FADE IN:
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
BLACKNESS.
Slow, ragged breathing. Uneven. Something in the dark.
RILEY CARTER (17) bolts upright in bed -- gasping.
Her breath clouds the air.
She turns --
Curtains flutter 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 erratic shadow twitches across the wall.
Riley glances at her nightstand.
A stack of Polaroids. Face down.
The floorboards CREAK.
She flips the top one --
A photo of Riley. Asleep. Tonight.
Her pulse roars in her ears.
Flips the next --
A closer photo of her asleep. Lips parted. Dreaming.
Her breath fractures.
The Polaroids slip -- scattering across the floor like dead
leaves.
The room stills.
Then --
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
Clamp around her neck --
Yank her off the bed, pulling at her hair --
She hits the floor hard, tangled in sheets.
From the darkness, ETHAN (19) unfolds --
Gaunt. Ferocious. Hungry. Clutching a piece of Riley’s ripped
hair in his hand tightly.
He lunges at Riley --
BOOM!
The door SLAMS open --
SANDY CARTER (50s) bursts in -- shotgun raised, shaking.
Her eyes -- wide with horror and fury.
She chambers a round.
Red-and-blue strobes flash through the curtains -- SIRENS
wail close.
Ethan snarls. Cornered.
He backs toward the window -- locks 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","Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
2 -
Whispers in the Shadows
INT. CAMPUS LIBRARY - NIGHT
INT. CAMPUS LIBRARY – NIGHT
Wind howls against tall, arched windows. Stacks loom like
silent towers.
At the far end of a long oak table sits RILEY (20) -- bundled
in a thick coat. Rigid posture. Tense shoulders.
SUPER: THREE YEARS LATER
A massive textbook lies open before her --
“Dark Mirrors: The Psychology of Belief, Fear, and the
Occult.”
Pages fan in the draft, but Riley’s fingers clamp the edges,
trembling subtly -- as if something might slither free from
the paper.
She flips to a new spread -- freezes.
A full-page ILLUSTRATION stares back:
A towering, demonic figure with three heads -- one human
breathing fire, one ram, one bull -- each snarling in a
different direction.
The name above the illustration --
ASMODEUS
Beside it, a sigil -- jagged, tangled lines like thorns
twisting around an eye-shaped core.
Beneath the sigil, handwritten in an old-style serif font --
“HAIR BINDS. BLOOD RELEASES.”
Riley’s breath catches. Her posture tightens.
A soft CREAK echoes between the stacks.
Riley jerks upright -- eyes scanning the aisles.
No one. Just books.
She swallows, pulls her coat tighter.
A nervous hand drifts down and pats her calf beneath her
jeans -- reassuring herself something is still there. Hidden.
Safe.
Her phone buzzes softly against the wooden tabletop.
She checks the screen.
VOICEMAIL: 1 NEW MESSAGE.
Her thumb hovers, suspended in dread.
Finally -- she taps PLAY.
ROBOTIC VOICE (V.O.)
This is an automated call from the
Victim Information and Notification
Everyday service. Offender Ethan
Rowe has been released from state
custody, effective today, 3:11 p.m.
Riley’s jaw clenches. Her pulse thuds in her neck.
ROBOTIC VOICE (V.O.)
If you have questions about this
notification, please contact your
local victim services --
She hits END.
Silence swallows the table. Thick. Suffocating.
The name hangs in her mind like a curse:
ETHAN ROWE.
She inhales sharply -- Four counts. Holds for four more.
Exhales -- out six. Controlled. Practiced.
But her eyes drift back to the illustration.
To the sigil.
To the text beneath it.
“HAIR BINDS. BLOOD RELEASES.”
Another CREAK -- closer.
Riley flinches -- turns her head toward the end of the aisle.
Nothing.
The shadows feel deeper now.
EXT. CAMPUS LIBRARY - NIGHT
Snow swirls around Riley as she exits past the frosted glass.
A SHADOW paces her inside -- perfectly in step.
EXT. CAMPUS - PATH - NIGHT
The campus is deserted. Lamps BUZZ overhead, flickering.
Riley walks fast, boots sinking into fresh snow. Her breath
fogs the air.
A gust kicks up --
Skeletal trees bend toward her.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
3 -
The Ominous Arrival
EXT. SORORITY HOUSE - NIGHT
The blizzard SHRIEKS, clawing the sky.
Through the white squall, an old Tudor-style sorority house
emerges --
Sagging under snow, steep gables stab upward.
Riley trudges up the front steps. Each step sinks deep.
Mullioned windows glare out like rows of black, glassy eyes.
Watching.
INT. FOYER – NIGHT
The front door SLAMS behind Riley. She spins and locks the
deadbolt, the chain -- checks them again.
She stomps snow from her boots -- brushes frost from her
coat, fingers trembling from cold.
The foyer yawns around her, once grand, now sagging under
decades of neglect.
Peeling wallpaper droops like shedding skin.
A sweeping grand staircase dominates the room, curving upward
like the exposed ribs of some enormous carcass.
A cold draft slithers across the floor and coils around her
ankles.
She shivers -- pulls her coat tighter. Takes one step
forward.
From deep below, a single, sharp --
RING.
Riley freezes mid-step.
Her jaw tightens -- eyes darting toward the basement door,
barely visible in the shadowed hall.
Then --
Another RING -- hollow, distant. Something more primitive.
Echoing up from the dark like something calling her name
without words.
Riley forces herself to look at the basement door.
Its frame is crooked, as if something once tried to push its
way out.
Her breath quickens.
A drip of melting snow rolls down her wrist.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
4 -
Blizzard Whispers
INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Holiday lights sag in lazy zigzags across the walls—half
burnt out, half hanging on by a thread.
The place carries end-of-semester exhaustion: blankets half-
folded, crumbs, empty wine bottles.
CHELSEA (20) lounges on a beanbag—perfect hair, perfect
nails, under-eye anti-aging strips glowing faint blue. She
scrolls with mechanical precision, her face set in a
practiced half-smile she doesn’t feel.
BROOKE (21) perches on the arm of the couch like a dethroned
queen, wine glass in one hand, a half-empty bag of chips in
the other.
LILLY (20) curls like a cat in an oversized chair, swallowed
by a blanket and a copy of “Wuthering Heights” -- battered
cover soft from rereads.
Chelsea sighs dramatically.
CHELSEA
Do you ever think about how we
just... fade after college? Like,
we build up this image -- this
whole persona -- and then poof.
Job. Taxes. Slowly becoming...
irrelevant.
BROOK
Wait, so your biggest fear is being
boring?
CHELSEA
Forgotten.
(beat)
My mom’s twenty-five pictures all
look like she’s the babysitter. Not
the mom. She isn’t even the main
character of her own life.
Lilly looks up from her book—eyes softening.
BROOKE
Chels, that’s not gonna be you.
You’re like... aggressively
visible.
Chelsea manages a weak smile.
Riley enters -- cheeks pink from the cold, eyes a little
haunted.
BROOKE (CONT’D)
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, a flash of what they
used to be.
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 always have to be… seen?
Chelsea bristles, insecurity pricking through her confidence.
CHELSEA
What’s wrong with being seen?
Lilly lowers her book -- eyes sharp.
LILLY
It’s shallow.
Chelsea’s smile cracks, almost imperceptibly.
CHELSEA
People only call you shallow when
they’re the ones drowning.
Lilly’s chin lifts -- hurt hiding beneath stoicism.
BROOKE
(raising her wine)
Ladies, ladies -- please. I cannot
afford to mediate another emotional
breakdown tonight.
The tension simmers.
Riley leans forward, voice softer.
RILEY
What I meant is... sometimes being
seen can be dangerous.
Chelsea snorts.
CHELSEA
Please. I’ve got pepper spray, a
rape whistle, and two thousand
followers. I’m basically 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.
LILLY
This house is like... a hundred
years old. We’re not the first
girls to live over other girls’
secrets.
BROOKE
Every sorority house thinks it’s
haunted. It’s tradition.
The house GROANS -- long, aching, alive.
Everyone stills.
Lilly leans in, almost whispering.
LILLY
Do you know about the sisters who
went missing here in nineteen
seventy-five?
Chelsea throws her head back.
CHELSEA
Oh God. Story time with Sadgirl.
LILLY
Blizzard like this one. Three
sisters. Gone.
Just... vanished.
Wind slams against the house as if answering.
BROOKE
They never found them?
LILLY
Not a trace.
CHELSEA
Probably ran off with some drummer
in a Camaro.
Then --
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.
Silence.
Heavy.
Listening.
RILEY
You’re messing with us.
LILLY
I’m not.
(beat)
One of the names was... Jane
Dawkins.
The name seems to vibrate through the walls.
The whole house exhales -- a long, low creak.
Lilly pulls the blanket closer, retreating.
Then --
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, too loud.
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.
CHELSEA
You’d miss me if I died
dramatically.
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 and tired.
A beat.
Then --
Lilly’s gaze shifts to Riley, almost conspiratorial.
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 are boxes in the basement...
old stuff.
A chilly silence sweeps through the room.
Chelsea wrinkles her nose.
CHELSEA
The basement? Hard pass. It smells
like wet depression down there.
Brooke raises an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself.
BROOKE
Come on, Chels. Could be fun.
Like urban exploration… but indoors.
RILEY
(deadpan)
Yeah. Nothing says “fun” like
tetanus.
But she’s staring at the basement door again—drawn to it
despite herself.
The wind rattles the house, as if urging them.
Lilly stands, letting the blanket fall.
LILLY
There’s a board game down there.
Old. Wooden box. Weird symbols.
My mom said it belonged to the
house back in the seventies.
Chelsea makes a face.
CHELSEA
Weird symbols? Harder pass.
BROOKE
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.
RILEY
Are we seriously doing this?
Lilly’s eyes glint -- something curious, almost knowing.
LILLY
Just a game.
(beat)
It’s been waiting down there for
decades.
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","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
5 -
The Mysterious Box
INT. BASEMENT STAIRWELL – NIGHT
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. It’s colder than it should be—like
metal left outside in winter.
RILEY
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
Stopppp. 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 felt 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.
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.
RILEY
Those look familiar.
LILLY
They were carved into the old
doorframes upstairs.
Chelsea rubs her arms.
CHELSEA
Okay, seriously, who decorates with
occult IKEA?
Brooke tugs the latch --
CREEEEAK.
The trunk opens with a breath of cold air.
Inside --
A black lacquered box the size of a board game.
The 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.
BROOKE
Relax. Wood warps... pressure
changes.
Chelsea peers over Riley’s shoulder despite herself.
CHELSEA
What kind of game is this?
Lilly’s eyes darken with recognition.
LILLY
It’s like an offering.
Riley stiffens.
RILEY
Why would a house need an offering?
The house GROANS -- loud, deep, almost a reply.
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
(whisper)
Maybe we shouldn’t.
Brooke grins, already heading toward the stairs.
BROOKE
Too late.
Game night starts now.
The light flickers.
The house creaks.
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
The Dream Boy Game: A Night of Terror
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 IS STARTED, IT MUST BE FINISHED.
CHOOSE YOUR DREAM BOY AND WAIT FOR HIS CALL.
ANSWER BEFORE THE FOURTH RING.
DO NOT HANG UP BEFORE HE DOES.
WIN BY SPEAKING THE TRUTH AND NOT BREAKING A RULE
The ink pulses like it’s alive.
RILEY
(reading)
You start. You finish. Pick your
boy. Answer the call. Don't hang
up. Speak the truth and don’t break
a rule.
BROOKE
Like a toxic ex. With rules.
CHELSEA
(mocking)
Oooh, spooky.
LILLY
No more than three rings. Never
hang up. He calls twice -- you win.
Got it.
CHELSEA
Okay. I’m bored. First pick -- me.
Then Brookie, Lilly, and last but
not least, Riley.
Chelsea flips her card.
A boy with a smirk and a leather jacket: GARY.
CHELSEA (CONT’D)
Okay, Gary. Daddy energy.
BROOKE
He looks like he owns a switchblade
and a mixtape of red flags.
Chelsea plants her card.
Lilly flips hers. Blonde curls. Smug grin: ZANE.
LILLY
Of course his name is Zane.
Brooke flips her pick --
BROOKE
Dean. Tell my therapist I tried.
Riley hesitates. Turns hers --
Clean-cut. Kind smile. Soft eyes: EDDIE.
RILEY
He looks... safe.
CHELSEA
And boring. Go figure.
Riley tries to smile -- her card flickers. Warps.
For a split second --
EDDIE’S FACE BECOMES ETHAN'S -- dead, hollow eyes.
Riley jerks back.
LILLY
Riley?
Riley blinks. Eddie stares back again -- smiling.
RILEY
I’m fine.
BROOKE
So what now -- just wait for these
dream boys to call?
LILLY
Maybe they'll text first.
RING.
The pink phone SHRIEKS. The room stops.
Chelsea stares.
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.
Silence.
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 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, breath 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, as if 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.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
Whispers in the Dark
INT. STAIRCASE – NIGHT
Chelsea climbs, each step groaning under her weight.
Her lantern flickers.
Halfway up --
She stops.
Listening.
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.
She 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
8 -
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. Rule One: “Once the game is
started, it must be finished.”
She gestures vaguely at the glowing phone.
BROOKE (CONT’D)
So... do we keep playing? Is that
what this wants? Is this like
Jumanji rules? Or witchcraft rules?
Or --
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. The rules aren’t
real.
LILLY
You don’t know that. 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 room chills. Their breath fogs.
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
Reflections of Terror
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
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.
It's a normal reflection.
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.
She turns on the faucet --
Water splutters -- then flows. Dark red. Thick.
Chelsea recoils.
CHELSEA
No... no, no --
The mirror fogs over.
A phrase scrawls itself into the condensation, written by an
unseen finger --
“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 forty 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 -- wraps 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!
The mirror sucks her in --
INSIDE THE MIRROR
Chelsea thrashes in a black void surrounded by floating
faces.
Mouths flicker fast. Wrong. Eyes glow faint yellow.
BACK TO BATHROOM
Chelsea PLOPS back out of the mirror, looks at her reflection
--
Inhuman now. Sagging. Skeletal.
The reflection grins back.
Both arms wrap around Chelsea -- YANKING her into the mirror.
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","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
10 -
The Dark Bargain
INT. ATTIC – NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
GASLIGHT flickers.
Velvet wallpaper breathes against the slanted ceiling. 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 unwraps it like a relic. Places it beside the phone.
SUE
! ! Tonight... we call our boys home.
Hands clasp. The air tightens.
EDITH (20s) lifts the receiver. It HUMS — wet, hungry.
The planchette trembles —
H-E-L-L-O
Edith sobs.
EDITH
Joseph... it’s really him—
The hum sinks into a guttural snarl.
The planchette jerks --
N-O-T! J-O-S-E-P-H
SLAM.
The trapdoor seals.
Gaslights FLARE.
Shadows crawl from the walls.
EDITH
! ! Sue -- it’s not him!
SUE
! ! Hold the line. Do. Not. Break.
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 like a shawl.
She lifts the receiver. Listens.
SUE
! ! Then we have a bargain.
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.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
11 -
The Distorted Hallway
INT. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY – MOMENTS LATER – NIGHT
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.
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 --
With it -- a chill that smells of rotting roses.
Genres:
["Horror","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
12 -
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.
Deeply carved.
Twisted lines looping around a central eye shape.
THE SAME SIGIL FROM RILEY’S TEXTBOOK.
Brooke’s breath catches.
BROOKE (CONT’D)
No... no. Nope. 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. Burn, you creepy --
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 she's hiding
something.
Riley steels herself -- unsheathes her 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.
INT. SUE'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Riley pushes the door open -- a flashlight beam cuts through
the gloom.
Lilly shuffles in behind her.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
The Punchline
INT. LIVING ROOM - SAME
Brooke takes a hesitant step forward --
CLICK.
The TV behind her turns on by itself.
Static.
Brooke stiffens. Turns slowly.
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, wrong.
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, pounding in her skull.
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. Violent. Jagged.
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 face spasms.
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.
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.
The shadows in the crowd lean forward -- their mouths stretch
wider than humanly possible.
Their laughter changes pitch -- morphs into SCREAMS disguised
as guffaws.
Brooke’s body lurches with each laugh.
Her jaw twitches like a puppet on strings.
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.
Then --
Dean’s face PEELS THROUGH... static clinging to him.
His arms reach through --
Then the rest of him.
He stands up. Tall. Radiant. Monstrous.
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 --
High-pitched. Low-pitched. Distorted.
Laughter drips from the ceiling -- seeps up from the
floorboards.
Brooke convulses.
Her jaw cracks wider -- spraying more blood.
Her tongue lolls -- twitches.
Dean leans close, breath steaming.
DEAN (CONT’D)
The punchline.
The living room BLINKS --
Suddenly, Brooke is ON STAGE.
Spotlight blisters her skin.
The faceless audience leans forward in silence.
Their mouths gape, expectant. Hundreds of them.
Brooke stares into the void of faces, sobbing.
BROOKE
Please. I’m not funny. I’m just
afraid of being alone --
The audience ERUPTS into laughter.
Her jaw cracks wider.
UNHINGES.
Blood sprays across the mic.
Her laugh is now a howl.
The microphone sprouts wires -- coils around her arms like
snakes -- yanks her upright.
The stand fuses into her skin, anchoring her in place.
Her 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
Ladies and gentlemen. Give her a
hand!
The faceless audience rises, clapping.
A strange, wet sizzle cuts through the laughter.
Dean turns toward the audience, but his face is… melting.
First, his cheek drips like hot wax.
Then his jawline sloughs off in a long, glistening strip.
His teeth chatter loose, clattering to the stage like spilled
dice.
Beneath the collapsing mask—
A monstrous skull pushes forward, splitting the handsome
features open like a shell.
The skin puddles at his feet.
What remains rises --
TALLER.
BROADER.
BURNING.
A DEMON with obsidian skin, ribbed horns curling like charred
roots from its forehead, eyes glowing sulfur-yellow.
The faceless audience shrieks with glee.
The demon throws its head back and laughs -- a booming,
gnarled sound that rattles the stage, warping the walls of
the living room back into place.
Brooke’s body goes limp, dangling from the mic -- her jaw
grotesquely split into a rictus grin.
The shadows howl in a standing ovation.
BACK TO LIVING ROOM
The TV flickers with static.
The pink phone hums louder, pulsing with hunger.
On the rug --
Brooke lies slumped, lifeless.
Lips torn.
Frozen in a monstrous grin.
CANNED LAUGHTER plays faintly from the now-dead TV.
The floorboards beneath Brooke flex.
They soften, warping around her form like heated wax.
CREAK. POP.
The boards split -- dark and wet underneath.
Brooke's torso tilts, slides.
Her face -- the last thing visible -- is pulled downward,
swallowed by contracting wood.
The house exhales. The room falls still.
Then --
Silence.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
Whispers from the Past
INT. SUE’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
Dust floats in beam-thin strips of lantern light.
The room is immaculate --
Lace curtains 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.
The smell of wilted roses chokes the room.
They edge in, breath hitching.
Riley crouches by the nightstand -- slides the drawer open --
Empty.
Suddenly --
THE VANITY MIRROR FOGS OVER.
Condensation at first... then -- shapes.
LILLY
Riley... look.
Riley turns.
In the mirror -- THREE GIRLS.
JANE. CHRISSY. MEGHAN. The missing 1975 sorority girls.
They stand still. In faded sorority sweaters. Makeup perfect.
Hair pinned.
But their skin -- 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, knuckles white.
LILLY (CONT’D)
What do they want?
RILEY
Maybe they’re trying to tell us
something.
Jane lifts her hand -- presses it against the other side of
the glass.
She turns her head -- staring right past Riley, toward
something unseen behind her.
Riley turns -- flashlight swipes across the room.
Something catches her eye --
THE CLOSET.
When she turns back -- the girls are gone.
Riley crosses to the closet, 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
15 -
The Closet of Shadows
INT. CLOSET - CONTINUOUS
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.
Their smiles are wide. Too wide.
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 as if fed by something underneath the skin of
the wall.
Riley staggers back, breath hitching.
LILLY
(whisper)
Riley...
Riley stumbles back.
LILLY (CONT’D)
Brooke.
A single strand of hair drifts down from the ceiling --
twisting in the air like it’s alive.
RILEY
We have to move. Now.
Canned laughter erupts from the walls.
The Polaroids SHIVER -- as if breathing.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
16 -
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.
She snatches a silver hairbrush from the vanity, hands
trembling.
Then —
A low, breathy GIGGLE seeps out from the dark.
Barely audible. Almost human.
Riley goes rigid.
Beside her, Lilly’s breath stutters — shoulders tightening.
The giggle spreads, multiplying —
laughter blooming through the walls like mold, damp and
hungry.
A soft, wet sound begins to layer beneath it — sticky,
squelching, wrong.
Something shifting where nothing should move.
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
17 -
The Pursuit in the Shadows
INT. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS
They spill into the hallway -- lantern light jittering wildly
across peeling wallpaper.
Behind them, the laughter CUTS OFF mid-breath.
The silence that follows is worse.
A long wooden GROAN rolls through the house --
The sound of old bones adjusting.
Or something inside the walls shifting to follow them.
Lilly grips Riley’s sleeve.
LILLY
(whispers)
It’s moving with us.
Riley lifts the lantern — its flame sputters, dimming as
though strangled by the air.
Far down the corridor, a soft tap-tap-tap begins.
Slow. Measured. Coming closer.
Riley swallows, backing away, keeping her eyes locked on the
dark.
RILEY
Just keep moving.
Another tap.
Closer now -- almost at the corner.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
Unsettling Encounter in the Kitchen
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, 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 & 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. 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 seems to stretch 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,
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
wanted. Claimed.
Riley, throat dry, nods. Not sure what else to do.
Another CREAK -- sudden, 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.
Riley nods, escapes the room.
Sue lingers in the kitchen alone.
She lifts her wrist. In her hand --
Three long strands of dark hair. Twisted around her fingers
like spider silk.
END FLASHBACK
Genres:
["Horror","Mystery","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
The Haunting Call
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT (BACK TO PRESENT)
Riley and Lilly race into an empty living room.
LILLY
Brooke? Chelsea? Guys?!
RILEY
(to herself)
Hair binds.
Lilly looks at Riley -- confused.
RILEY (CONT’D)
This game chose us. I think our
dream boys are just -- just
delivering us to this house. We
can't win. Only survive.
Riley shows Lilly the sigil on the underside of the box.
LILLY
A demon? Come on. You expect me to
believe that?
Riley puts the game box back on the coffee table -- picks up
the pink phone.
She unscrews the receiver slowly, carefully, deliberately.
LILLY (CONT’D)
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, as if 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
Name it. Claim it. It’s not real.
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.
Then --
Shadows writhe across the wall.
RILEY
I think it's safe in the basement.
Riley’s eyes burn steady, calm.
The pink phone pulses. Patient. Still hungry.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
20 -
Descent into Darkness
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 --
A voice whispers faintly, impossible but real --
SUE (V.O.)
Finish the game.
The shadow of Asmodeus FLASHES.
BACK TO BASEMENT
The projector SNAPS --
The bulb bursts.
The only light -- the watery glow from the lantern.
The girls 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 -- a ritual born from
desperation.
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)
I'm not so sure it was all bullshit
now.
She tightens the braid. Her fingers work faster.
Lilly hugs her knees to her chest.
LILLY
I just don’t see how 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.
A silence drops over them. Heavy. Intimate.
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.
Then --
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","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
The Birthday of Despair
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.
They mime gift-giving, boxes wrapped in pale skin.
Ribbons twitch.
The lids flap open --
Inside --
Strips of her own skin, folded like ribbons -- each one
faintly breathing.
Lilly gasps in terror.
The crowd CLAPS.
The sound tears at her flesh.
A strip peels from her arm.
Then her cheek.
Her throat.
No blood.
No pain.
Only 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. Now you’ll never fade
again.
He kisses her lips.
When he pulls back --
Her lips stay on his, tearing loose like wet petals.
He spits them aside, smiles wide.
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.
Her hair falls like static.
Her eyes disintegrate into white confetti.
Her jaw splits down the center --
Paper tearing wet.
Her torso folds inward --
Origami made of flesh and memory.
LILLY
(whisper, paper-thin)
Riley... help...
Her final shred tears from her chest.
It drifts upward --
The crowd ERUPTS in applause.
Lilly screams, but the sound is swallowed instantly as the
party guests collapse onto her — their bodies turning into
confetti that engulfs her like a tidal wave.
Her shape disappears beneath the swirling paper storm.
The confetti settles.
The crowd vanishes.
Zane bows, smiling -- but the smile does not belong to a
human.
Two vertical slits open across his cheeks, pulling back like
curtains to reveal rows of needle-thin teeth.
Zane stands alone --
A towering demon with horns curled like twisted candles,
breathing slow, satisfied breaths.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
Illusions of the Past
INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT
Riley creeps forward.
Shadows swing wildly across walls -- pulsing like a vein.
Each footstep throbs in the silence.
Then --
Stillness.
Riley staggers forward, soaked in sweat, clutching her knife.
Riley stands at the bottom of the stairs, knife in one hand,
lantern in the other.
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. HIGH SCHOOL GYM – CONTINUOUS
The door swings open into a cavernous, DARK GYMNASIUM.
Riley freezes. The basement is gone.
Flickering pink and blue lights spin across a polished wood
floor.
A broken disco ball hangs from a rusted chain, turning
slowly.
A "PROM NIGHT" banner droops across the wall in faded gold
letters.
The room is filled with SHADOWY FIGURES --
Silhouettes move rhythmically, slowly, like underwater
dancers.
Music plays from an unseen speaker -- warm, nostalgic.
Riley steps forward.
Her boots squeak on the gym floor.
She turns -- the basement door is gone.
Only a blank cinderblock wall.
RILEY
(whispers to herself)
Name it. Claim it. It’s not real.
A single spotlight flicks on.
In the bleachers --
SUE sits. Dressed in her 1920s ritual gown. Smiling. Watching
like a proud mother at a recital.
SUE
(soft, echoing)
You’re just in time, dear.
Riley backs away -- turns --
EDDIE stands in the middle of the dance floor.
Electric blue eyes. Soft smile. Neatly pressed suit. Perfect
hair.
He smiles warmly -- nothing behind his eyes.
EDDIE
You made it, Rye.
Riley stiffens. Her pulse thunders.
RILEY
No. No, you’re not --
EDDIE
Ethan? No.
Eddie steps forward.
EDDIE (CONT’D)
I’m better. I’m the version you
wanted. The one who listens. The
one who stays.
He reaches out a hand.
EDDIE (CONT’D)
Just... take my hand.
Riley stays frozen -- breath shaking.
The music warps. The shadows slow their dance. Heads turn
toward her.
Riley stumbles back.
RILEY
You’re not real. You’re a trick.
Eddie laughs -- soft -- familiar. The tenderness in it
curdles into cruelty.
EDDIE
You tell yourself that because
you’re still that scared little
girl in her bedroom.
Eddie leans in.
EDDIE (CONT’D)
The one no one believed.
Riley tightens her grip on the journal.
Eddie’s smile fades — he steps closer.
EDDIE (CONT’D)
You don’t trust anyone. Not even
yourself.
Eddie turns toward Sue.
Her eyes glow faintly. She nods with a slow, maternal
approval.
EDDIE (CONT’D)
You don’t have to fight anymore,
Riley.
Riley’s guard cracks. For a second, a tear forms in her eye.
Then she sees it --
The shadows around him -- pulsing. Waiting. Hungering.
They’re not dancing.
They’re circling.
She shudders violently -- steps back.
RILEY
I’m not yours. And I never will be.
The music SCREECHES -- distorts into a maddening carousel
waltz. Lights strobe.
Eddie’s face flickers like a glitching signal -- handsome,
corpse-like, smiling -- then hollow.
A basketball somewhere in the darkness bumps and rolls, slow…
slow… then stops.
She spins toward the sound — holding her breath.
Silence again.
And then --
A SCREAM.
LILLY (O.S.)
Riley! Help me!
Riley freezes. Panic cracks open inside her.
RILEY
Lilly?! Hang on! I’m coming!
The voice comes again, this time more desperate — distant but
unmistakable.
LILLY (O.S.)
Please. Riley...
Riley bolts across the gym floor, her footsteps echoing like
gunshots.
She reaches the double doors at the far end and SLAMS into
them.
The dancers reach for her -- arms too long, hands with too
many joints.
She SLAMS into a door --
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
23 -
Nightmare in the Kitchen
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Riley bursts into the room, gasping.
The living room looks... almost normal.
No gym. No Eddie. No Sue.
Just the quiet glow of a floor lamp.
A faint laugh carries from the kitchen -- light, casual.
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, sleepyhead. 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.
Twitching. Tasting. Searching.
One 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, thrashing. 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 faces. Pale, pressed flat. Mouths frozen open in
eternal screams.
Their mouths gape wider, impossibly wide -- black throats
spilling sound like static.
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
24 -
Confronting the Chaos
INT. LIVING ROOM - SECONDS LATER
Riley rushes in -- hair wild, face pale.
The room swims around her.
The walls pulse like they’re breathing. The air is thick,
humid, heavy.
RILEY
(under breath)
Name it. Claim it. Fight it.
She braces herself. Inhales -- in four. Hold. Exhales -- out
six.
The lights flutter, flickering between shadow and surgical
brightness.
Then --
BOOM.
The grandfather clock EXPLODES -- shards of brass gears and
glass teeth scatter like shrapnel.
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.
Riley steadies herself, gripping tightly to the hair doll in
one hand, a trembling lighter in the other.
The pink phone vibrates on the coffee table -- throbbing in
sync with her pulse.
A low hum -- eager.
RILEY (CONT’D)
Return to sender.
(beat)
I’m coming for you, Sue.
Riley lunges for the stairs.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
25 -
Descent into Madness
INT. FOYER - CONTINUOUS
Riley sprints up the staircase --
But the stairs STRETCH beneath her, elongating with every
step --
Old wood groans like a living throat.
The wallpaper around her wrinkles, bubbles -- faces press
outward -- mouths wide open.
Above her --
Dream Boys crawl along the banister like spiders.
Limbs bent wrong, their heads swivel in unison -- necks
crick.
DREAM BOYS (V.O.)
(overlapping, hypnotic)
Join us, Riley. Forever.
Riley shoves past reaching fingers, boots slamming into
melting wood.
Each stair behind her collapses -- sucked into a black,
bottomless void.
She keeps running.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
26 -
Nightmare Pursuit
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.
The nearest bedroom door DISSOLVES -- erasing like a bad
memory --
Then suddenly reappears on the opposite wall, farther away.
Her breath clouds the air, frosting over her lips.
Behind her --
FOOTSTEPS.
Slow. Many. Inhuman. Getting closer.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
27 -
The Banquet of Shadows
INT. UPSTAIRS LANDING - CONTINUOUS
A lone candle burns on the landing --
Its flame is black, licking up oily sparks of darkness.
From the shadows...
SUE 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
28 -
Climbing into the Unknown
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 --
Moths swarm, hundreds of them, crawling over the ceiling like
a writhing skin.
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.
The air gets heavier. Hot.
Hair coils around her boots, her legs.
Something THUMPS above her. Heavy. Hungry. Waiting.
Below her --
Rhythmic footsteps get louder.
The Dream Boys march, climb.
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—as if laughing at her fear.
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.
Silent mouths open in worship.
Riley stares into the attic’s rising light.
Her breath hitches, hair-doll clenched to her chest.
She ascends.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
29 -
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 rope
of hair and enamel.
It stands -- shudders.
Then --
A head pushes through the center mass.
EDDIE. Not flesh -- a sharpened idea.
His eyes -- dead.
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. And thy
master is eternal.
The pink phone RINGS.
BACKWARDS.
Wet. Wrong. Like metal dragged through meat.
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 own me. You don't control
me. And you don’t get to look at me
ever again.
Eddie smirks, then lunges --
Riley rakes the knife across his stolen face. Black-red blood
pours out of the wound.
The knot HOWLS -- a chain of voices screaming over each
other.
Gary, Dean, Zane flicker back into existence -- each of them
seducing, snarling -- then re-fusing.
Eddie peels forward.
SUE
You can’t close what you didn’t
open, dear --
Riley EXPLODES forward -- sprinting -- tackles Sue.
The air seams -- wrinkles -- attic walls warp inward.
Sue’s glamour breaks -- skeletal in a flash, then human
again.
Then --
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
Your pact. Feed it yourself.
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 -- then slams back
together.
Eddie stands alone -- his face blurred, dissolving 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 -- hunger and sorrow in
equal measure.
They swarm Riley. Gentle. Merciless.
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. But this
house will. It was built for the
broken. I was broken once, too. A
widow at nineteen.
(MORE)
SUE (CONT’D)
My husband was swallowed by the
war, and grief swallowed me. We
didn’t want closure. We wanted them
back. So we tried to call to the
dead -- believing our love was
enough to open the door. We opened
it.
But what answered wasn’t our boys.
It was something older. Hungrier.
And it offered me a choice -- feed
it every fifty years... Or join the
ones I mourned. That was a century
ago. The day I sold what was left
of my soul. You think I still have
a say in this? I don’t. 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.
Silence.
Then --
A RUMBLE.
Something stirs in the dark rafters.
Riley looks up -- choking -- just as --
THE SHADOW OF ASMODEUS APPEARS with three heads tiered: Man.
Bull. Ram.
Silhouetted. Towering. Watching.
The shadow incinerates the frost on the ceiling -- then
collapses inward.
ASMODEUS (V.O.)
(writhing, layered)
One more...
The shadow disappears.
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 -- a tearing vacuum.
Ethan recoils -- the power of the MOUTH engulfing him --
Before he gets sucked into the dark abyss, he looks 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.
SUE
Hold the line. Do not break the
circle!
The 1975 girls look at her.
Then away.
They’re free.
Sue’s eyes widen.
She tries to run --
Riley catches her. Drags her to the edge of the MOUTH with
all the strength she has.
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 (CONT’D)
We had an agreement, Asmodeus!
Help me!
RILEY
Return to sender, bitch.
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.
Then --
A voice. Quiet. Gentle.
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.
She surveys the wreckage --
The sigil -- slashed, its power lost.
The pink phone melted into a black slag.
Riley reaches into her pocket.
Her fingers brush the other hair doll -- the one with her and
her sisters' hair.
It twitches, faintly... like a pulse.
She takes the hair doll in her hand -- looks it in the eye
like a goodbye.
Then --
She crushes it. Hair snaps. The binding thread unravels.
The last of the magic dies in her fist.
Riley exhales -- the first breath that’s truly hers.
She wipes her face, blood and tears smearing into strength.
Then she climbs down through the hatch -- not fleeing, but
choosing her way out.
The house groans, starved -- 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.
EXT. AMBULANCE - MORNING
Riley sits on the bumper.
A PARAMEDIC leans close, shining a penlight into her eyes.
PARAMEDIC
You’re lucky. Hypothermia’s the
real monster tonight.
Riley isn’t listening.
Her gaze -- fixed on the house. At the faint glow in the
attic window.
The paramedic clicks the penlight off.
PARAMEDIC (CONT’D)
You’re gonna be fine. Just a couple
of bumps and bruises.
A COP waves Riley toward a waiting cruiser.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
30 -
Haunting Reflections
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 --
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","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
31 -
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 -- as if 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.
FADE OUT.