INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
BLACK.
A ragged breath. Uneven. Something in the dark.
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 Fear
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."
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 -
The Ominous 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.
Peeling wallpaper droops like shedding skin.
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 Bonds
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, something nostalgic and sad threading through
it.
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 being invisible is worse
than being hurt.
Lilly lowers her book -- eyes sharp.
LILLY
It’s shallow.
Chelsea’s smile cracks -- imperceptibly.
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? A placeholder?
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.
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.
The name vibrates through the walls.
The whole house exhales -- a long, low creak.
RING.
A sound from deep in the house.
Metallic. Wrong.
The girls 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. Before
Chelsea has a full existential
collapse and Lilly summons a
Victorian ghost bride.
Riley gives a small laugh -- but her eyes remain on the dark
hallway leading to the basement door.
The house settles with a groan -- deep. Tired.
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 -- urging them.
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 --
The shadows thickening like breath.
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 -
A Night to Remember
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.
Sharp. Early.
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:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
Unwelcome Intrusion
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 Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
A Moment of Fear
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 -
The Haunting Game Night
INT. BASEMENT STAIRWELL – NIGHT (BACK TO PRESENT)
The girls huddle together at the top of the basement stairs.
A single pull-chain bulb flickers below -- weak, yellow,
barely pushing back the dark.
BROOKE
Okay. No one scream unless it’s
sexy.
CHELSEA
Brooke, literally shut up.
Riley grips the railing.
RILEY
(whispers)
The insulation down here’s ancient.
Don’t touch anything that looks...
crumbly.
LILLY
Whispering isn’t helping.
Brooke flips the light 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 and 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.
Riley reaches out, touching the lid.
Chelsea gasps, stumbling backward.
CHELSEA
Oh my God. Absolutely not.
Brooke smirks.
Chelsea peers over Riley’s shoulder despite herself.
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.
Chelsea wraps her arms around herself.
Riley locks 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. The house creaks.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
The Dream Boy Game
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.
-- A deck of glossy cards -- handsome young men in retro glam
lighting.
-- A bubblegum-pink cordless phone.
-- A single yellowed rule card.
Chelsea flips through the photo cards --
Their smiles are too bright. Eyes too flat. Plasticky. Off.
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 -- OR HE WILL ANSWER FOR YOU.
DO NOT HANG UP BEFORE HE DOES.
WIN BY SPEAKING THE TRUTH AND NOT BREAKING THE RULES.
Riley studies the yellowed rule card. The ink looks slightly
raised -- like it’s still drying.
RILEY
(reading)
You start. You finish.
Pick your boy.
Answer the call.
Don’t hang up.
Speak the truth.
BROOKE
Like a toxic ex. With bylaws.
Lilly leans in, scanning the card more carefully than the
others.
LILLY
No more than three rings. Or he
will answer for you.
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. Daddy energy.
BROOKE
He looks like he owns a switchblade
and a mixtape of red flags.
Chelsea plants the card like a flag.
Lilly flips hers.
ZANE -- blond curls, smug grin. Too perfect.
LILLY
Of course his name is Zane.
BROOKE
I feel judged already.
Brooke flips her card.
DEAN -- clean-cut charm with something hollow underneath.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
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
Guys don’t scare me.
(beat)
Being wanted does.
The room shifts -- subtle, imperceptible.
BROOKE
So... what now? We just wait for
our emotionally unavailable dream
boys to call?
LILLY
Maybe they text first.
RING.
The pink phone SHRIEKS.
The sound slices through the room.
Everyone freezes.
Chelsea stares at the phone -- her smirk gone.
The house leans in. Waiting.
CHELSEA
No. Fucking. Way.
BROOKE
Answer it.
LILLY
It’s probably a built-in sound
effect.
Chelsea lifts the phone.
CHELSEA
Hello?
Stillness.
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.)
Isn’t this what you wanted? To be
seen?
(voice distorts)
I... see... you...
Chelsea’s face drains.
RILEY
Don't hang --
SLAM. Chelsea HANGS UP.
The house GROANS in response -- long, wooden, displeased.
Then --
POP.
The lights DIE. Darkness.
Chelsea checks her cell phone -- NO SERVICE.
She looks at her reflection in her phone screen --
Something looks off. Her face is wrinkled.
She shakes her head and blinks. Stares back at her screen --
Her reflection appears normal again.
RILEY (CONT'D)
You broke the rules.
LILLY
What did he say?
Chelsea doesn’t answer, her face hollowed with fear.
The girls stare upward, breaths held, listening to the
impossible footsteps overhead -- slow, searching, deliberate.
A cold ripple of air slides down the staircase.
Chelsea shakes her head, retreating into denial.
CHELSEA
(whispers)
That’s... that’s the house.
Old wood settles. Floors creak.
It’s just --
Another CREAK. Right above them. Brooke squeezes Riley’s arm.
BROOKE
(whispers)
Tell me that’s a raccoon.
Please tell me that’s a raccoon
wearing boots.
Chelsea sits apart from the others, thumbing her phone with
increasing irritation.
The phone screen is dead.
She tilts the phone toward her -- and her reflection looks
back.
But it’s just a touch... off.
Chelsea lifts her chin.
Her reflected chin lifts a half-second later -- a faint,
syrupy delay.
Chelsea freezes.
She shifts the phone right.
Her reflection glides into place after she moves -- smooth,
unnatural, like her image is thinking about it first.
Her breath trembles.
LILLY
We should stick together. We should
go upstairs together. We should --
CHELSEA
-- No. I’m fine. I’m going to the
bathroom. I just... I need a
second.
RILEY
Chelsea -- don’t go alone.
Chelsea masks fear with a brittle laugh.
CHELSEA
Relax. I’ll pee with the door open
if that makes you feel better.
She grabs the lantern, flipping it on with shaking hands.
CHELSEA (CONT'D)
See? Light. Technology. No ghosts
allowed.
She forces a smile -- the kind that doesn’t reach her eyes --
and heads toward the stairs.
Riley steps after her.
RILEY
Chelsea -- seriously.
Chelsea stops, turns, and for one microsecond, the mask
drops.
CHELSEA
Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be fine.
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
10 -
Echoes of Fear
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.
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 -
The Game's Grip
INT. LIVING ROOM - SAME
Brooke sinks onto the couch, gripping a pillow like a life
vest.
BROOKE
Okay, let’s walk this out like
adults. It's just a board game.
It's not like it's alive or
something. Right?
She gestures vaguely at the glowing phone.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
So... do we keep playing?
RILEY
-- We aren’t doing anything until
we get Chelsea back down here.
Lilly shakes her head, suddenly panicked.
LILLY
What if we can’t... stop?
Riley steps forward, steadying her.
RILEY
It’s just a game, Lil. We didn’t
agree to anything.
LILLY
As soon as Chelsea hung up, the
power went out.
Brooke stares at the Dream Boy box still sitting on the table
-- cheerful, pastel, terrible.
BROOKE
It’s my turn next.
The house exhales, slow and deliberate.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
12 -
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
Trust is overrated. Don’t just
disappear into your books, Riley.
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
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
Reflections of Terror
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
Ugh. I look like a corpse.
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","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
Trapped in the Cold
INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
The room is hollow now.
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
15 -
The Breaking Point
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
Once the game starts, it must be
finished.
BROOKE
That doesn’t mean anything.
The phone RINGS again.
FOURTH RING.
Brooke snaps.
BROOKE (CONT'D)
Fine!
She lunges -- snatches the receiver --
Too late.
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.
Brooke swallows, throat tight.
Another THUD upstairs.
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
16 -
The Distorted Hallway
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 inward. Narrows. Presses.
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","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
17 -
The Haunting of the Dream Boy 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.
INT. SUE'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Riley pushes the door open -- a flashlight beam cuts through
the gloom.
Lilly shuffles in behind her.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
The Final Performance
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 -- but it’s inside her.
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 room falls still.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
Whispers from the Past
INT. SUE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
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 1975
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.
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
20 -
The Séance of Shadows
INT. ATTIC - NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
GASLIGHT flickers.
Velvet wallpaper breathes against the slanted ceiling.
SUPER: 1925
Four women sit around a mahogany table -- faces pale,
expectant.
At the head --
SUE (20) -- radiant in black silk and pearls, her beauty
sharp enough to draw blood.
On the table --
A black rotary phone.
A spirit board etched with jagged sigils.
A hair doll, matted and twitching.
SUE
Tonight... we call our boys home.
Hands clasp. The air tightens.
EDITH (20s) lifts the receiver. It HUMS -- wet, hungry.
The planchette trembles --
Edith sobs.
EDITH
Joseph... He's here --
The hum sinks into a guttural snarl.
The planchette jerks. Gaslights FLARE.
Shadows crawl from the walls.
EDITH (CONT'D)
Sue -- it’s not him!
SUE
Hold the line. Do. Not. Break. The
circle.
RING.
The rotary phone SHRIEKS -- mechanical, unnatural.
Edith answers.
EDITH
(whispers)
No... you can’t --
SNAP.
Her neck twists. Rigid.
Eyes wide. Mouth frozen mid-scream.
The circle breaks.
Photographs of young soldiers IGNITE.
The planchette launches like a dagger -- embeds in plaster.
SHADOWS POUR from the walls -- shrieking, grinning —
Two women are DRAGGED into the dark.
Only Sue remains. Still. Composed.
The shadows curl around her.
She lifts the receiver. Listens.
ASMODEUS (V.O.)
(demonic voice)
I can make you... eternal.
SUE
Asmodeus...
The phone glows red-hot. Its dial spins backward.
A LAUGH -- slick and inhuman -- echoes through the earpiece.
Sue’s pearls snap, clattering like teeth.
Blood beads at her lip -- she smiles.
Behind her --
A shadow bleeds across the wall.
A hulking form with three heads -- MAN, BULL, RAM.
Shoulders jagged. Wings broken. Eyes burning.
END FLASHBACK
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Period"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
The Haunting Revelation
INT. CLOSET - NIGHT (BACK TO PRESENT)
Flashlights reveal shelves stacked with melted candles, dusty
amulets, and thick leather-bound books.
On the back wall --
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 1975 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.
Canned laughter erupts from the walls.
The Polaroids SHIVER.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
Escape from the Laughter
INT. SUE’S ROOM - CONTINUOUS
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","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
23 -
Whispers in the Shadows
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.
Riley’s gaze drifts -- inevitably -- to the coffee table.
Next to the pink phone: A RED ROSE.
Riley steps toward it. Her hand hovers over it.
The fireplace POPS -- a small, sharp sound.
Riley flinches.
She crouches, eye-level with the rose now.
Up close, the petals are flawless -- unblemished, impossibly
red against the muted room.
Her reflection shimmers faintly in the coffee table’s glass
surface.
A low CREAK rolls through the house -- slow, patient.
She picks up the pink phone.
Something shifts behind her eyes -- not fear now, but
recognition.
Pieces clicking into place.
RILEY
(low, certain)
It isn't just a game.
She turns the 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.
Then --
RING.
LILLY
It's my turn.
RILEY
Don't pick it up. Fuck the rules.
RING.
Suddenly --
The pink phone RISES off the table, pulled by invisible
strings.
Riley and Lilly recoil, frozen in place, eyes wide.
The phone drifts -- slow, deliberate -- hovering through the
air.
It stops beside Lilly’s ear, waiting. Demanding.
LILLY
(whisper)
Hello?
Only static answers -- like breath pressed against the line.
Then, silence. Heavy. Watchful.
LILLY (CONT'D)
Hello?...
A soft, syrupy male voice blooms in her ear -- velvet and
intimate --
ZANE (V.O.)
Lilly... at last.
Lilly freezes.
LILLY
Zane?...
ZANE (V.O.)
I’ve been watching you, Lilly.
They all look right through you.
But I see you. I've always seen
you.
The lanterns flicker. The whole room tightens.
LILLY
Stop. You don’t know me.
ZANE (V.O.)
Wouldn’t you like to be...
unforgettable?
The game board shudders on the coffee table.
RILEY
Don’t respond. That's what it
wants.
Lilly rocks back, fingers clenching the receiver -- silent.
The receiver hums.
A tiny vibration crawls up Lilly’s palm like an insect.
Suddenly --
The phone BUBBLES.
The plastic surface ripples like water -- a soft, wet
slurping sound.
RILEY (CONT'D)
What the -- ?
The receiver bulges, then SPLITS --
A slick and impossibly HUMAN HAND pushes out --
The fingers -- too perfect, nails manicured, but the skin has
an unnatural translucence.
Lilly stares, repulsed.
The hand flexes, reaching.
Riley lunges to grab the pink phone -- too late.
The hand wraps around Lilly’s face, cupping her cheeks with
impossible warmth.
Lilly’s mouth opens -- a soundless cry as the palm presses
against her lips, pushing, urging.
LILLY
Riley!
Riley rips at the receiver --
The hand won’t let go.
Its grip -- ice-cold. Sticky. Impossible.
The phone’s hum deepens into a subterranean THROB.
RILEY
It’s not real. It's just a game.
Speak the truth!
The hand jerks, surprised.
Lilly chokes -- pulls the hand free.
LILLY
It's not -- it's not real.
For a heartbeat, it quivers.
The fingers lose their intimacy -- clamp tighter.
Riley pulls the knife from her sheath and lunges toward the
hand -- slicing it deep.
The hand recoils.
Blackish fluid beads emerge from the wound.
Riley tears the phone from Lilly's hand --
The hand snaps back with a wet POP -- vanishing into the
phone.
Riley drops the phone.
It hits the ground. Pulsing. Angry.
Her eyes brim with tears.
The pink phone HUMS. Low. Steady.
Shadows writhe across the wall.
RILEY
We need to get away from the game.
Let's go back to where we found it -
- the basement.
Riley’s eyes burn steady, calm.
The pink phone pulses. Patient. Still hungry.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
24 -
Echoes of the Past
INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT
The staircase looms in front of Riley and Lilly, half-
swallowed by shadow.
They descend.
RILEY
Keep moving.
From above --
A faint RING. Metallic, sharp.
LILLY
Riley, it’s your turn.
RILEY
Eddie can leave a message.
The door SLAMS behind them.
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 don't get seen at all.
Riley looks up, startled by the quiet confession.
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.
She turns to Lilly --
LILLY IS GONE. Vanished into thin air.
Then --
Polaroids lift off the ground, spiraling like a flock of
mechanical birds.
A crescendo --
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","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
25 -
The Haunting Birthday
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
The room sits in stillness.
The basement door opens --
Lilly bursts in, panting.
She turns around.
LILLY
Riley?
The basement door SLAMS.
Lilly tries to open 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 too 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.
The smell hits her --
Cheap perfume, spoiled frosting, and sour wine.
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. Just like I remember.
CONFETTI CANNONS POP --
But the falling shreds aren’t confetti --
They’re torn Polaroids --
Smiling mouths. Empty eyes.
Her outline flickers.
LILLY
Riley, where are you?
The crowd encircles her --
Waxen. Smiling. Perfect.
The crowd CLAPS. The sound tears at her flesh.
A strip peels from her arm. Then her cheek. Her throat.
Erasure.
She claws at her chest --
Her hands sink through, grasping --
Nothing.
Her skin lifts away in perfect squares --
Paper-thin, fluttering upward like memories.
LILLY (CONT'D)
Stop this. Stop it!
ZANE
(seductive, distorted)
You said you wanted to be
remembered.
Above them --
The banner writhes.
The letters twist, bleed, reform --
“GOODBYE, LILLY.”
Balloons POP. One by one.
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...
Her final shred tears from her chest.
It drifts upward --
The crowd ERUPTS in applause.
The confetti settles. The crowd vanishes.
Zane bows, smiling.
Two vertical slits open across his cheeks, pulling back like
curtains to reveal rows of needle-thin teeth.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
26 -
Tension in the Shadows
INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT
Riley creeps forward.
Shadows swing wildly across walls -- pulsing like a vein.
Each footstep throbs in the silence.
Riley staggers forward to the bottom of the staircase, soaked
in sweat, clutching her knife.
She takes a breath. Moves up the steps.
Her boots THUD softly. Each impact echoes like she's in a
much larger space.
She reaches the basement door -- turns the handle --
INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Riley bursts into the room, gasping.
The living room looks... normal.
Just the quiet glow of a floor lamp.
A faint laugh carries from the kitchen -- light, casual.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
27 -
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.
She leans against the wall -- jerks back.
The wall is HAIR --
Woven, pressed flat, rippling like it’s underwater.
Riley inhales -- in four. Hold. Exhales -- out six.
The wallpaper bulges outward, inhaling like a lung.
Strands snake free, dangling down like vines in a cave.
The air stinks -- sweet rot and burned keratin.
The wallpaper SPLITS --
Hair ERUPTS -- long, wet, slithering.
A strand brushes her cheek.
Riley recoils, swats it.
Another strand slides across her throat like a razor.
She slaps it down --
It writhes on the floor, twitching like a worm.
Suddenly --
DOZENS erupt at once, flooding the room.
They lash around her -- caressing, choking.
One pries between her lips, forcing itself down her throat.
Riley gags and thrashes. Her eyes bulge.
Riley grabs her knife from its sheath -- thrusts it into the
strands.
SHRIEEEEK.
Strands split -- recoil.
The wall writhes.
Beneath the strands --
FACES.
Dozens of pale faces. Pressed flat. Mouths frozen open in
eternal screams.
The strands lash again, faster.
One pins her arm to the wall.
Another slides into her ear canal --
SUE (V.O.)
(cruel whisper)
A good house keeps its traditions.
Riley squeezes her eyes shut -- grounds herself.
Then slams her knife into the wall --
Faces SHRIEK. Hair writhes, coiling back.
Riley whirls 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","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
28 -
Nightmare Pursuit
INT. LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
Riley rushes in -- hair wild, face pale.
The walls pulse like they’re breathing.
RILEY
(under breath)
Name it. Claim it. Fight it.
She braces herself. Inhales -- in four. Holds. Exhales -- out
six.
The lights flutter, flickering between shadow and surgical
brightness.
Then --
BOOM.
Around her --
WINDOWS ERUPT.
The blizzard invades the room, ravenous. Snow corkscrews
through the room like living ash.
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. FOYER - 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.
INT. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - NIGHT
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.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
29 -
The Banquet of Shadows
INT. UPSTAIRS LANDING - SAME
A lone candle burns on the landing --
Its flame is black, licking up oily sparks of darkness.
From the shadows...
SUE (40s) steps forward. Porcelain skin. Perfect hair.
Her eyes -- ancient. Bottomless.
SUE
(sweet, venomous)
Every fifty years... The house must
be fed.
Behind her --
Dream Boys emerge from the walls like puppets untucked from
velvet.
They bow in unison.
Their jaws slack. Lips part in silent devotion.
Sue raises her hands, graceful like a bride at the altar.
SUE (CONT'D)
And tonight... You’re the banquet.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
30 -
Descent into Darkness
INT. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER
Riley whirls --
Dream Boys surge from both ends of the hall, sliding forward
without lifting their feet --
Their perfect smiles split, revealing serrated teeth beneath.
Their eyes twitch -- flicker with restless, feeding hunger.
Above her --
The attic hatch CREAKS open.
A strange amber glow seeps out --
From inside the hatch --
Sue’s LAUGHTER.
Warm. Terrible. Endless.
Riley pulls the hair doll from her coat.
Its stitched eyes snap open. Mouth twitches.
Something THUMPS above her. Heavy. Hungry. Waiting.
Below her --
Rhythmic footsteps get louder.
There’s only one direction the house hasn’t sealed off.
Up.
A breath at her ear --
SUE (V.O.)
(silky, coiling)
Stop running, Riley. Be claimed.
Riley spins --
Nothing. Just walls that pulse.
The hair coils around her calves -- tightens. Pulls.
Riley kicks loose, scrambles, and grabs the attic ladder.
It drops down with a long, sick shriek.
She climbs. Each rung is cold. Wet. Alive.
Dream Boys reach the base of the ladder --
Eyes upturned. Hands reaching.
Riley stares into the attic’s rising light.
Her breath hitches, hair-doll clenched to her chest.
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.
Rotted rafters crawl upward into darkness -- vanishing into
dark ribs.
Snow drifts through broken shingles.
In the center of the attic --
A SIGIL -- burned into the wooden floorboards.
A loop of jagged symbols is chalked and salted in a shape
like an open eye.
It pulses faintly -- like a heart under thin ice.
Candles burn at the edges of the circle -- their flames
black.
The game board and pink phone sit next to the sigil like an
altar.
The phone THUMPS against the floor.
Between sigil markings, floorboards fold apart with a wet
hinge.
AN OVAL MOUTH yawns open --
A throat.
Riley steadies herself -- shaky, but resolute.
She inhales -- in four. Hold. Exhales -- out six.
She steps forward.
From the MOUTH --
HANDS rise.
Three bodies climb out, their forms flickering like bad
reception --
Gary, Dean, Zane emerge, eyes glowing yellow.
Their mouths SMILE -- stretching too far. Cheeks split. Razor-
sharp teeth crowd their mouths.
The bodies jerk. Bones CRACK. Jaws unhinge.
They knot together -- twisting, fusing -- into a single mass.
Then --
A head pushes through the center of the mass.
EDDIE.
FUSION EDDIE
I'll treat you right, Riley. No one
appreciates you like I do.
Rafters SNAP -- bending inward like ribs closing.
Frost spiders across window glass.
Outside -- rows of YELLOW EYES open in the dark. Watching.
A SHADOW peels from the far wall -- resolving into --
Sue. Half in, half out of glamour. Her skin flickers between
untouched -- rotted.
SUE
Tonight, the house collects again.
Riley’s eyes dart --
Sigil. MOUTH. Pink phone.
RILEY
You feed it. For what -- beauty?
Immortality?
Sue steps closer.
SUE
Because I serve thy master.
The pink phone RINGS. BACKWARDS. Wet. Wrong.
FUSION EDDIE
Answer it, Riley. It’s your turn
now.
Riley’s breath catches.
She looks at the phone -- then at Eddie.
She unsheathes her knife -- secures it tight in her hand.
RILEY
You don’t get to look at me ever
again.
Eddie smirks, then lunges --
Riley rakes the knife across his face. Black-red blood pours
out of the wound.
The knot HOWLS and falls backward -- a chain of voices
screaming over each other.
Riley EXPLODES forward and tackles Sue.
The air seams -- attic walls warp inward.
Sue’s glamour breaks -- skeletal in a flash, then human
again.
Riley shoves the hair doll into Sue’s palm --
Sue gasps -- steps back.
Riley steps closer -- clamping Sue's fingers around the hair
doll.
RILEY (CONT'D)
You fed it lies. That's why it
keeps coming back.
The hair doll livens.
Threads of hair squirm, licking up Sue’s wrist, elbow, and
shoulder like a living suture.
SUE
Hold the line!
The fusion knot stutters -- then splits --
Eddie stands alone -- his face blurs, then dissolves into --
ETHAN.
He staggers backward -- his face twisting -- breath coming in
glitches.
Suddenly --
BOARDS EXPLODE.
Skeletal arms wrapped in hair burst from below.
Three heads rise -- crowned in braided mats of hair and bone.
JANE. CHRISSY. MEGHAN.
Eyes glass-marble, smiles cracked with ice-deep grief.
They move with a terrifying grace and swarm Riley.
Hair spills into her mouth -- choking her.
Riley claws at her face -- hair forcing its way down her
throat like a living gag.
Sue watches -- smiling.
SUE (CONT'D)
The house protects me. Who protects
you, Riley? Who loves you?
Riley gags -- her voice trapped under hair.
Sue kneels close -- her voice venom-bright.
SUE (CONT'D)
No one will ever love a soul as
cracked as yours, Riley.
RILEY
Stop.
(beat)
You don't get to say that.
SUE
This house does.
(gestures around them)
It was built for the broken.
RILEY
You don't know me.
SUE
But I do. I was broken once, too. A
widow at nineteen.
Riley stiffens.
SUE (CONT'D)
My husband was swallowed by the
war. Then grief swallowed me. And
the other like me -- we didn't want
closure.
(beat)
We wanted them back.
Riley shakes her head.
RILEY
That's not love. That's --
(trails off)
SUE
Desperation.
(nods)
Yes.
Sue steps closer.
SUE (CONT'D)
So we called to the dead. Believed
love alone could open the door. And
we opened it.
Riley's breath catches.
Sue's smile fades.
SUE (CONT'D)
What answered wasn't our boys.
Silence stretches.
SUE (CONT'D)
It was older. Hungrier.
RILEY
You let it in.
SUE
It offered me a choice. Feed it
every fifty years... or join the
ones I mourned.
Riley recoils.
RILEY
You chose yourself.
Sue meets her eyes -- no denial.
SUE
I chose to stay. And I sold what
was left of my soul.
Riley's anger flares.
RILEY
Then stop it. End it.
Sue laughs softly.
SUE
You think I still have a say in
this?
She steps past Riley, toward the darkness.
SUE (CONT'D)
I don't.
Sue turns back -- final, devastating.
SUE (CONT'D)
And now -- neither do you.
The three girls from 1975 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.
Riley’s eyes gleam.
Inhales -- in four. Hold. Exhales -- out six.
Hair spills through her fingers -- she reaches up --
Grabs the gnarled face of Jane -- shakes her --
RILEY
You don’t belong to her. You don’t
belong to this house. And you don’t
belong to "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 attic ROARS. The pink phone FLATLINES. Wind reverses into
a tearing vacuum.
The 1975 Girls' breath frosts... then warms. Their shoulders
drop -- released.
Ethan recoils -- the power of the MOUTH engulfing him --
Before he gets sucked into the dark abyss, he looks up at
Riley one last time.
ETHAN
You're not done being mine.
He reaches --
RILEY
I was never yours.
Ethan gets ripped into HAIR AND TEETH --
The MOUTH feeds.
Sue watches, and for the first time, we see terror in her
eyes.
The 1975 girls look at her. Then away. They’re free.
Sue’s eyes widen. She turns to run --
Riley catches her. Drags 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
We had a deal, Asmodeus.
Riley shoves her -- Sue falls --
Hair rips 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 --
alive.
Riley forces herself upright, breath ragged -- but steady.
Alive.
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 studies it. Then lets it fall.
She steps back. Brings her boot down.
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.
Behind her, the house GROANS -- starved.
Then finally still.
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.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
32 -
Haunting Reflections
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.
INT. POLICE CRUISER - MORNING
Riley slides into the back seat. The door shuts with a padded
thunk.
The air smells of melting snow and burnt coffee.
She leans her forehead against the plexiglass divider.
Her reflection stares back -- hollow-eyed.
In the rearview mirror --
For a subliminal flicker, ETHAN sits in the seat behind her --
his smile gentle.
Riley’s breath stops.
She spins around --
The seat --
Empty.
The police radio CRACKLES.
Static builds, shifting into a dial tone.
Riley shuts her eyes tight, forcing her breath into rhythm.
She inhales -- in four. Hold. Exhales -- out six.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
33 -
Awakening Fear
INT. CAMPUS LIBRARY - NIGHT
Fast asleep, Riley slumps over an open textbook. A pool of
lamplight bathes her face.
A hand gently squeezes her shoulder.
LIBRARIAN (V.O.)
We're closing in five minutes, hon.
Riley jolts awake, breath shallow --
Her eyes dart back and forth -- expecting something terrible.
Instead --
Quiet. Soft humming lights. Rows of tidy bookshelves.
A lone LIBRARIAN (60s, kindly) stands by her side.
LIBRARIAN
Closing time, hon. You don’t have
to go home, but you can’t stay
here.
Riley sits up slowly, realizes --
It was all a dream.
Her shoulders sag with relief. She runs a hand across her
forehead.
RILEY
Right. Yeah. Sorry.
The librarian nods, shuffling off toward the front desk.
Riley packs up her stuff, sliding papers and pens into her
bag.
A moth flutters out from beneath the table.
Riley flinches -- closes her textbook.
Something slips out and floats to the floor.
A POLAROID PHOTO, face down.
Riley freezes.
She hesitates -- then picks it up.
Her face drains.
It's a photo of Riley asleep at the library table -- up
close. Too close.
She spins around -- eyes scanning the darkened aisles of the
library.
Empty.
Quiet.
She looks at her phone --
"1 NEW MESSAGE."
She presses PLAY and puts the phone to her ear --
ROBOTIC VOICE (V.O.)
This is an automated call from the
Victim Information and Notification
Every Day Service. Please listen
carefully. Offender Ethan Rowe has
been released --
Riley hangs up.
Inhales -- in four. Hold. Exhales -- out six.
The terror in her face is gone, replaced by sheer
determination -- unbroken.
She pats her calf. Knife ready.
Then --
Somewhere, faintly --
RING.
CUT TO BLACK.