Don't Scream 2 Read online

  I peered through the window.

  Through a gap in the curtains, I could see them. Chris clearing the plates. His eyes twinkling as he stared at her. She sat at the table, her back turned to me. I could just make out her hair, the vague curve of her face.

  I slammed my hand into the glass. "Chris!" I shouted. "It's me!"

  But he was already halfway to the kitchen with a pile of dirty plates.

  Only she heard me.

  She whipped around. Dark eyes locking on mine.

  My heart stopped. She looked exactly like me – yet so, so different. She sat up straighter than I did, and her movements were too smooth, too graceful. The expression she wore – a small, mischievous smile that didn't reach her eyes – was one I'd never wear.

  How could Chris not see the difference?

  Keeping her eyes on mine, she reached down and pulled something out of her purse. The black metal glinted in the light, and I panicked.

  A revolver.

  She's going to shoot me.

  But then she turned – and pointed the revolver directly at Chris. He was hunched over the sink, his back to us, utterly oblivious.

  "No. Please, no," I whispered, my voice shaking with tears.

  She lowered the gun.

  Then go, she mouthed.

  I backed away from the house. Footsteps thumped, and I heard his voice again. I was too far away to make out the words, but I could hear his light, lilting tone. My heart ached. More footsteps sounded, and then I saw a light turn on upstairs.

  Our bedroom.

  My insides twisted. Nausea bubbled up in my throat.

  But I dutifully opened my car door, got inside, and drove away.

  Now, I'm at a hotel. I've been here for the past few hours, pacing and panicking, not sure what to do. I can't go back to the house. She'll shoot him. I can call the police, but she has my wallet. My phone. She can prove that she is Jenna Baker, through and through.

  And then she might kill Chris anyway.

  Because I know she wasn't just making empty threats.

  According to Facebook, Joseph passed away last night. His profile is overrun with condolences and memories. Friends and family alike, celebrating his life, mourning the loss of a beautiful soul.

  The top post is from Anna herself.

  I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you, Joseph. I wish I could have reassured you. Shown you how much you are loved. Been by your side, through and through.

  I wish you didn't take your own life.

  THE FENCING MASK

  I pulled up my sword. It shimmered in the lights, silver and sleek.

  "En garde!"

  Adam had bested me in two out of our three matches. I was eager to get one more win in before we closed up for the night. I lunged forward with my épée, hitting Adam squarely in the chest.

  "Nice one," Adam said, as we ended the round. "That even hurt a bit."

  I grabbed my water bottle. "I've been practicing."

  "Oh yeah? With whom?"

  "Strangers. I just walk up behind them and start stabbing them." I thrust my sword into the open air. "I'm very good at stabbing."

  He stared at me, mortified.

  Then we broke into laughter. "How about another round?" he asked, pulling the mask back over his face. "Tiebreaker. Come on."

  "Alright, alright." I put down my water and pulled the mask back down.

  That's when I saw it.

  A flash of movement. Dark and blurry, just out the corner of my eye. The dark mesh of the mask obscured it, so I couldn't tell what it was—or if I'd even seen it at all.

  "Geoff? Are you okay?"

  I yanked the mask off, glanced around. The club was empty. The linoleum floors glistened under the fluorescent lights, and the room was quiet. "Yeah… I'm fine."

  He narrowed his eyes at me, skeptically. Before he could say anything, I pulled the mask back down and shouted: "en garde!"

  The épées clashed together with a metallic ting. We danced across the linoleum as we advanced and retreated, lunged and blocked. I thrust the sword at Adam—

  And stopped.

  There it was, again. A flutter of movement. I signaled at Adam to stop, then took off my mask. “Is someone else here?”

  “Nope. The club is technically closed, remember? Eugene just gives me a spare key.”

  My gaze fell on the supply room. The door hung open. Had it been open before? “I’m just going to check the supply room. Okay?”

  “You think someone’s hiding out in there?” Adam smiled at me and shook his head. “You watch too many horror movies, my man.”

  I rolled my eyes at him and made my way across the floor. Heart pounding, I poked my head inside.

  It appeared empty. Well, empty of people, at least. Inside, the shelves overflowed with fencing equipment. Masks, plasterons, jackets, swords. A few plastic containers were lined up on the floor, filled to the brim with equipment. At the far wall, Eugene had three mannequins, to show off his best equipment: pristine jackets, pants, masks. One, I noticed, was even complete with a pair of shoes.

  “Okay. You’re right. I’m going crazy,” I said, with an uneasy laugh, as I rejoined Adam. “There’s nothing there.”

  “No worries.” He reached up to his mask and grinned. “Ready to be utterly demolished?!”

  “Actually, I’m going to get some water first.” My mouth was dry, and my heart was still racing.

  “Sure thing.”

  I grabbed my empty bottle and walked over to the bathroom to refill it.

  Drip, drip, drip. Drops of water fell from the sink on the right, hitting the ceramic. I turned it on and filled the water bottle. As I sipped from it, I stared at my reflection. Adam’s right. I’m getting too paranoid. It was only last week that I’d been convinced there was someone screaming in the woods behind my house. Then my neighbor told me it was just the foxes, and I felt like an idiot.

  Maybe I should cut back on the horror movies. I’m thinking every little noise, every little motion is a serial killer waiting to jump out at me.

  I capped the water bottle and headed back into the main room.

  Adam was already waiting for me, mask on. I put down my bottle, pulled the mask back over my face, and said: “En guarde!”

  The club once again filled with the clangs of metal. In seconds, I realized my hope of winning the tiebreaker was horribly misguided. He was “utterly demolishing” me, and it was embarrassing.

  I brought my sword up to block him. But then he stepped to the side, slashed through the air, and hit me squarely in the shoulder.

  Pain shot through me. I reeled back.

  It hurt—more than the usual bit of pressure and pain that accompanies a hit. “Hey, can we stop for a minute?” I said through the mask, holding up a hand. He didn’t reply.

  I glanced down at his sword.

  Holy shit.

  It wasn’t Adam’s usual épée. The safety knob was gone… and the end was razor sharp. Holy shit. I backed up. “Adam! Stop! Your épée!”

  He must’ve not heard me.

  Because he advanced.

  Swiftly, nimbly, thrusting the sword at me with insane speed. He aimed for my chest—I blocked it at the last second—then I backed up.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” I shouted, stepping further back. “I said stop! There’s something wrong with your épée—”

  My back hit the wall.

  I was cornered.

  He stabbed at my chest. I tried to block it—but I wasn’t quite successful. The sword grazed my unprotected arm, slicing right through the skin with searing pain. Red blood filled the cut, and I winced.

  But he didn’t stop. He raised the sword, aiming for me again, and I realized—

  That’s not Adam.

  The blank, expressionless mask stared down at me.

  I ducked and rolled to the side. The épée hit the wall with a sharp scraping sound. I ran across the floor, dread growing in my chest, pressing on my lungs. Where the hell
is Adam?

  I heard a low groan from my left.

  The supply room.

  I ducked inside and closed the door. There, on the floor, lay Adam. Blood staining his white uniform. I quickly dragged one of the heavy equipment containers in front of the door.

  “Adam! Adam, what—”

  “He came up behind me,” he groaned. “I’m okay—I think. He only got my leg… he heard you, and pushed me in the closet.”

  “We need to get out of here.” I glanced around the room. The two mannequins at the back, the heaps of equipment, the swords… then my eyes fell on the right wall. The window.

  Thump!

  A loud sound came through the door. It shook. The equipment container shifted a half-inch across the floor.

  “Go!” I wrenched the window open and punched out the screen. Then I helped Adam through. Thump! The door shook again, and I pushed myself out—

  Snap!

  The door burst open.

  The fencer stepped in. Watching me from behind that dark mask. He bounded forward, sword out. Seconds before he got to me, I pulled through the window. I grabbed Adam by the shoulders, helped him up, and stumbled across the parking lot.

  He didn’t follow.

  We dove inside the car. I started the car and backed up. As we peeled out of the parking space, I stared at the club.

  The figure stood in the window, watching us.

  THE PUMPKIN

  There's a tapping sound coming from our pumpkin.

  I only hear it when the kitchen is totally silent. When the dishwasher isn't running, the fan is off, and my son isn't screaming.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  We got the pumpkin yesterday, from one of those "Pick Your Own" patches. James chose it. We first heard it right after we'd pulled into our driveway and turned the engine off.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  "Is that the car?" I asked my husband.

  He shrugged.

  "It's the pumpkin!"

  We turned around to see James with his ear pressed against the pumpkin, a huge grin on his face. "It's a magic one!"

  Tyler and I gave each other a look. Probably bugs, he mouthed at me. Then, in a sickly-sweet voice, called back to James: "That's great! A magic pumpkin! Wow!"

  After James went to sleep, we devised a plan to get rid of the pumpkin. "The thing's probably all rotten on the inside, with maggots and stuff. I'll get rid of it."

  "James will freak when he notices it's missing."

  "You underestimate me, dear Maggie," he said, a sly smile creeping onto his face. He opened the pantry and pulled out a nearly identical pumpkin. "I got this earlier today. He'll probably cry over the fact that it isn't making noise anymore, but it's better than the alternative."

  Tap-tap-tap—the soft, hollow sound echoed through the kitchen.

  I walked over to the pumpkin and took a closer look. That's when I noticed a thin crack in one of the grooves. "It's cracked," I said.

  "Probably because it's rotting."

  “Great.”

  The crack ran down the entire length of the pumpkin, across the bottom, and up the other side. As if the pumpkin had been split open completely at one point. But when I tugged gently at the halves, it didn't open.

  "Okay. Let's get rid of this thing.” Tyler took the pumpkin and disappeared outside.

  But, the next morning, I woke up to two pumpkins sitting on the floor. James sat in front of them, grinning, holding his ear up to each. "This one is magic," he said. "That one isn't."

  "Tyler!" I shouted.

  He poked his head out of the family room. "Yeah?"

  I stormed in and lowered my voice. "I thought you got rid of the P-U-M-P-K-I-N."

  "I did. I thought you brought it back."

  "Me? I've been sleeping this whole time!"

  He stared at me, brown eyes suddenly fearful. "Well, I didn't bring it back."

  "Do you think James found it?"

  "Maybe. I did leave it only a few feet from the door."

  “You didn’t throw it in the woods?”

  “It’s heavy!” he protested.

  I turned back to James. He was crouched over the pumpkins, tapping his finger against the orange flesh. Trying to imitate the sound he heard inside.

  I charged over and grabbed the pumpkin.

  "Hey!"

  "I'm sorry, James, but this pumpkin is all rotten and yucky on the inside. We have to throw it away, okay?"

  "I want the magic pumpkin!" he screamed, starting to cry.

  "No, James—"

  "Give it back!" he shrieked, tugging at my pants.

  I glanced at Tyler. He shrugged.

  "Okay. Fine." I plopped the pumpkin down and charged out of the room. "We'll get rid of it tonight," I whispered.

  After James went to sleep, we had the same exact discussion. "I got this third pumpkin at the store," I said, rolling it out onto the countertop. "Let's get rid of the magic one, now."

  "Which one is it, again?"

  "...I forget."

  We fell silent and listened.

  Tap-tap-tap. The soft sound came through the one on the left. I leaned in and listened. Tap-tap-tap. A scraping sound, too. As if something were getting caught on the spongey insides.

  "It’s this one.”

  I picked it up. Tap-tap-tap. I could feel the vibrations from the tapping against my hand, and I shuddered.

  We walked out into the backyard, opened the gate, and continued towards the edge of the woods. I raised my arms to chuck it as hard as I could—but Tyler stopped me. "Wait."

  "What?"

  "Do you want to see what's inside?"

  I frowned at him. "Not really."

  "Oh, come on. Aren't you morbidly curious? Like is it maggots, or an earwig, or—"

  "Ew! Geez, Tyler!"

  "Come on. Let's crack it open and find out."

  I scowled at him in the moonlight. He grinned, walked back up to our garage, and came back with an axe.

  "Okay. You ready?" he asked, lifting the axe up.

  "No."

  He paused—then swung it down as hard as he could. Crack—the flesh started to split. The tapping sound grew louder. Frenzied. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

  He swung it down again.

  CRACK!

  The pumpkin split open.

  My heart stopped. Every muscle in my body froze.

  There, lying in the moonlight—among the orange shards of pumpkin—was a severed human hand.

  I CHOSE MY CHILD

  We chose the gender of our third child.

  We already had two boys, and the last thing I wanted was another shouting, biting, Lightning-McQueen-obsessed toddler. I could already imagine curling up with her on the couch with a good book, while the boys flung dirt at each other.

  Our sweet little girl.

  Then, we found a company called "BabyLabs." They claimed gender selection with 95% accuracy—much higher than the other companies we'd looked at. And cheaper.

  "Please fill this form out," the secretary said when we arrived, handing us a clipboard. I grabbed a pen and began to fill out our name and address. Then I turned the page.

  Please answer the following questions about your ideal child.

  Gender: M F

  I circled F, then moved onto the next item.

  Eye Color: blue green hazel brown other:____

  "What? You can choose eye color?" I muttered to Ethan.

  He leaned over and glanced at the page. "I guess so. The marvels of modern science, huh?"

  "Yeah," I said, half-heartedly. Something about choosing the eye color didn't sit right with me. But I moved on to the next question, pen tapping against the page.

  And my heart began to pound.

  Widow's Peak: yes no

  Earlobes: attached free

  Height: short average tall

  “Is that even possible? Genetically determine… all of those things?”

  “I guess so. They know what genes control those traits, right? Like on 23andme
and all those ancestry sites. They must just use that information to create an embryo with those traits.”

  “Or make a thousand embryos, and destroy the nine-hundred ninety-nine that don’t have them.”

  “I… guess.”

  Dread settled in my stomach. But I continued to read.

  Creativity: ___ (select number from 0 to 100)

  Intelligence Quotient (IQ): <85 85-100 100-115 115-130 >130 or, please specify:________

  Myers-Briggs Personality (circle one for each category): E I, S N, T F, J P

  What? This was more than just gender selection. This was... ordering a child. And it was absolutely insane. I threw the clipboard on the table and stood up. "This is crazy. Let's get out of here and—"

  I stopped.

  The secretary was staring at me. A warning glare—as if she were daring me to finish that sentence. Ethan grabbed my arm and gently pulled me back down.

  "Samantha, we don't have to do any of those other things. We'll just select the gender and that's it."

  "Then we should do it somewhere else."

  "Come on. This place has 95% accuracy. And it's cheap." Ethan took my hands in his. "Do you really want to give up on our dream of having a little girl?"

  "Maybe I do. Maybe this whole thing is insane."

  But he eventually persuaded me. Not that day. Not even that week. But within the month, we were back at BabyLab, telling the secretary we wanted a little girl.

  No other selections.

  Just gender.

  ***

  A year later, our baby Charlotte was born.

  From day one she was a wonderful baby. She slept well, ate well, and didn't even cry that often. I could tell she was going to be a piece of cake to raise compared to the boys.

  A year went by. Then two, then three, then four. She was growing up to be a wonderful little girl. I spent so many evenings reading to her on the porch, as the boys smeared God-knows-what on each other's faces. She was the only one in the family to inherit my mom's blue eyes, and it seemed she inherited her grace, poise, and manners as well.