgänger pounds the glass from the inside,
grinning with rotten gums.
Gary has vanished.
Her reflection reaches through --
A withered hand shoots out -- wrapping around her wrist.
Her skin withers instantly. Veins blacken. Wrinkles spread up
her arm.
Chelsea claws at the door with her free hand.
CHELSEA
Help! Help me!
Then, with a final, glassy suck --
The mirror SWALLOWS Chelsea whole.
It ripples once --
Smooths into a pristine reflection of an empty bathroom.
The lantern dies with a POP.
Then --
Silence.
Genres:
["Horror","Psychological Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
Frozen Escape
INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Riley and Lilly stand frozen near the staircase -- listening.
The house CREAKS. A slow, satisfied sound.
Brooke backs toward the front door, shaking her head.
INT. FOYER - CONTINUOUS
BROOKE
Nope. No. Chelsea’s messing with
us.
She grabs the doorknob and yanks.
It DOESN’T MOVE.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Okay. Cute. Who locked it?
She twists harder. The knob doesn’t even rattle.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Riley.
Riley steps closer. Tries the lock.
Nothing.
RILEY
It’s frozen.
BROOKE
It’s what?
Riley presses her palm against the wood.
Ice crystals spiderweb beneath her hand. Her breath clouds.
LILLY
It’s not that cold inside...
BROOKE
That’s not how doors work.
Brooke SLAMS her shoulder into it.
The impact BOOMS -- but the door doesn’t budge.
Instead, a dull vibration ripples up the walls.
A low GROAN rolls through the beams.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
(voice cracking)
Open the door!
She pounds again -- harder.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Open the fucking door!
Riley grabs Brooke’s arm.
RILEY
Stop.
BROOKE
We’re trapped. That’s great. That’s
just fucking great.
From the ceiling -- a faint CREAK. Slow footsteps above them.
LILLY
Chelsea?
No answer.
Brooke stumbles back from the door.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
The Fourth Ring
INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Brooke's bravado cracks -- just a hairline fracture.
Riley turns.
The coffee table.
The pink phone sits there. Waiting.
RING.
The sound slices through the room.
Lilly jumps.
Brooke stiffens.
RING.
The phone vibrates -- aggressive now.
RILEY
Brooke --
BROOKE
Nope.
She backs away.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
I’m not playing anymore.
I didn’t agree to this.
RING.
The third ring HUMS deeper -- metallic, impatient.
RILEY
Don't pick it up after the fourth
ring.
BROOKE
That doesn’t mean anything.
The phone RINGS again.
FOURTH RING.
Brooke snaps.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Fine!
She lunges -- snatches the receiver --
AFTER THE FOURTH RING
She presses it to her ear.
Silence.
Then --
A low, canned LAUGH TRACK crackles to life.
Tinny. Wrong.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Hello?
The laughter SWELLS -- looping, echoing, multiplying.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Okay. Nope. Not funny.
She hangs up.
The LAUGHTER CUTS.
Upstairs, a SOFT THUD.
Lilly stiffens.
Brooke hugs herself tighter in her hoodie.
Another THUD -- directly above them.
Riley rises, listening.
Then clutches her chest, shaken.
LILLY
What did he say?
BROOKE
Nothing, it was just... laughing. A
room full of it.
Riley stares, realization dawning.
RILEY
You picked up after the fourth
ring.
BROOKE
So?
RILEY
The rules said --
Brooke bristles.
BROOKE
-- Whatever. It’s just a stupid
game. Nothing happ --
Brooke's smile flickers. She sniffs. Touches her upper lip.
Pulls her fingers away --
RED.
A thin line of blood beads from one nostril.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Great. I'm bleeding. Love that for
me.
She wipes at it with the back of her hand.
A single DROP releases. Hits the hardwood.
TICK.
A long, low CREAK rolls through the beams.
RILEY
You still have to roll.
Brooke swallows, throat tight.
Brooke snatches up the dice -- too fast.
She rolls. The dice clatter across the board. Then settle.
Six.
Brooke’s grin flickers.
She moves her piece six spaces.
Stops.
TRUTH.
BROOKE
Okay. Fine.
She reaches for the Truth deck.
Hesitates -- just a hair.
Then pulls the top card.
Reads.
Her smile collapses.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Nope. I don’t like that.
RILEY
What does it say?
Brooke doesn’t answer.
She rereads the card -- jaw tightening.
LILLY
Brooke.
BROOKE
(reading)
What do you call the girl that
hides behind jokes?
Silence.
The question hangs there -- pointed.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
This is bullshit.
She drops the card back on the table -- like it burned her.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Chelsea’s messing with us. This is
her thing.
RILEY
She didn’t write the cards.
BROOKE
You don’t know that.
A floorboard CREAKS upstairs.
LILLY
We should go check on her.
BROOKE
No.
(beat)
She said she was fine. We stay
here.
RILEY
She’s been gone too long.
BROOKE
So what -- we split up now? That’s
smart?
Brooke sinks back onto the couch -- arms folded tight.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
We stay put. Together.
Riley and Lilly exchange a look.
Upstairs, something SHIFTS.
All three girls jerk their heads up.
Lilly grabs Riley’s sleeve.
LILLY
We... we need to find Chelsea.
Riley nods.
Brooke steps back.
BROOKE
No. No way. I’m staying right here.
Right in this room.
RILEY
We need to stay together.
BROOKE
Good. Then stay here. I'm not going
up there.
Lilly looks torn, terrified.
LILLY
We shouldn’t split up.
BROOKE
Then don’t.
Riley exchanges a look with Lilly.
Riley steps toward the dark hallway. Lilly follows.
RILEY
(soft, firm)
We’ll be right back.
Brooke sinks into the corner of the couch, hugging herself,
eyes locked on the quiet pink phone.
The house CREAKS. A deep wooden sigh moves through the beams.
BROOKE
Hurry back. I'm running out of
jokes.
Riley and Lilly disappear into the darkness.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
15 -
The Haunting Search
INT. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - NIGHT (MOMENTS LATER)
Riley and Lilly race down the hallway, lanterns swinging,
breathless with panic.
Beams play across rows of closed doors --
LILLY
Chelsea?!
Each one feels like an eye -- shut but watching.
One door sits slightly ajar --
The bathroom.
Riley hesitates, then nudges it open --
Inside --
Sparkling clean. Porcelain gleaming. No Chelsea.
Riley closes the door --
The latch CLICKS unnaturally loud.
The hallway leans. Narrows. Presses in.
Then --
The hallway snaps back to normal.
They go deeper down the hall -- stop.
The door in front of them --
Bigger. Older. A seam of light bleeds underneath.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
16 -
The Unyielding Box
INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Brooke sits curled in the corner of the couch, knees to her
chest, staring at the pink Dream Boy box on the coffee table.
The house creaks above her.
BROOKE
(to herself)
Okay. Okay, Brooke. You’re alone,
but... alive. That’s something.
She forces a shaky exhale and crawls toward the coffee table.
The box’s neon letters glint in the dim light, cheerful in a
way that feels threatening.
Brooke reaches out... hesitates... then flips the box over.
On the underside --
A SIGIL.
Brooke’s breath catches.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
No... no. Nope.
She drops the box. It lands with a dull THUD, sigil facing
the ceiling like a staring pupil.
Brooke staggers back, trembling. Her gaze darts to the
fireplace.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
(whispers)
Burn it. Just... burn the damn
thing.
She snatches the box with both hands -- holding it out like a
dead animal -- and stumbles to the fireplace.
The flames dance low, sputtering.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
You don’t get to call me again.
She tosses the Dream Boy box into the flames.
The cardboard and wood catch instantly — crackling, curling,
blackening. A puff of pink vapor escapes like a dying breath.
Brooke steps back, watching the box warp and collapse into
embers.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
(whispering)
Yes. yes. Burn.
A SHARP POP.
The fire flickers. The flames shrink.
A cold draft whispers across the room.
Brooke’s smile fades.
She turns slowly...
The coffee table is no longer empty.
The Dream Boy box sits there.
Perfectly intact. Exactly where she left it.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
(voice cracking)
What...?
She spins toward the fireplace.
In the flames -- the charred remains she watched burn --
Gone.
Only undisturbed firewood crackles softly.
Brooke screams, backing away until her shoulders hit the
wall.
The box lid lifts a fraction on its own -- just enough for a
sliver of darkness to stare back at her.
A faint HUM builds inside it. Like a held breath.
Brooke shakes her head violently.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
No. No-no-no-no --
The HUM deepens.
Brooke’s knees buckle.
The house CREAKS above her in reply.
UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - SAME
Riley turns the knob -- it's locked.
RILEY
Shit.
LILLY
What are you doing? Maintenance
doesn't even go in there.
Brooke looks at Lilly -- her brow furrows.
RILEY
Exactly. I think Sue’s hiding
something. I can feel it.
Riley steels herself -- unsheathes a black five-inch knife
from her calf.
She slides the metal into the lock.
SCRAPE... SCRAPE...
The blade rasps against metal.
LILLY
You sure about this?
The wallpaper twitches with each push.
Finally --
CLICK.
The echo shudders down the hall like a gunshot.
The house pulses -- slow, patient.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
17 -
Whispers from the Past
INT. SUE'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Riley pushes the door open -- a flashlight beam cuts through
the gloom.
Lilly shuffles in behind her.
Dust floats in beam-thin strips of lantern light.
The room is immaculate --
Lace curtains are pinned stiff.
A canopy bed with sheets pressed flat.
An antique vanity gleams -- silver brushes are laid out with
surgical precision.
The air is dense. Damp.
They edge in, their breaths hitching.
Riley crouches by the nightstand -- sliding the drawer open --
Empty.
Suddenly --
THE VANITY MIRROR FOGS.
Condensation at first... then -- shapes.
LILLY
Riley... look.
Riley turns.
In the mirror -- THREE GIRLS.
JANE (20). CHRISSY (20). MEGHAN (20). The missing 1976
sorority girls.
They stand still. In faded sorority sweaters. Makeup perfect.
Hair pinned.
Their skin is pale and waxy. Eyes rimmed in deep, shadowed
hollows.
A thin film of frost spreads where their breath hits the
glass.
Lilly grabs Riley’s arm, her knuckles white.
LILLY (CONT'D)
What do they want?
RILEY
Maybe they’re trying to tell us
something.
Jane lifts her hand -- pressing it against the other side of
the glass.
She turns her head -- staring right past Riley toward
something unseen behind her.
Riley turns -- the flashlight swipes across the room.
Something catches her eye --
THE CLOSET.
When she turns back -- the girls are gone.
Riley crosses to the closet and pulls the door open --
Ordinary clothes. Folded scarves. All perfectly arranged...
Then -- something behind them. A faint seam.
Riley reaches. Pushes.
CLICK.
A false panel swings inward to reveal --
A hidden walk-in closet, narrow but full-length.
They step inside.
INT. SUE’S CLOSET – CONTINUOUS
Riley shines her flashlight along the narrow space -- ritual
tools, Polaroids, melted candles.
Then -- she spots it.
A black leather journal, bound with a red ribbon. Old. Thick.
Riley lifts it carefully, eyes narrowing. She unties the
ribbon.
As she opens it --
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
Whispers of the Past
INT. ATTIC – NIGHT (FLASHBACK, 1926)
GASLIGHT flickers. Velvet wallpaper breathes. Four women,
pale and trembling, sit around a mahogany table.
SUPER: 1926
At the head -- SUE (20) -- radiant in black silk, pearls like
knives.
On the table: a rotary phone, a spirit board, a hair doll
twitching on lace.
INT. SUE’S ROOM – NIGHT (PRESENT)
Riley flips to the first page. Elegant, looping script in
black ink:
“We believed we were summoning love. What we found was
hunger.”
She reads on, flipping faster.
Journal (V.O.) – SUE’S HANDWRITING
"We made contact with something. It wasn’t Joseph. Not any of
them. It watches. It waits. It promises eternity."
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
The Summoning
INT. ATTIC – NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
Sue grips hands with her sisters.
SUE
Tonight.... we call our boys home.
The air hums. The planchette trembles. EDITH lifts the
receiver. Her eyes brim with tears.
EDITH
Joseph... he’s here --
But the voice changes. Low. Inhuman.
The shadows stretch.
EDITH (CONT'D)
Sue -- it's not him!
SUE
Hold the line. Do. Not. Break. The
circle.
INT. SUE’S ROOM – NIGHT (PRESENT)
Riley turns the page -- a charcoal drawing of a sigil. The
same eye-shaped knot from the board game underside.
Underneath:
"Hair binds. Blood releases. But truth is what damns."
Riley gasps -- flips again.
INT. ATTIC – NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
RING.
The phone SHRIEKS. Edith picks it up. Her eyes widen in
horror.
EDITH
No... you can’t --
SNAP. Her neck jerks sideways.
The circle breaks. Shadows SHRIEK.
Photographs burst into flame.
The planchette flies, embedding in plaster. Two women SCREAM -
- dragged into the dark.
INT. SUE’S ROOM – NIGHT (PRESENT)
Riley turns to the final pages. They’re frantic. Unhinged.
Scribbled with repetitions:
“He sees me. He sees me. He sees me.”
One phrase is etched over and over:
“Claimed girls don’t rot.”
Riley’s hand trembles. She slams the journal shut.
INT. ATTIC – NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
Only Sue remains. Composed. Eyes wide with devotion.
She lifts the phone receiver.
ASMODEUS (V.O.)
I can make you... eternal.
The phone GLOWS red-hot. Its dial spins backward.
Sue's pearls snap, clattering like teeth. Blood beads at her
lip -- and still, she smiles.
Behind her --
A shadow bleeds from the wall.
A hulking, monstrous form. Three heads: MAN. BULL. RAM.
Eyes aflame. Wings broken. Watching.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
20 -
The Haunting Revelation
INT. CLOSET - NIGHT (BACK TO PRESENT)
Riley turns her flashlight to the back wall. On it:
POLAROIDS.
Photos of Riley, Lilly, Brooke, and Chelsea.
Arranged in a ceremonial cross. Their names are scrawled
beneath each photo.
Chelsea's photo is circled in red -- a red pentagram drawn
inside the circle.
LILLY
Oh God.
Riley steps in closer -- staring, her breath ragged.
FLASH.
A single Polaroid flutters down from the ceiling -- drifting
like ash -- and lands face-up at Riley’s feet.
The image is crisp, impossibly preserved:
The 1976 girls in matching sorority sweaters, posed inside
this very house.
And on the table behind them sits a familiar black lacquered
box --
DREAM BOY.
A thin, distant LAUGH ripples through the walls -- Sue’s
laugh -- wrong and delighted, blooming from nowhere and
everywhere at once.
The lantern light jitters, flickers.
A stretched SHADOW glides across the far wall, long-fingered,
with no visible source.
Then -- slow, deliberate --
An invisible fingertip presses against the photo wall.
The paper wrinkles inward as an unseen force drags a fresh
red circle around Brooke’s Polaroid.
The ink bleeds like it's fed by something underneath the skin
of the wall.
Riley staggers back, breath hitching.
LILLY (CONT'D)
(whisper)
Riley...
Riley stumbles back.
RILEY
Brooke.
A single strand of hair drifts down from the ceiling --
twisting in the air like it’s alive.
RILEY (CONT'D)
(to herself)
Hair binds. Blood releases. Truth
damns.
Canned laughter erupts from the walls.
The Polaroids SHIVER.
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
The Punchline
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Brooke sits on the couch, transfixed on the pink phone.
Suddenly --
CLICK.
The TV behind her turns on by itself.
Static.
Brooke stiffens. Turns slowly.
Brooke yanks the TV’s power cord from the wall. The screen
STAYS ON.
The loose cord slithers like a SNAKE, replugging itself with
a cheerful CLICK.
A CANNED LAUGH TRACK detonates, loud, mean.
The static shifts into grainy video...
Slowly, an image bleeds through --
A COMEDY CLUB.
Red velvet curtains. Smoke haze. A single mic glows in a
white-hot spotlight.
Onstage -- DEAN.
He's perfect -- teeth gleaming like knives.
DEAN (ON TV)
Ladies and gentlemen... your
headliner tonight -- Brooke Jacobs!
A CANNED LAUGH TRACK detonates -- tinny, metallic.
The laughter doesn’t come from the TV --
It rattles from the walls.
Brooke flinches -- clutches her stomach.
BROOKE
No. This isn’t real.
The LAUGHTER swells. She clamps her hands over her ears.
DEAN (ON TV)
Come on, Brooke. Give us a joke,
darling.
The mic squeals with feedback.
Brooke opens her mouth --
Nothing. Her throat clenches shut.
DEAN (ON TV) (CONT'D)
Oh, Brooke, you’re bombing already.
The laugh track ERUPTS again.
Brooke jerks -- an involuntary laugh rips from her throat
like a muscle spasm.
Then another.
She doubles over, laughter pouring from her in convulsions.
BROOKE
Stop -- this isn't funny --
Her lips split at the corners --
Blood dribbles down her chin.
The living room walls DISSOLVE --
The furniture melts away --
Replaced by rows of SHADOW-FACED MEN -- pounding tables,
laughing.
LAUGHTER shakes the air, vibrating her ribs.
DEAN (ON TV)
That’s it. Let it out.
Brooke stumbles back, tears streaking through her smeared
makeup.
CRACK.
Her jaw SNAPS -- slightly wider.
BROOKE
Please, stop -- please --
SHADOW AUDIENCE (V.O.)
(chanting in rhythm)
Brooke! Brooke! Brooke!
Dean steps closer to the TV screen. His smile glimmers
unnaturally wide.
DEAN (ON TV)
I’ve got a joke, Brooke. Wanna hear
it?
The audience ROARS.
Dean presses his palm against the screen --
The glass RIPPLES like liquid.
Dean’s face PEELS THROUGH... static clinging to him.
His arms reach through --
Then the rest of him.
He stands up. Tall. Radiant.
Brooke collapses to her knees, trembling.
BROOKE
No. No, please...
Dean crouches, cups her chin with mock tenderness.
His thumb smears blood across her cheek like lipstick.
DEAN
What do you call a girl who hides
behind jokes?
The laugh track multiplies, filling every inch of space.
Brooke convulses. Her jaw cracks wider --
Dean leans close, breath steaming.
DEAN (CONT'D)
The punchline.
The audience ERUPTS into laughter.
Brooke's jaw UNHINGES.
Blood sprays across the mic.
The microphone sprouts wires -- coils around her arms like
snakes -- yanks her upright.
A rogue MIC CABLE creeps off the floor, seeking -- it plugs
itself into the PINK PHONE.
The phone pulses to the laugh track’s rhythm, hungry.
Brooke's lips tear into a permanent smile.
Blood sheets down her throat.
Her chest trembles like a speaker.
Dean wraps his arm around her shoulders -- eyes burning
yellow. Teeth long. Animal.
DEAN (CONT'D)
Ladies and gentlemen. Give her a
hand!
The faceless audience rises, clapping.
Brooke’s body goes limp, dangling from the mic -- her jaw
grotesquely split into a rictus grin.
The shadows howl in a standing ovation.
BACK TO LIVING ROOM
The TV flickers with static.
The pink phone hums louder, pulsing with hunger.
On the rug --
Brooke lies slumped, lifeless.
Lips torn. Frozen in a monstrous grin.
CANNED LAUGHTER plays faintly from the now-dead TV.
The floorboards beneath Brooke flex. They soften, warping
around her form like heated wax.
CREAK. POP.
The boards split -- dark and wet underneath.
Brooke's torso tilts, slides.
Her face -- the last thing visible -- is pulled downward,
swallowed by contracting wood.
The house exhales. The room falls still.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
Echoes of Fear
INT. SUE’S ROOM - NIGHT
Riley SLAMS the closet panel shut -- the sound cracks through
the room like a snapped bone.
Riley snatches a silver hairbrush from the vanity and tucks
it into her jeans.
Then --
A low, breathy GIGGLE seeps out from the dark. Barely
audible.
Riley goes rigid.
Beside her, Lilly’s breath stutters — shoulders tightening.
The giggle spreads, multiplying -- blooming through the walls
like mold, damp and hungry.
A soft, wet sound layers beneath it -- sticky, squelching,
wrong.
Riley grabs Lilly’s arm, yanking her close.
RILEY
(whisper)
Go. Now.
They back toward the door as the laughter thickens, filling
the room like rising water.
Riley throws the door open --
The hallway yawns before them --
And they bolt, rushing out as the laughter collapses behind
them.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
23 -
Ritual of Dread
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Riley and Lilly burst into the living room -- breathless,
frantic.
The room is wrong. Too still.
Fireplace embers glow low, dying.
Shadows sit heavy in the corners like they’re waiting.
No Brooke. No Chelsea.
LILLY
Brooke?
(beat, louder)
Chelsea? Guys?!
Her voice echoes -- swallowed by the house.
Lilly turns in a slow circle, panic rising.
LILLY (CONT'D)
Where the hell are they?
She looks at Riley -- confused, disoriented.
LILLY (CONT'D)
It’s like the house just...
(gestures helplessly)
swallowed them.
Riley doesn’t answer right away.
Her eyes are locked on something near the couch.
On the rug --
A MICROPHONE.
Old. Wired. Bent slightly at the grille.
The cord snakes across the floor like something that tried to
crawl away.
Lilly notices it too.
They both stare.
Riley kneels, picks it up carefully -- like it might still be
warm.
The mic is smeared faintly with blood at the mouthpiece.
Lilly swallows hard.
Riley sets the mic gently on the coffee table.
For a moment -- nothing.
Then --
A FAINT LAUGH TRACK whispers through the room.
Just a distant, canned chuckle -- warped, tired -- like it’s
leaking out of the walls themselves.
Lilly stiffens.
Slowly, she reaches for the microphone.
The laugh track follows her hand.
A few hollow laughs. A wheeze. Then silence.
Lilly drops the mic like it burned her.
Riley exhales -- shaky, human, barely contained.
The fireplace POPS -- a small, sharp sound.
Riley flinches.
A low CREAK rolls through the house -- slow, patient.
Riley picks up the pink phone slowly.
Something shifts behind her eyes -- not fear now, but
recognition.
Pieces clicking into place.
RILEY
(low, certain)
It isn't a game. It's a ritual.
She turns the pink phone in her hands, studying it like a
weapon.
RILEY (CONT'D)
The house and the game -- they're
the same thing.
Riley picks up the pink phone. Stares at it.
She unscrews the receiver slowly. Careful. Deliberate.
LILLY
What are you --
CLACK.
The panel drops --
A grotesque HAIR DOLL clumps out --
Blonde, brunette, auburn hair twisted tight. Eyes sewn shut.
The doll twitches. Its knotted mouth gapes open.
HAIR DOLL (V.O.)
(whisper, many voices)
I see you...
Riley flings it across the room.
The doll hits the floor -- convulses -- then goes still.
A single hair strand snakes away, slipping between the
floorboards.
RING.
LILLY
It's my turn.
RING.
The sound is softer this time. Almost polite.
RILEY
Before four.
Lilly steps toward the coffee table.
RING.
She lifts the receiver on the third ring.
LILLY
(whisper)
Hello?
Static. Not white noise -- breathing. Close. Damp.
ZANE (V.O.)
There you are.
Lilly stills.
LILLY
...Zane?
ZANE (V.O.)
I was starting to think you
wouldn’t answer.
The lantern light dips -- then steadies.
ZANE (V.O.)
You always hesitate. Like you’re
waiting for permission to exist.
Lilly’s jaw tightens.
Riley watches her -- clocking every flicker.
LILLY
That’s not --
ZANE (V.O.)
-- It’s okay.
They don’t see you.
(beat)
I do.
The game board on the table trembles. Lilly’s heart figurine
shivers in place.
ZANE (V.O.)
You don’t want to disappear. You
want to be chosen.
Lilly’s knuckles whiten around the receiver.
RILEY
(quiet)
Lilly.
ZANE (V.O.)
Disappear into me. And I’ll make
you unforgettable.
The word lingers. Un-for-get-ta-ble.
The plastic receiver softens in Lilly’s grip.
RILEY
Lilly, hang --
The phone ripples like something breathing under latex.
LILLY
Riley --
The receiver SWELLS. The seam splits with a wet, intimate
sound.
A FINGER pushes through. Perfect. Manicured.
It flexes. Then another finger.
Then a hand -- sliding free of the receiver.
Lilly can’t move. The hand cups her cheek. Tender.
Riley lunges -- grabs Lilly’s wrist-- pulls.
The hand tightens.
LILLY (CONT'D)
Help --
The palm presses over Lilly’s mouth. The sound cuts off.
RILEY
Lilly! Look at me!
Lilly’s eyes flick to Riley.
The hand begins to PUSH. Entering. Pressing at her lips. .
The fingers curl deeper against Lilly’s face.
RILEY (CONT'D)
Tell it the truth!
The hand pauses. A tiny tremor.
Lilly fights the pressure. Tears spill.
LILLY
(strangled)
I don’t want to be unforgettable.
The hand tightens again -- desperate now.
The room SHUDDERS.
LILLY (CONT'D)
I just -- I just want to take up
space.
The hand spasms.
Riley draws the knife from her calf in one smooth motion.
She drives it through the center of the palm.
A wet SHRIEK tears through the phone line.
Black-red fluid spills -- smoking where it hits the floor.
The hand recoils, snapping backward --
But the fingers cling to Lilly’s jaw, stretching unnaturally
long.
Riley tears the phone from Lilly’s hand and SLAMS it against
the table.
Once. Twice. The plastic fractures.
The hand snaps back with a wet POP -- vanishing into the
phone.
Riley drops the phone.
It hits the ground. Pulsing.
Lilly's eyes brim with tears.
RILEY
You okay?
LILLY
I think so.
A distant CREAK echoes -- deeper now.
The pink phone HUMS. Low. Steady.
Shadows writhe across the wall.
RILEY
It wants us up here. Let's go back
to the basement.
Riley’s eyes burn steady, calm.
Riley leads. Focused. Fast.
Lilly follows close behind -- breath shallow, eyes darting.
Behind them --
THE LIVING ROOM. EMPTY.
The Dream Boy board sits alone on the coffee table.
Riley reaches the basement door, grabs the knob --
Behind them --
CLICK.
A soft, plastic sound.
Lilly freezes.
LILLY
Riley...
Riley turns.
From the living room --
The YELLOWED DICE LIFTS off the board.
No hands. No strings.
It ROLLS across the pastel-pink surface.
CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.
The sound echoes unnaturally loud.
Riley and Lilly watch from the stair landing -- trapped
between floors.
The dice settles.
FIVE.
The house CREAKS.
Lilly’s HEART FIGURINE SHUDDERS --
-- then SLIDES ON ITS OWN.
One space.
Two. Three. Four. Five.
It STOPS.
The square beneath it reads:
LET’S PARTY.
The letters darken -- bleeding slightly, like fresh ink.
A low, distant THUMP-THUMP pulses through the walls.
Like music starting up somewhere far away.
LILLY (CONT'D)
(whisper)
I didn’t roll...
RILEY
I know.
The board TICKS -- once -- like a clock finding its rhythm.
From somewhere deep in the house --
A faint sound drifts up.
MUSIC. Tinny. Warped.
The board’s surface SHIMMERS.
Confetti-like shadows skitter across the squares -- writhing,
celebratory.
Lilly’s breath quickens.
LILLY
What does that one do?
Riley doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes lock on the square -
- jaw tightens.
RILEY
No clue. And I don’t plan on
RSVPing.
The music SWELLS -- closer now.
The house seems to lean toward Lilly.
Riley grabs Lilly’s wrist — firm.
RILEY (CONT'D)
Don’t listen. Don’t look back.
Lilly nods -- fighting the pull.
The music spikes -- a burst of canned laughter underneath it.
Riley throws the basement door open.
Darkness yawns below.
RILEY (CONT'D)
Move.
They descend fast -- disappearing into the shadows.
Behind them --
The Dream Boy board sits silent again.
The LET’S PARTY square glows -- soft. Inviting.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
24 -
Echoes of the Dream Boy
INT. BASEMENT - CONTINUOUS
They reach the bottom of the stairs. Riley scans the basement
with her lantern light --
The lantern BUZZES.
CLICK.
The old record player in the corner jerks to life on its own.
DISCO MUSIC crackles out -- warped, slowed, like it’s being
played through water.
The basement doesn’t change --
-- but something is wrong.
Three GIRLS flicker into existence near the furnace.
Not solid. Not ghosts.
Like reflections caught in bad glass.
JANE. CHRISSY. MEGHAN.
Young. Laughing. Oblivious.
They stutter -- frames skipping -- as they drag a wooden
storage trunk across the concrete.
It SCRAPES.
The sound echoes too loudly.
Riley flinches.
The trunk overlaps itself -- half there, half not – until --
Chrissy POPS it open.
Inside --
The DREAM BOY box.
Its neon-pink lettering glows faintly.
CHRISSY
Okay, but this is... adorable.
Her voice sounds like it’s coming through a phone line.
MEGHAN
That font is cursed.
Jane lifts the box --
Her hand passes through it for a split second --
She shivers.
They sit on the floor.
The girls’ movements desync -- a half-second behind
themselves.
Jane snatches the rule card.
JANE
(mocking)
“Choose your Dream Boy... speak the
truth...”
The card slips from her fingers --
Hits the concrete --
And SKIDS --
-- becoming the SAME rule card Lilly is holding.
Lilley gasps.
The record player SKIPS.
Chrissy spins the rotary phone.
The dial rotates backward.
The basement lights FLICKER.
For one frame --
A SHADOW looms behind the furnace.
Tall. Triple-headed. Gone.
RING.
The sound hits Riley in the chest.
Jane reaches for the receiver.
JANE (CONT'D)
Hello?
She freezes.
Her pupils dilate instantly -- too wide.
MEGHAN
Jane -- hang up --
Jane HANGS UP.
BLACKOUT.
The music CONTINUES -- tinny, cheerful, impossible.
In the dark --
A WET IMPACT.
Jane’s body SMASHES against the brick wall --
Then -- gone.
Chrissy SCRAMBLES --
Her feet don’t make sound.
Meghan crawls --
Hands -- long-fingered -- slide from the dark and DRAG her
away.
Her scream CUTS OFF.
The record player ARM lifts --
Drops --
The disco track RESTARTS.
Chrissy reaches the stairs.
Looks up --
SUE(20) stands at the top step.
Perfectly still. Watching.
CHRISSY
Sue -- help --
Sue smiles.
SUE
(gentle, reverent)
Yes, dear. I know.
She closes the basement door.
CLICK.
The music WARPS -- slows -- STRETCHES --
Then SNAPS SILENT.
The basement is suddenly --
Empty. Normal. Cold.
Riley BLINKS -- hard.
Her breath comes fast.
Lilly grips her arm, shaking.
The record player sits dead in the corner.
Riley and Lilly slide down to the floor -- their breathing
fast and shallow.
Riley fumbles inside her coat pocket -- pulls out the silver
hairbrush.
Her hands shake.
She sits cross-legged and teases loose strands from the
bristles -- braiding them together with trembling precision.
The work is delicate. Obsessive.
Lilly studies Riley.
LILLY
You’re really doing this? Like,
real spell stuff?
Riley doesn’t look up.
Her voice stays controlled -- but tension drips beneath each
word.
RILEY
My uncle talked about the occult
when I was a kid. I always thought
it was just bullshit and scare
tactics.
(beat)
Now, I'm not so sure.
She tightens the braid. Her fingers work faster.
Lilly hugs her knees to her chest.
LILLY
And you think a hair doll is gonna
save us?
Riley looks up -- eyes hard, jaw set.
RILEY
It’s not about saving us. It’s
about binding something. Or
someone.
(beat)
Sue opened the door with hair. We
can close it the same way.
She twists the finished braid into a crude doll shape.
Bits of hair poke out like veins beneath the skin.
Riley’s breath wavers -- just once -- before she presses on.
LILLY
Why us?
Riley doesn’t answer at first.
She swallows, concentrating on the doll.
RILEY
Every fifty years. New girls. New
blood.
(beat)
It’s a spell disguised as a slumber
party.
Lilly lets the horror sink in.
LILLY
So the game doesn’t end. Ever.
RILEY
It ends when we do.
The hair doll now sits in Riley’s hands -- grotesque,
unfinished -- pulsing with awful promise.
Riley meets Lilly's eyes -- something broken flickers behind
the resolve.
Silence.
Then --
RILEY (CONT'D)
Can I tell you something?
Lilly looks up -- vulnerable.
LILLY
Of course.
Riley breathes in -- slow. Controlled. Like she’s about to
pull the pin on a grenade.
RILEY
The guy who stalked me in high
school... he got released today.
Lilly’s face twists in horror.
Riley doesn’t let herself cry.
RILEY (CONT'D)
-- His name was Ethan. He’d follow
me after school. Wait outside my
house. Hide letters in my locker --
creepy pictures. The kind you don’t
know exists until they’re in your
hands.
Lilly’s arms fold tighter across her chest.
LILLY
Your mom... the police... didn’t do
anything?
Riley laughs once -- a small, hollow sound.
RILEY
Nobody believes you until they’re
standing over your hospital bed.
She braids a final twist into the hair doll -- hands
trembling.
A long silence.
LILLY
You were seen too much.
(beat)
I could disappear in a room and no
one would notice.
Lilly’s gaze stays fixed on the lantern glow.
Riley reaches out -- but before she can speak --
RING.
Both girls freeze.
The sound leaks from above them -- faint, metallic.
Riley clutches the hair doll tightly.
Both girls freeze.
Their eyes flick to the vent above them.
RING.
Riley grips the hair doll, her knuckles white.
She rises and grabs the lantern.
The light flickers -- dims, pulses, like it’s being
smothered.
Above them --
CLICK.
Soft, mechanical, percussive.
Like a camera shutter.
Riley whirls.
Nothing.
Another CLICK.
POLAROIDS shoot out of the vent -- one by one, dropping to
the floor like snow.
The girls watch -- frozen in place -- as the photos scatter
on the floor around them.
Lilly kneels, picks one up.
A photo of Riley in the library. Tonight. Sleeping.
Another falls.
Another photo of Riley. In her bedroom mirror. Alone.
Earlier.
Riley picks up a photo.
It's Riley -- right now -- staring at the Polaroid.
Riley drops the photo, trembling.
Riley turns --
LILLY IS GONE.
The lantern swings once, then settles.
Riley opens her mouth to call out --
Nothing comes. She swallows the sound instead.
Suddenly --
Polaroids lift off the ground, spiraling like a flock of
mechanical birds.
FLASH. FLASH. FLASH.
Brighter. Faster. Louder.
The WHINE of a camera builds. High-pitched. Piercing.
Riley runs toward the stairs.
Behind her --
Polaroids continue snapping.
The high-pitched camera WHINE builds to distortion.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
25 -
The Unraveling Birthday
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
The room sits in stillness.
The basement door opens --
Lilly bursts in, panting. Turns around.
LILLY
Riley?
The basement door SLAMS.
Lilly tries to open it -- it won't budge.
The pink phone pulses on the table, slow and steady like a
heartbeat.
Then --
A faint POP of balloons.
Music drifts in.
Not just music -- a party song, syrupy and cheerful, warped
just slightly off-key --
LILLY (CONT'D)
(whispering)
Guys...? Chelsea? Brooke? Riley...?
The living room SHIFTS --
Streamers sag overhead.
A banner unfurls -- letters bleed into view --
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LILLY!”
A table groans under cake and punch.
The punch bowl glows deep ruby, bubbles rising like blood.
The crowd arrives --
Phantom guests in vintage gowns and tuxes, all clapping at
once.
Their grins fixed, too many teeth -- their laughter skips
like broken records.
A PHANTOM GIRL brushes through Lilly, leaving behind a wet,
cold slick across her arm, like a slug trail.
LILLY (CONT'D)
Hey! Excuse you!
No response. Her voice evaporates into the warped party
track.
From the crowd -- he emerges --
ZANE. Handsome. Perfectly dressed in a tuxedo.
A rose in his lapel wilts -- then perks up as he smiles. His
eyes glimmer faintly yellow.
The dancers part in sync, their heads swiveling unnaturally
to watch Lilly.
ZANE
There you are. The guest of honor.
He extends his hand. Warm. Solid.
LILLY
You -- you see me?
ZANE
Only you, Lilly.
He pulls her in. They sway.
The crowd CLAPS. Rhythmic. Mechanical -- like a hundred pairs
of hands slapping meat.
Zane spins her out -- raises her arm high like a pageant
queen.
ZANE (CONT'D)
Ladies and gentlemen... your
leading lady!
The crowd CHEERS -- but when they turn their faces toward her
--
Their eyes skip over her. Look through her. Smile at empty
air.
Zane leans in. Kisses her cheek.
When he pulls back -- a strand of her hair dangles from his
teeth.
It glistens like spun sugar.
He chews it. Slowly. With relish.
ZANE (CONT'D)
Mm... Sweet.
The crowd encircles her --
Waxen. Smiling. Perfect. The crowd CLAPS.
A strip peels from her arm.
Then her cheek.
Her throat.
LILLY
Riley, where are you?
She claws at her chest --
Her hands sink through, grasping --
Nothing.
Her skin lifts away in perfect squares -- CONFETTI -- paper-
thin, fluttering upward.
LILLY (CONT'D)
Stop this. Stop it!
ZANE
(seductive, distorted)
You wanted to be remembered.
The crowd surges closer.
Zane gestures to them -- triumphant.
ZANE (CONT'D)
To the girl... no one will forget!
The crowd mimics unwrapping, clawing the air.
Each gesture rips more of her away.
LILLY
(whisper, paper-thin)
Riley... don't forget me...
The final shred tears from her chest.
It drifts upward --
The crowd ERUPTS in applause.
Zane bows, smiling.
The confetti settles. The crowd vanishes.
The living room clicks back into place.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
26 -
Desperate Echoes
INT. BASEMENT STAIRCASE - NIGHT
Riley stands at the bottom of the stairs, lantern trembling
in her grip.
A faint THUMP above her.
Riley freezes.
RILEY
Lilly?
Silence.
LILLY’S VOICE (O.S.)
(soft, distant)
Riley, where are you...?
Riley spins -- searching the shadows.
RILEY
Lilly! I’m here.
The lantern flickers.
The voice comes again -- closer now.
LILLY (O.S.)
Riley... Don’t forget me.
Riley’s breath stutters.
She races up the last few steps and grabs the basement door
handle.
YANKS.
It doesn’t move. She throws her shoulder into it.
THUD.
The door holds. Solid. Dead.
Riley pounds again. Harder.
RILEY
I’m here! I’m right here!
Her fist slams into the wood -- skin splitting.
The house CREAKS -- slow.
Riley presses her forehead to the door -- shaking.
RILEY (CONT'D)
I won’t. I swear. I won’t.
She slams her palm flat against it.
The lantern BUZZES -- then steadies.
The basement exhales.
The door handle turns freely in Riley’s hand now.
She yanks it open --
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
27 -
The Disturbing Discovery
INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Riley bursts in -- gasping, wild-eyed.
The living room looks... normal.
A single floor lamp hums softly. Furniture in place.
From the kitchen -- a faint LAUGH.
Light. Casual. Almost happy.
Riley freezes.
Her breath slows -- in four. Hold. Out six.
She takes one step forward.
A SOFT TAP.
Something drifts down from the ceiling.
Slow. Weightless.
Riley looks up.
A single piece of CONFETTI spirals through the air.
It lands at her feet.
She crouches. Hesitates. Pinches it between her fingers.
On the glossy paper --
LILLY’S EYE.
Perfectly preserved. Still wet. Staring back at her.
Riley closes her hand around the confetti. Too tight.
Her knuckles whiten -- then tremble.
She tries to breathe. Nothing comes.
Her mouth opens -- no sound.
Riley presses her fist to her chest, like she can hold
something in.
She can’t.
A single breath slips out -- sharp, animal -- and then she
swallows the rest.
The laugh from the kitchen CUTS OFF.
The room goes quiet.
Riley heads toward the kitchen.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
28 -
Nightmare in the Kitchen
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
Chelsea, Brooke, and Lilly are gathered around the counter.
Wearing flour-dusted sweaters, laughing as they drop cookie
dough onto trays.
Chelsea smiles as Riley enters.
CHELSEA
(sweet, normal)
Hey, Riley. We're making cookies.
You want some?
Brooke waves with a spatula.
BROOKE
Don’t let her burn them this time.
Lilly laughs -- bright and full of life.
LILLY
You okay, Rye? You look... rough.
Riley stares. Can’t speak.
She looks at the oven -- cookies rising. The soft glow of
holiday lights.
Normal.
Too normal.
Riley swallows. Forces a weak smile.
RILEY
Yeah. Just a weird dream.
DING.
The oven timer chimes, bright and cheerful.
The three sisters snap their heads toward it, mechanically.
When they look back, their smiles are wider.
Their teeth are... different.
LILLY
Cookies are ready.
BROOKE
We made them for you, Riley.
CHELSEA
White chocolate chip. Your
favorite.
As they turn, Riley glimpses their backs --
Fabric seams run down their spines -- stitched tight.
Something dark seeps through the threads.
Riley stumbles back.
Brooke places the tray of cookies on the counter.
Fresh cookies steam -- curling upward.
Brooke and Chelsea wear oven mitts and move in eerie
synchronicity.
The cookies look perfect.
Golden. White chocolate chips dot the surface.
Riley, wary, edges closer.
The oven light flickers.
Her face turns pale.
The white chocolate chips are NOT white chocolate chips --
They're HUMAN TEETH.
Brooke plucks one up, blows on it. Takes a bite --
CRUNCH.
She chews.
Riley gags, staggers back.
RILEY
Oh my God.
Brooke leans forward, teeth clacking as she chews.
The lights flicker. The air grows thick.
In the reflection of the kitchen window --
THREE SHADOWY FIGURES stand behind her --
Jane. Chrissy. Meghan.
From deep in the house --
Sue’s LAUGHTER. Cruel. Maternal -- carries through the walls.
Riley whirls around --
Nothing.
When she turns back around --
Brooke, Chelsea, and Lilly are gone.
In their place --
GARY, DEAN, and ZANE -- their eyes glowing yellow.
The oven’s heat warps the air around them.
ZANE (V.O.)
(Lilly's voice - layered,
warped)
We made them for you, Riley.
They step forward like broken marionettes, splintering the
air.
Riley staggers back, eyes darting --
The temperature drops. Her breath fogs.
The oven door BURSTS OPEN, flames belching teeth instead of
heat.
Gnashing. Grinning. Hungry.
Riley bolts --
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
29 -
The Pursuit of Truth
INT. LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
Riley rushes in -- hair wild, face pale.
The walls pulse like they’re breathing.
RILEY
(under breath)
Truth is what damns.
She braces herself. Inhales -- in four. Holds. Exhales -- out
six.
BOOM.
Around her -- WINDOWS ERUPT.
The blizzard invades the room, ravenous.
Through the whiteout --
FOUR DREAM BOYS step in.
Identical movements, like marionettes pulled by one sick
hand.
Their smiles -- painted-on, lips too wide. Eyes gleam yellow.
The pink phone vibrates on the coffee table -- throbbing in
sync with Riley's pulse.
RILEY (CONT'D)
You opened the door. I'm closing
it.
Riley lunges for the stairs.
INT. STAIRCASE - CONTINUOUS
Riley sprints up the staircase --
But the stairs STRETCH beneath her, elongating with every
step --
The wallpaper around her wrinkles, bubbles -- faces press
outward -- mouths wide open.
Each stair behind her collapses -- sucked into a black,
bottomless void.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
30 -
Confronting Shadows
INT. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS
Riley barrels forward --
The hallway ahead blooms wider, then narrows -- breathing in
and out, like a throat.
Runners of hair spill from door seams, threading into ropes
that snake across the floor.
They lash at her ankles, tightening -- hungry to pull her
down.
Riley leaps aside, slipping free.
Her boots skid across warped floorboards.
Her breath clouds the air, frosting over her lips.
Behind her --
FOOTSTEPS.
Slow. Many. Getting closer.
Riley stops in her tracks, standing alone at the base of the
attic ladder.
Above her --
A low, patient HUM. Waiting.
She steadies the lantern.
Its light flickers, revealing a dusty framed photo hanging
crooked on the wall -- some forgotten sorority composite.
In the glass --
Riley’s reflection. Distorted. Fragmented.
She almost turns away. Doesn’t.
She steps closer.
Looks at herself -- bruised, shaking, eyes rimmed red --
still here.
She lifts her chin. Holds her own gaze.
A breath -- in four. Hold. Out six.
Riley reaches into her pocket.
Pulls out the yellowed RULE CARD.
Reads the last line again:
ONCE YOU START, YOU MUST FINISH.
Riley studies the words.
Then -- calmly -- she folds the card in half.
The wood above her GROANS.
She folds it again.
A hairline CRACK races along the ceiling.
Riley tears the card straight down the middle.
The sound is small. Final.
The house FALLS SILENT.
Riley lets the pieces slip from her fingers.
She looks back at her reflection one last time.
Choosing to stay visible.
She turns. Grabs the ladder.
And climbs.
Below her -- rhythmic steps get closer. Louder.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
31 -
Confrontation in the Attic
INT. ATTIC – NIGHT
Riley shoulders the hatch.
WHOOF --
The air pressure collapses.
Cold SUCKS across her face. Her breath ghosts white.
The attic yawns open like a cathedral -- impossibly vast.
Snow drifts through broken shingles, swirling slowly,
reverent.
In the center —
A SIGIL burned into the wooden floorboards.
A loop of jagged symbols, chalked and salted into the shape
of an open eye.
Candles burn at the edges of the circle -- their flames
black, bending inward.
The game board and pink phone sit beside the sigil like an
altar.
Between the sigil’s markings, the floorboards fold apart.
An OVAL MOUTH yawns open -- a throat. Breathing.
Riley steps next to the circle. Her hands shake.
She closes her eyes. Breathes.
She inhales -- holds too long -- panic flickers -- then
exhales anyway.
She opens her eyes --
Across the attic -- propped crooked against a support beam --
a small, cracked mirror catches the lantern light.
Riley looks up. Her reflection stares back.
Blood mats her hair into dark ropes.
Tears have frozen on her cheeks, carving pale tracks through
grime.
She looks wrecked.
For a split second, she almost looks away -- doesn’t.
She steps closer.
The glass fractures her face into pieces -- eyes misaligned,
jaw split -- but they’re all her.
Her breathing stutters.
She forces it steady.
In -- four. Hold -- out six.
The reflection steadies with her.
Riley meets her own eyes.
Lets herself be seen.
She doesn’t flinch.
The mouth beneath her WIDENS.
From the throat --
HANDS EMERGE.
Then bodies -- flickering like corrupted footage.
GARY. DEAN. ZANE.
Their eyes glow sickly yellow.
Their smiles stretch too wide -- cheeks splitting, teeth
crowding.
The bodies seize. BONES CRACK. Jaws UNHINGE.
They knot together -- twisting, collapsing inward --
A single head forces its way through the mass.
EDDIE.
From the far wall --
A SHADOW peels free.
Resolving into Sue. Half-glamoured. Half-rotted.
SUE
Tonight, the house collects again.
Riley’s eyes flick -- clocking the room.
The SIGIL. The MOUTH. The PINK PHONE, pulsing softly.
RILEY
You're not the monster. You're the
hand that keeps feeding it.
Sue steps closer. Reverent.
SUE
I opened the door. He built the
house around it.
The PINK PHONE RINGS --
Backwards. Wet. Wrong.
The sound vibrates through the boards.
FUSION EDDIE
Riley, you’re not done being mine.
Riley’s breath stutters.
She looks at the pink phone.
Then at Fusion Eddie.
She draws her knife. Locks her grip.
RILEY
You don’t get to say my name.
(beat)
And I was never yours.
The fusion shudders.
Eddie lunges -- desperate, sloppy.
Riley slashes his face.
BLACK-RED BLOOD spills -- thick, alive.
The knot HOWLS -- voices overlapping, collapsing into noise.
Riley doesn’t chase it.
She pivots -- and SLAMS INTO SUE.
Sue stumbles.
Her glamour fractures -- skeletal for a flash -- then human
again.
Riley shoves the HAIR DOLL into Sue’s palm.
Sue GASPS -- instinctively recoils.
Riley steps closer -- clamps Sue’s fingers shut around it.
RILEY (CONT'D)
You fed it lies.
(beat)
That’s why it keeps coming back.
The doll STIRS.
Threads of hair animate -- crawling up Sue’s wrist.
SUE
Hold the line!
Fusion Eddie convulses -- then UNRAVELS.
Hair. Teeth. Hands -- collapsing into useless pieces.
The house SCREAMS.
BOARDS EXPLODE.
From below --
SKELETAL ARMS, bound in hair, burst upward.
Three heads rise. Braided crowns of bone and hair.
JANE. CHRISSY. MEGHAN.
Eyes glass-marble, smiles cracked with ice-deep grief.
They move with a terrifying grace -- swarming Riley.
Hair forces down Riley’s throat -- a living gag.
She claws at her face, choking.
Sue watches. Calm. Almost tender.
SUE (CONT'D)
The house protects me.
(beat)
Who protects you?
Riley gags -- tries to speak. Can’t.
Sue kneels close, voice low and lethal.
SUE (CONT'D)
Who loves you, Riley?
Riley rips a breath through the hair.
RILEY
Stop.
Sue smiles -- small, satisfied.
SUE
No one ever will. Not like this.
Not cracked open.
Riley shakes her head, furious.
RILEY
You don’t get to decide that.
Sue gestures around them -- the attic, the sigil, the walls
breathing.
SUE
This house does. It was built for
girls like us.
Riley glares.
RILEY
You don’t know me.
Sue studies her -- almost fond.
SUE
I do. I was nineteen when grief
chose me.
Riley stiffens.
SUE (CONT'D)
The war took my husband. Then
silence took the rest of us.
She leans in.
SUE (CONT'D)
And desperation opens doors.
Riley’s eyes burn.
RILEY
You let it in.
SUE
It offered me a choice.
Riley recoils.
RILEY
And you chose yourself.
Sue meets her gaze -- steady.
SUE
I chose to stay.
Riley’s voice hardens.
RILEY
Then end it.
Sue laughs softly -- almost kind.
SUE
You still think this is mine to
stop?
She steps past Riley, toward the dark.
SUE (CONT'D)
I don’t have a say anymore.
Sue turns back -- final.
SUE (CONT'D)
And now... neither do you.
The 1976 girls drag Riley on her back -- toward the MOUTH.
Her nails tear grooves into the board, black hair threading
around her ankles and wrists -- yanking her closer.
The MOUTH widens. Candles blow out.
Hair spills through her fingers -- she reaches up --
Grabs the gnarled face of Jane -- shakes her --
RILEY
You don’t belong to her.
Or this house.
Or him.
For the first time -- the girls hesitate.
A HUM swells -- black flames quiver.
Riley slices the pad of her thumb -- fresh blood wells.
She smears it across the sigil and drags her hand across old
chalk symbols.
The salt peels away --
The circle breaks like bone splintering.
RILEY (CONT'D)
Jane Dawkins. Chrissy Salters.
Meghan Siebert. I release you.
The pink phone FLATLINES. The attic goes quiet.
The 1976 Girls' breath frosts... then warms. Their shoulders
drop -- released.
Sue watches, and for the first time, we see terror in her
eyes.
The 1976 girls look at her. Then away. They’re free.
Sue’s eyes widen. She turns to run --
Riley catches her, dragging her to the edge of the MOUTH with
all the strength she has left.
Hair sutures through Sue’s veins -- dragging her faster than
Riley’s strength alone.
Sue’s glamor rots off her like wet silk --
Beneath it -- a corpse with too many years.
SUE
I fed it.
Riley meets her eyes.
RILEY
It's full now.
Riley shoves her into the mouth.
Sue falls -- hair ripping from her like curtains tearing in a
storm.
The MOUTH SLAMS SHUT.
Instant silence.
The candles blow out.
The pink phone DIES -- a single ember glow -- then black.
Riley collapses onto her hands and knees.
Her breath saws.
The attic settles like lungs after a final scream.
JANE (O.S.)
(soft as snowfall)
Thank you.
Riley turns --
Jane, Chrissy, and Meghan stand one last time -- smiling.
They fade into the floorboards like dust returning home.
Riley forces herself upright, breath ragged -- but steady.
She surveys the wreckage --
The sigil -- slashed open, meaningless now.
The pink phone -- melted into a black, glossy slag.
Then she sees it.
On the floor, impossibly untouched --
A single red rose.
Perfect. Velvety. Out of place in the ruin.
She stares at it. Nudges it with her boot.
It rolls slightly -- fragile. Real.
Riley crouches, picks it up.
The petals are soft. Perfect.
She turns it once in her fingers -- feels the thorns.
For a moment, she just holds it.
A breath.
Then she lets it fall.
She steps back.
CRUSH.
Petals tear. Stem snaps. Red smears dark against the floor.
She doesn’t look away.
She grinds her heel once more -- deliberate -- until there’s
nothing left but pulp and thorns.
Riley exhales.
She wipes her face -- blood and tears smeared into resolve.
Then she moves to the hatch.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
32 -
Aftermath of Shock
EXT. SORORITY HOUSE - MORNING
Snow crews shovel in silence, their breath rising in white
plumes.
TWO POLICEMEN tape flaps in jagged gusts.
Red and blue lights strobe across the Tudor façade.
EMTs hover around Riley.
She sits slumped, a blanket around her shoulders.
Her hands shake -- fists still clenched.
EXT. AMBULANCE - MORNING
Riley sits on the bumper.
A PARAMEDIC leans close, shining a penlight into her eyes.
PARAMEDIC
You’re lucky. Hypothermia’s the
real monster tonight.
Riley isn’t listening.
Her gaze -- fixed on the house. At the faint glow in the
attic window.
The paramedic clicks the penlight off.
PARAMEDIC (CONT'D)
You’re gonna be fine. Just a couple
of bumps and bruises.
A COP waves Riley toward a waiting cruiser.
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
33 -
Facing the Past
INT. POLICE CRUISER - MORNING
Riley sits alone in the back seat, wrapped in a gray blanket.
Snow drips from her hair onto the rubber floor.
The cruiser idles.
Radio low. Static soft. Ordinary.
Riley stares at her phone in her lap.
The screen is black. Dead.
In the plexiglass divider ahead of her --
Her reflection looks back.
For the briefest flicker --
ETHAN’S FACE overlays it.
Watching. Smiling.
Riley meets his reflection in the glass. Doesn't flinch.
Ethan dissolves.
Breath in -- four. Hold. Out -- six.
Only Riley remains in the glass. Steady. Present.
Her hand drifts to her calf -- touching the knife through the
fabric.
Grounding. Real.
She breathes again. This time, it comes easier.
The cruiser pulls forward.
Outside, the house slips out of view.
Riley doesn’t look back.
CUT TO BLACK
RING.
Barely audible. Thin. Distant.