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“What is your deal Sam?”
The question was deliberately spoken slowly and to Samantha Carpenter, the accusation was beyond evident in the other’s tone.
The green greyish eyes of the middle aged male job counsellor glanced up from reading Sam’s job record on his hard wooden brown desk. There were many words contained within, but the description with which they gave of her were almost thoroughly negative.
The man, Steve Ragland, career consultant, asked again as he stared through his thin glasses. His voice was observant, but critical, a verbal knife steadily cutting through Sam’s tough exterior.
“You don’t seem to have been doing yourself any favours lately.”
In Sam’s world, she found that it was becoming easier for people to get underneath her skin. She knew why, feeling tense as Halloween approached, darker evenings and the increasing possible likelihood of a certain masked ghost serial killer taking an advantage of the encroaching darkness to fatally waylaid her, or somebody she deeply cared about.
“I mean, really Sam, what are your intentions career wise?” Steve asked, the criticalness of his voice was only softened by what sounded to be a natural curiosity.
“I am trying,” Sam replied with some vigorous determination as she straightened her posture in the less than comfy chair that she sat in.
“Really, I am.”
The small white walled office that she sat in felt somewhat cramped, with how Sam was positioned right before Steve’s desk.
Yet Steve didn’t lessen his judgemental tone as his inquisitive eyes glanced back down at Sam’s job profile.
“Really, you’re trying, Sam, do you like making yourself a basket case of job instability?”
“When the full context is actually taken into account, I wasn’t the source of ‘instability’!” Sam snapped back, her deep brown eyes flared up, her pupils enlarging as she felt her cheeks become flushed; feeling an irritation rise up in her stomach. An irritation that could ever so easily give way to another more intoxicating emotion.
However, Steve didn’t appear to be intimated by Sam’s shift in demeanour. His voice grew more critical and forceful as he spoke, going through Sam’s profile and listing off her most recent jobs.
“You’re a cafe assistant at Hard Rock Cafe for two months, terminated due to insubordination with the staff.”
He flickered through to the next page, recalling its contents.
“Costco floor assistant for one month and fired for physical aggravation with customers!”
“They aggravated me!” Sam shot back forcefully, her eyes widening as she felt both angered and insulted by the customer favoured bias.
Steve slapped the paper down hard on the desk. He stared intensely at Sam who resisted the instinctive urge to shiver, her growing aggravation being her willpower’s foundation. Steve’s face held an expression of dejected pondering as he continued speaking.
“It is like you are not even trying to be better Sam; despite the supposed role played by other people in hindering your career.”
Steve then leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak as he did; still maintaining eye contact with Sam. Yet, his expression shifted, he was no longer annoyed, more. . .curious, no, reflective was a more fitting term.
The critical delivery of his words though didn’t waver.
“And yet, you sit here, asking for my help.”
Sam felt a tightness in her chest as the judgmental words filtered through; she fought to keep her breathing steady and her composure collected, as the aggravation gnawed away at her tolerance.
She was starting to hear her own heartbeat drumming away in her ears.
Steve reached forward and picked up Sam’s job profile, flipping it open as he re-examined the first page.
“I mean regarding your current prospects with the red flags marked in your record, to say that you have an uphill battle to prove yourself is easier to say the least, Samantha Carpen-“
The sudden stop mid sentence made Sam feel very uneasy, although she did her best not to show it.
Steve glanced up at her, his eyes widening slightly, as he gazed at Sam’s face and steadily leaned forward.
His green eyes narrowed and then widen again, constantly shifting back and forth between the two, as his pupils drifted over Sam’s face, taking her all in. For Sam, it felt though Steve was really seeing her for the first time, not just another bland downtrodden client seeking assistance in employment. Steve’s chair creaked as he leaned further forward, his expression quickly taking on a more curious temperament.
Sam felt, not intimated, that wasn’t the right word as Steve was hardly scaring her; but it more an uncomfortable sense of intrusion, bordering on judgment. Once she was formally recognised as being the daughter of an infamous serial killer; the constant aggravating questions and angry accusations would swiftly follow like a persistent bombardm-
“You are indeed thee Samantha Carpenter?”
The curiousness and intrigue that were carried over from Steve’s tone caused Sam to raise her eyebrows slightly. She felt wary and apprehensive as always when the subject of her ‘linage’ was brought up. It was a behavioural habit formed from repetitive confrontations, mentally preparing herself in advance before the other side turned. . .hostile.
Yet in the year or so since the events of Woodsboro; when her psycho of a boyfriend Richie and Tara’s psycho girlfriend Amber launched a sadistic murder spree, Sam never denied who her father was.
Not when she felt the embracing delight of brutally stabbing Richie twenty five plus times over and could feel her father’s approval for her actions ringing away in her ears.
“Now you’ve been bloodied Sam, that was very nicely done, brutal, but effective in letting the bastard know that he truly fucked up by messing with you.”
Sam didn’t shy away from accepting those words, feeling a degree of appreciation that both warmed and unnerved her simultaneously as her heart swelled and then shivered in response.
Telling anyone else on how she felt would immediately set off alarm bells in their head.
“Thee daughter of serial killer Billy Loomis?”
Steve’s voice brought Sam right out of her thoughts, and she focused on his question.
“Yes, I am thee daughter of Billy Loomis,” Sam answered cooly, repressing another part of her that leaned towards a more hesitant approach.
She dared not show anything else, if she wished to avoid giving any encouragement to those who sought to harass her.
“The only descendant of Billy Loomis?” Steve asked, again his voice held no scorn, just a seemingly natural curiosity.
Sam however remained on alert, wary, but equally not shying away from being open about it.
“As far as I know yes,” she replied reflectively, retaining her cool composure.
The mere thought of there being another Loomis out in the world wasn’t a comforting thought. Sam didn’t dare investigate the possibility, not wishing to either embroil herself with their problems, or them with hers.
Sam shoved the thought to one side before it could develop any further and concentrated on the present.
“One Loomis is enough for you to handle I suppose given your supposed history,” Steve remarked observantly.
“You were in Woodsboro two years or so ago, when-“
“My psychotic former boyfriend and my sister’s insane former girlfriend both teamed up together in their fanatic attempt to recreate the original Woodsboro murders to give new inspiration to their faltering Stab franchise by murdering me; my sister, her friends, Sidney Prescott and Gale Weathers,” Sam answered bluntly, folding her arms and continuing with a nonchalant, or be it reflective tone.
“I’ll give them both credit for being dedicated to their cause, but they were beyond pathetic when it came to confronting their deaths; screamed like newborn babes; apparently those who really like to inflict pain onto others, absolutely hate being on the receiving end themselves.”
Sam intended to project the image that what had happened back in Woodsboro hadn’t shaken her as much as it had done.
Steve gave her a slight smile, answering cooly with.
“I can imagine so, given how much pain they both caused no doubt deserved it and more importantly, for monsters such as those two, deserved to realise how badly they messed up before they died.”
Sam raised her eyebrows in wonderment, but she felt something else, deep down.
Appreciation that her past justification was being agreed with by someone else and that she wasn’t the villain of the story as she had been made out to be on social media, no thanks to Gale Weather’s latest book ‘Requel: Terror Returns to Woodsboro’.
Gale just had to play up the idea of Sam being the killer for marketing purposes. Despite being present with Sam on that hellish night and having helped to take out Amber Freeman, who had killed Gale’s friend and former boyfriend Dewy Riley.
Yet it wasn’t Amber who had her name blacken, even though the bitch deserved, in Gale’s own words ‘to rot in fucking anonymity’.
However, a sense of unease crept up in the back of Sam’s mind, although she couldn’t quite place its origins.
“If someone had sadistically killed people you cared about and gleefully threatened to kill more, besides yourself, wouldn’t you feel it right to make them suffer for being so unapologetically evil?” Sam inquired cautiously, shifting about in her chair, not breaking eye contact with Steve.
“I would agree with that notion Sam,” Steve replied with intrigue.
“It is very much a life and death struggle; people have to make choices that they would never have complemented until such a moment arrives.”
Sam found herself starting to like this guy, despite his earlier critical demeanour Sam felt some relief that someone else from outside the ‘four core’ agreed with her on the matter.
“Have you read Gale Weather’s latest book?” Sam asked observantly, repressing her inner desire to speak with interest, less she seemed to be too approachable.
“Yes, anyone with an interest in murder mystery has done so,” Steve replied causally, leaning back into his chair.
“Your thoughts?” Sam inquired, again keeping her intrigue to a minimum at best.
“Gale has a certain bias, she presents an interesting overview of the events, but I read between the lines and concluded that there was more which she left unsaid; it being too easy to believe that the daughter of a serial killer was the actual mastermind behind those events, the framing of it all felt. . .too simplistic.”
Sam felt immense relief, but she managed to keep it together, only allowing her eyes to widen in surprise at Steve’s words.
“What is that saying, children aren’t their fathers, or don’t judge a book by its cover?” Steve pondered aloud, before retaining a cool smile and uttering.
“Well, it is something like that, but those are my thoughts anyway.”
Steve then leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands.
“And yet, despite that truth Sam, people don’t see you as a victim, but the supposed perpetrator of the latest Woodsboro murders,” he added, again retaining an observant tone.
“I would say that is more or less accurate,” Sam remarked cooly, no need to deny it as that is how most people and social media saw her.
Steve slowly nodded in an expression of understanding before it morphed into one of deep thought, until he replied back with much curiosity and observation.
“And the experience never left you, always second guessing the intentions of others, trying to find wolves among sheep, snakes in the grass, before they get a chance, right?”
Sam couldn’t stop her eyes from instinctively widening in response to Steve’s words.
That was a good reading of her mindset. . .too good, as though he was of a similar mind.
“Please, don’t take my reading of the situation as a red flag Sam, given what you have experienced; I can only imagine how heightened your alert senses must be,” Steve elaborated.
“Which, I guess,” he added, picking up Sam’s job profile and flickering through it again.
“Explains the context behind your job record, insubordination, customer aggravations and the minimal “period of time spent at each job.”
He glanced up at Sam, quickly asking.
“I take it your bosses, in each case, didn’t give you a decent chance to explain your side of the story?”
“Yes, they more or less fired me after a brief consultation, deciding that I was more trouble than I was worth,” Sam answered coldly, with anger briefly flickering in her eyes.
“Ok, that changes my understanding of your situation, society is too judgmental of you, given your background,” Steve remarked reflectively, continuing to flicker through Sam’s job profile as he muttered observantly.
“Until someone has gone through what you have, they will never truly understand.”
Sam leaned forward in her chair, her eyes expressing her innate curiosity as they narrowed.
“Have you ever experienced as such?” she asked lowly.
Steve slowly shook his head, speaking modestly.
“No, but that doesn’t mean I cannot empathise with you to some degree.”
He then leaned back in his chair, closing Sam’s job profile as he did, but still retained eye contact with Sam.
“Coffee?” he asked suddenly, with some visible eagerness.
Sam was taken aback; her eyebrows rose as her eyes widen in apparent confusion.
“I’m sorry, what?” she remarked with much surprise.
Steve gestured to the opposite side of his office where he kept his refreshments.
“Coffee, would you like some, or tea perhaps, to help ease your nerves?” he inquired warmly, rising up from his chair and beginning to make his way round Sam to a small table upon which his refreshments were stationed.
“Your experience, one as traumatic as you’ve described can overstimulate the nerves,” Steve remarked observantly.
“That much I do know.”
Sam tracked Steve’s movements, turning round in the chair, her eyes now expressing a cautious demeanour. The slight sudden change in Steve’s body language giving cause to her inner sense of unease.
“Regardless of what I have experienced mister Ragland, I don’t shy away from who my father is, but it doesn’t mean I want to be like him,” Sam answered casually, but she retained a degree of firmness in her voice, to help smother the lie she told herself.
She wasn’t fully prepared to open up to this guy and explain how good it felt when viciously stabbing Richie repeatedly on end. Despite his apparent sympathy for her situation, there was aways a limit, a red line when it came to describing the feelings arising from indulging in her own bloodlust.
At that point, most people backed out. . .
“No, but people too eagerly judge others, as I had done to you initially,” Steve replied reflectively as he started to stir an instant coffee mix into a cup with some warm milk.
He sighed as he turned round, cup in hand.
“Yet, I have got to be brutally honest with you here Sam, regardless of the actual context, your employment track record leaves you with very limited options.”
“Mister Ragland I won’t lie, I don’t care about the job quality, as long as it I can provide me with a good enough income stream, I’ll-.”
Steve held up his free hand, motioning her to stop as he walked forward.
“No, no, it is not about if you are willing to accept the job Sam, it’s if any potential employers are willing to accept you; your past, background, both in employment terms and. . .familial, doesn’t help your cause.”
“So, you’re telling me I’m screwed, to the point where even the role of a bathroom cleaner is locked out to me on the basis of my family history?” Sam shot back, her annoyance flaring up again and although it could easily morph into anger, she managed to prevent it from spiralling.
The constant rejections from countless employers had eaten away at her tolerance over time.
She felt a sudden urgent need to leave.
If her options were barred, what additional help could mister Ragland, or any other form of career support give her?
She was wasting her time; she would have more help if she tired to fake her identity and get herself back into the job market that way.
“Well, if you have nothing truly substantial to offer me, besides focusing on the doom and gloom of my job prospects,” Sam remarked bitterly. She rose up from her chair before picking up her coat from its hook on the office door.
“Then my time here is done mister Ragland.”
Steve blinked in confusion as Sam put her coat on, readying herself to leave.
Sam turned to look back at him, reaching for the door handle as she did. Steve’s expression was something of a mixture between surprise and concern.
“Thank you, Steve, for being open minded, not everyone is when it comes to me, understandable, given the bullshit that has been spread about me, but it is still highly irritating, so thank you for at least being. . .considerate.”
Sam was only willingly to open herself up so much, for anyone could become a danger to her; but when she senses something genuine in people, she would appreicate it. . .to an extent.
Sam pulled open the door, stepped out and-
“Actually, I do have a job for you.”
Sam stoped in mid-step, quickly glancing back at Steve no sooner had the words left his mouth.
The man’s demeanour had shifted to one of hopefulness, with him presenting a slight smile as he spoke that matched his optimistic tone.
“It might suit you better you think, given your circumstances and incidents with customers over. . .personal matters.”
Steve walked forward back to his desk with a purposeful stride, if not leap in his step.
“Come on, sit down, it’s better than receiving constant doom and gloom isn’t it?” he asked eagerly.
The rather sudden change in Steve’s demeanour did reinforce Sam’s innate sense of wariness. She remained standing resolute in the open doorway, looking at Steve with both a confused and hesitant expression.
Steve seemed to register Sam’s concern, sighing slightly, but retaining his friendly smile as he spoke again.
“To alleviate your worries Sam, it doesn’t involve any interaction with the public, no potential for any confrontations that could further sour your job record.”
Sam raised her eyebrows as her eyes naturally widen with intrigue.
Ok, that was an interesting fact, completely unlike her previous job experience which had her strictly working in the front of house profession.
Sam stepped back inside the office, but she retained her coat as she sat down in the chair. Steve did likewise, sitting down in the opposing chair and placing his coffee cup on the desk.
“I’ll give you three minutes to convince me Steve, after that I am leaving,” Sam remarked bluntly. She liked to be a hard sell, stretching out one’s willingness to help her gain a further reading of another’s sincerity.
Steve only smiled again, momentarily clasping his hands before laying them out on the desk.
“Well, I do like a challenge Sam,” he answered with much vigour and determination.
Although when he spoke again his voice became noticeably more serious.
“Ok, I’ll cut straight to the chase, it’s a security gig.”
Sam immediately straightened up, ok, now she was really interested.
An unusual offer, who would be desperate enough to trust her with handling security and why would Steve believe that she was worthy to take up the role?
“Security of what kind?” she asked, deciding it was ok enough express her curiosity.
Steve smiled in recognition of her apparent interest, responding with.
“You would be a security guard, watching over the place and you’ll only have one job, maintaining the building’s security and of course, keeping the place tidy.”
“That’s two jobs,” Sam replied observantly.
Steve tilted his head as he smiled and waved his hands in a somewhat dismissive gesture.
“Well, strictly speaking they both roll into one under the profession of security, if you wanted to get super technical.”
“What’s the pay like?” Sam asked, allowing herself to show some further intrigue as she clasped her hands together whilst leaning forward.
“I’l admit it’s not great, but the hours are worse,” Steve answered cooly.
“However, given the desperation of the owner, with there being a high turnover rate, he is willing to increase the salary by an additional fifty dollars over the six hour daily shift; so your weekly wage would be hundred and ninety five, your monthly being seven hundred and eighty with your annual rounding up to about nine thousand three hundred and sixty before tax deductions are applied.”
Ok, not outright bad, enough for Sam to help Tara and the others pay for rent, shopping and cover any other necessary expenditure, whilst enabling them to save up for the future.
“How many days per week?” Sam asked tentatively, she dared not to show her full inclination just yet. This job felt a little too good to be true, nothing good could so naturally fit into place where Sam was concerned, there was always a catch.
Steve seemed eager to elaborate though and Sam genuinely wanted to hear more.
“It is the standard five days per week, with an overtime allowance for six; there is a seventh day, but that’s only if you are willing take it on.”
Sam pressed further, feeling both cautious and yet somewhat hooked.
“What are the shift times exactly?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows with an open show of curiosity.
This would be the clincher, if the times enabled her to keep an eye on Tara as the year passed into the winter months, then she could accept the offer. Another daytime job would work with Sam trusting Mindy, Chad, Anika, Quinn, and Ethan to keep an eye on Tara. Sam knew that they wouldn’t overstep their boundaries with Tara, as Sam herself often had a habit of doing so, much to Tara’s repeated annoyance.
In the evening, when the weather turned darker and colder Sam felt she was best suited to shadowing Tara’s activities, being her sisters’ guardian angel, despite Tara’s strong pushback on the whole big protective sister habit.
Steve clasped his hands together; his voice was clear, and Sam didn’t mishear him when he spoke the words that completely derailed her intentions.
“The shift is strictly midnight to six am, that is what the owner requires.”
There’s the catch. . .
Sam sank back into her seat, allowing her internal disappointment to be expressed as she pressed her lips together and sighed, narrowing her eyes in a visual display of disproval.
Shit. . .that wouldn’t align with her priorities.
“Is it exclusively a night shift role?” she asked, allowing a degree of hopefulness to sneak its way into her tone.
Just on the off-set chance that there might be room to nego-
“It is strictly a night shift role; the owner doesn’t need anyone to guard the establishment during the day,” Steve answered firmly.
The job offer was effectively dead on arrival as far as Sam was concerned. She might as well leave and stop wasting her time with professional career help.
Steve seemed to recognise Sam’s displeasure at his words and sighed himself, before straightening up his posture.
“Look Sam,” he began speaking empathically, his tone causing Sam to flicker her eyes up at him, some enough curiosity still lingered within her to make her pay attention.
“You are limited in your employment offers right now, anyone looking at your job record will be very much inclined to dismiss you, despite your good intentions.”
He continued unabated as Sam listened, forcing herself to fully digest his words.
“This job doesn’t have to be permanent; you just need to occupy the role for a few months, six at the upmost to give you a substantial period of time to demonstrate your work ethic and transferable work skills on paper.”
Steve spoke with much reflection and determination, as though he had an active stake in Sam’s career path. Although maybe his own record depended on how well he served his clients, the classic ‘help me help you’ mentality.
Sam couldn’t help but feel somewhat reassured by how intertwined their respective fates were, careerwise at least; adding a genuine sense of commitment to her wellbeing.
“In my own work experience I started out as a security guard on the dayshift in one of these joints, it had its benefits and downsides, but we all must start somewhere, or in your case restart,” Steve remarked, sounding both reflective and observant.
“It is a temporary role, but it should pay off dividends in the future, a skills investment to put it in better words.”
No amount of sugarcoating was going to help Sam consume the fact she had next to no offers, even as Steve now sounded more optimistic as he spoke.
“Besides the future benefits for you Sam, the best things about it, is you get to be your own boss.”
“You aren’t required to interact with anyone, no troublesome customers who could seek to provoke you and it gives you a clear shot chance remedy your record.”
Steve smiled, his green eyes lighting up mischievously.
“Just consider it to be a redemption job, if you will, a chance for you to get firmly back on the job ladder.”
He then slowly leaned forward, Sam resisted the instinctive urge to withdraw back into her seat, remaining bent forward in her posture.
“Are you supporting anyone else right now?” Steve asked curiously and as before there seemed to be no warning signs in his whole demeanour.
“My younger sister and our friends, they are all currently studying at Blackmore University,” Sam answered plainly, with only a faint undertone of hesitation.
“Blackmore University,” Steve remarked impressively, leaning back to pick up Sam’s job record, skimming through it again.
“Now I can see why you will accept any job offer, those tuition fees aren’t cheap, excluding the fiscal drain from any accommodation rent.”
“Your younger sister and she is?”
“Tara Carpenter, we share a flat in the city.”
Steve raised his eyebrows further and solemnly nodded before speaking casually.
“Ok, that gives me a far more detailed picture of your situation.”
“Working nights would be a struggle though, I would rather be closer to my sister. . .in case,” Sam replied with some visible concern, only for Steve to answer bluntly with.
“In case a ghost masked psycho sporting a black cloak, boots and gloves, whilst wielding a knife burst out of an alleyway intending to slit her throat and you aren’t there to protect her?”
Steve gazed at Sam with a curious look, which Sam immediately registered.
Why curious though?
Sam felt herself instinctively shiver at the mere thought of Tara lying dead on a random street, her body marked by vicious stabs and her throat cut wide open as blood pooled around her warm corpse.
She would lose all restraint if that ever happened, she didn’t care what came next, only seeing red.
Her hands morphed into fists, her eyes narrowed as her gaze darken, with a certain familiar fire being lit in her heart.
“Let’s cut some fucking throats Sam!”
Sam shoved Billy’s voice down hard into the deepest recess of her mind.
“Sam, are you ok?” Steve asked cautiously, slowly leaning forward.
“Sorry, if I triggered some dark thoughts there, that was rather unprofessional of me.”
“No, it’s ok, I have them sometimes at random,” Sam answered firmly, doing her best to rein in her former ominous expression.
“I understand that you want to be close to your sister during the night Sam, but in nearly all cases we have amend our lives to the requirements of work,” Steve began again, returning to using a professional demeanour.
“We can make it easier for ourselves to adjust to, but often there is no negotiation on answering its needs.”
“Nights would be a struggle for me,” Sam answered exasperated, suddenly feeling a rush of tiredness hit her.
She hadn’t been sleeping well these past few nights, her mind being far too focused on all her worries, all competing for her attention.
“Steve look,” Sam began slowly, forcing her thoughts to centre on the job offer, pushing her army of worries aside far enough to free up her concentration.
“I need some time to think it through, I know that my options are limited, I am under no illusions, but is that ok?”
Steve clasped his hands together, going silent for a moment, seeming to be thoroughly thinking Sam’s words over, tossing an unknown number of pros and cons in his mind.
A tense silence passed between them, well, it felt tense to Sam, with her breathing feeling slightly constrained as her chest muscles tighten up, whilst she waited on tenterhooks for the inevitable answer.
“Yes, you can have a few days to think the offer through, but your answer needs to be given by this Friday at the very latest,” Steve replied supportively, giving Sam a slight nod as he spoke.
“The owner can’t hold out for long.”
“Thank you mister Ragland,” Sam remarked, not hiding her relief as her eyes widen in a visual display of satisfaction, whilst loosening a exhale of withheld breath.
“That is more than generous compared to other offers.”
Sam began to rise from her chair, only for Steve to do likewise.
“I’ll happily escort you out Sam,” he added eagerly.
Sam smiled slightly, she appreciated the offer, but she didn’t need it.
“Thanks, but I am ok.”
Steve waved his hand in a somewhat dismissive gesture as he grinned whilst rounding his desk.
“Please, I insist, I actually need the chance to stretch my legs after sitting down in a chair for hours on end, so this is a perfect excuse for me.”
Sam couldn’t help but smile more at his insistence.
“Fair enough,” she answered warmly, before leading the way out of Steve’s office.
In a very short while the two of them were walking down the corridor heading straight for the waiting room of the career consultation centre.
“I do hope that you accept the proposal Sam, I know it isn’t to your liking, especially when considering the horrific experience you’ve shared with your sister,” Steve remarked, he sounded supportive, but there was an element of observation to his tone made his voice sound a little bit dismissive. It was as though he was reciting ancient history and not the turbulence of someone else’s ongoing life story.
“Yet hopefully lighting doesn’t strike twice any time soon, or at all.”
Sam shrugged, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, but fate had never been kind to her; varying in its degrees of unpleasantness being handed down to her.
“Sidney Prescott wasn’t as lucky, she got four if not five strikes.”
Steve slightly nodded, taking Sam’s words on board, before uttering back.
“She survived though, she is very much a resilient woman, but such experiences would shape you.”
He pushed back his glasses, before turning to face Sam and uttering.
“I do wonder why each new killer thought they can win when the previous one didn’t, despite their boasting?”
Now Sam rolled her eyes, not to be dismissive, but rather just an irate feeling of repetition with each Ghostface thinking they could somehow surpass their previous incarnation.
“That’s the million dollar question isn’t it?” she asked out loud with an audible sigh.
“Yet, they are arrogant as hell and are hardly self-reflective, trust me, I’ve had the pleasure of actually meeting them.”
Steve chuckled as he muttered casually.
“That sounds about right for you Sam.”
They passed through the doorway, entering the lobby.
“Still,” Steve began observantly.
“Ghostly killers aside Sam, I do understand if you turn around say no to the job offer, but when you do give me that answer just have an alternative ready in mind, because I will ask about it.”
Sam nodded in confirmation that she got the message and replied reassuringly.
“That’s fine Steve, I’ll give you my response by this Friday,”
The lobby area thankfully wasn’t crowded, being roughly half filled with a variety of equally desperate people who were down on their luck career wise. Their collective misery and worry were further compounded by the pale white washed walls that only added a degree of doom and gloom to the place.
Sam scanned the room; her eyes quickly fell on the two figures of Tara and Mindy who were rushing up to her. Their footsteps soundly echoing across the otherwise dimly quiet room.
Tara first act was to instinctively clasped Sam’s hands, intertwining her fingers with Sam’s, who appreciated the feeling of warmth that they gave her.
“Sam, did it go well?” Tara asked, her wide brown eyes searching Sam’s for any inclination of a positive outcome.
Sam rewarded Tara’s concern with a big smile of appreciation.
“Well, enough, but nothing solid yet, I do have a job offer, but I need time to properly think it over,” she replied warmly.
Sam detected a small measure of joy in Tara’s eyes, but made Sam feel immensely better about herself whenever it came to making Tara happy.
It is all for you Babygirl!
Sam then quickly directed her gaze at Mindy, taking a firm hold of the younger woman’s hand. Another sign of appreciation for being here, but also for keeping an eye on Tara.
Mindy’s warm smile told Sam she got the message of thanks.
“So, what is the job offer exactly?”
“It’s a security gig apparently, I would get to be a night guard,” Sam answered confidently, keeping any hesitation buried deep as so not to worry Tara.
Thankfully Tara didn’t seem to be worried, her expression holding nothing but curiosity.
“Where at?” she asked, clearly intrigued and in her eyes, Sam could spy a hopeful smile.
Sam turned to Steve, realising that he hadn’t actually revealed the establishment’s name or location.
Steve realised his error, pushing his glasses back up against his eyes, answering causally with.
“A pizzeria establishment called Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria; it is roughly a few blocks westward over from here.”
He sighed slightly in some expression of self disappointment.
“Sorry Sam, I should have provided that information at the start.”
“Freddy’s?” Mindy asked curiously, tilting her head as she pondered momentarily before resuming with an intrigued flare in her voice.
“Thee Freddy’s, the same pizzeria establishment where supposedly some kids in the eighties went missing and from which spawned a dozen urban legends about haunted animatronics?”
“There is more than one Freddy’s location, and those ghost stories are attached to the original location,” Steve replied factually.
“This is another Freddy’s location, whilst there aren’t any ghosts there, there are only animatronics, and they provide the revenue stream.”
Steve then turned to face Sam, expressing a calm demeanour, but his eyes something deeply ingrained, which Sam couldn’t quite identify.
“This is why the owner needs a night guard, criminals are far more likely to try and break in under the cover of night than they are in the day.”
“Didn’t the original Freddy’s host barnyard animals?” Mindy asked confusingly, raising her eyebrows.
Steve nodded with a slight smile, seeming to be impressed by Mindy’s question as he answered eagerly.
“Yes, a bear, a rabbit, chicken and a fox, if my memory serves me well, but that was years I’d not decades ago, they have since been thoroughly decommissioned according to the owner.”
“What are the animatronics in this location?” Sam asked curiously, keeping her hand tightly intwined with Tara’s, who only returned the gesture maintaining her grip.
Steve pondered for a moment, looking up slightly and narrowing his eyes before replying reflectively with some lingering sense of confusion, as though he wasn’t quite sure of his answer.
“They are circus themed and to be accurate, the location is called Circus Baby’s Pizza World, a branch of Freddy’s; despite peoples fear of clowns, kids really love the Funtime animatronics apparently.”
“However Sam. . .”
He retuned his eyes to meet Sam’s, locking with a reassuring expression as he spoke warmly.
“You would only need to guard the location during the night, the well-being of the animatronics can be left to the maintenance team; there’s no need to overlap your responsibilities with theirs.”
“If you accept the offer of course, but there is no need to rush for an answer, you have until this Friday to think it over Sam.”
Sam smiled, feeling more reassured than she had been when first stepping into the Career Advice Centre.
“Thank you, Steve,” she answered gratefully, readjusting her bag onto her shoulder, feeling the tight tug on Tara’s hand.
They needed to leave soon if they were going to meet up with Chad, Ethan, Quinn, and Anika later at the flat.
Steve’s gaze shifted from Sam to Tara, his eyes slightly widening as he fully took in the younger Carpenter’s features.
“And you must be Tara I assume, Sam’s younger sister, right?” Steve inquired with natural intrigue. Tara returned Steve’s gaze, narrowing her brown eyes slightly in confusion, mentally judging if he was ‘safe enough’ to fully engage with.
But if Sam, despite her super protective nature was fine with Steve, then where was the harm in responding.
“Yes, I am,” Tara answered casually, visibly relaxing, but only slightly.
“How’s uni going?” Steve asked, folding his arms, adopting a more laid back posture whilst Tara replied, this time with more eagerness.
“Reasonably well, I’m in my second year of study in law.”
Steve chuckled lightly, before answering back with.
“For me those were the best three years of my life, most people say that, but I hope you enjoy your time there for all it’s worth Tara.”
He then turned his relaxed gaze towards Sam.
“Especially with Sam here backing up you all the way.”
Steve then sighed reflectively before quickly adding on.
“Everything was so much cheaper in my day; massive hindering tuition fees that made you question the worth of the degree you were studying for.”
His green eyes widen as something dawned on him.
“Oh, that reminds me actually, hang on.”
Steve reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small card, before handing it to Sam.
“When you want to contact me about the job offer, use this number Sam, it’ll go straight through to me,” Steve stated supportively as Sam took the contact card out of his hand.
She examined the card, it sported Steve’s company logo, company name and his work number.
“Thank you Steve, it’s much appreciated,” she replied with clear appreciation, before Steve added on.
“I know it is your choice Sam, but I hope you do accept the job proposal, remember it can just be a temporary employment.”
“I’ll call you when I have made my decision,” Sam answered reassuringly, but with a degree of firmness. She would need to fully talk it over with Tara before she could decisively commit to a decision.
“Understood, and I know it isn’t worth much, but do stay safe out there,” Steve remarked warmly, giving Sam a supportive nod.
Tara quickly a cast a glance over at Sam, her brown eyes widening as the two briefly locked’ Tara figured that everyone by now knew about Sam’s real identity, owing to Gale’s latest book.
“We’ll certainly try,” Tara replied firmly before Sam could answer herself. Tara took a strong hold of Sam’s hand as she gradually pulled Sam away, Mindy quickly followed suit, leaving Steve to watch the trio depart.
“How did you get onto the topic of ‘staying safe’?” Tara asked curiously in a low tone as she leaned into Sam. Sam herself immediately detected the worry in Tara's voice.
‘Staying safe’ had become a byword for Ghostface and everything else associated with the twisted horror saga which routinely infested their lives.
“Turns out he had read Gale’s latest book, like nearly everyone else,” Sam morbidly, resisting the urge to glance back at Steve.
“He’s a Stab fan?” Mindy asked curiously, although her voice contained some worry; yet Sam shook her head before answering observantly with.
“He came over as a more casual horror fan, more for murder mystery than specifically being a Stab fanboy.”
“It could be a front though, a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Mindy added swiftly with much observation from her meta knowledge of horror films.
“They all are until they make their move.”
Tara slightly shook her head in disagreement, before interjecting with.
“Or perhaps he is just a mentally well fan of horror, not everyone interested in Stab, or the like is inevitably going to become Ghostface.”
“Otherwise, we have to suspect everyone, right Sam?” she asked, looking to Sam, who sighed before replying with.
“Not if we can vet them thoroughly before letting them get too close, even if it takes months.”
“Although. . .” she pondered out loud, before continuing with.
“Steve seems to be ok, enough to be keep as a temporary contact until I get my employment record properly sorted out.”
Sam turned in Tara’s direction, giving her a big reassuring smile as she spoke with equal conviction.
“It is strictly business babygirl, I know how to keep people at arm’s length, my paranoid does it for me.”
As they passed through the double doors that opened automatically, Tara rolled her eyes, before replying with.
“I’m just saying that not everyone is a Stab fanatic in disguise Sam, sometimes a nice guy is just a nice guy.”
Sam hummed softly, before commenting reflectively.
“I thought the same thing about Richie but look how that turned out.”
Suddenly Mindy squeezed herself in between the sisters, putting her hands supportively on both their shoulders, bringing them into an awkward three-way hug.
“Hey ladies,” she began, speaking authoritatively, but her voice carried a mocking edge to it.
“Lets park this conversation for now and get back home before resuming this moral ethics debate.”
With one free arm, Mindy pointed at a nearby taxi rank. There was seemingly one rank for every city block in the Big Apple, New York’s affectionate nickname.
“Come on, I’ll hail us down a cab, I’ll pay the fare, my treat.”
Having closed his office door behind him, Steve sat down comfortably in his chair, placing his hands under his chin as he pondered deeply.
Samantha Carpenter. . .
For a young woman with a troubled history like hers, this was worrying, anyone interacting with her was putting themselves at risk of being a target for Ghostface.
Steve emitted a low sigh as he closed his eyes, trying to mentally imagine how this could all play out.
Ghostface. . .what attributes did they possess?
From what Steve knew, it was the following.
A ruthless determination, cunning, deception, a cold bloodied mentality, but fired up by both sadistic and often vengeful anger and of course, readily prepared to kill at a moment’s notice.
For anyone alive, Ghostface made for a terrified opponent whose kill list you didn’t want your name on. Even then you could fell prey to an opportunist killing due to being unfortunately at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Even Steve felt unnerved, tense and scared at the prospect of encountering Ghostface; their knife raised as they grabbed Steve’s throat and sneered in their deep male voice at how foolish he was into thinking he wouldn’t be targeted.
“I gave you my offer mister Ragland for Sam’s information, you should have accepted it, but now I will just take it!”
Ghostface would enjoy inciting fear in Steve, but they would be gravely disappointed, because Steve Ragland didn’t exist.
The man behind the facade was anything but terrified compared to the crafted persona of ‘Steve Ragland’.
William Afton was thrilled at the prospect of facing down Ghostface and claiming Samantha as his own.
Not just Sam though, Tara herself had a powerful draw that he just couldn’t help but notice; she was guarded, but he could sense her survivor instincts flickering behind her brown eyes.
Once you’ve gone through something as horrific as the events of Woodsboro; the experience forever alters your perspective of the world and of those within it.
Allowing himself to express a small smile of satisfaction William Afton held a pondering expression; thinking hard amidst the silence of his office that gave space to his undisturbed thoughts.
Sam, her survival instincts had been further ingrained into her, resulting from the events of Woodsboro. The ever present fear that someone was only getting close to her to stick the knife in deep.
Tara, she was a little more hesitant when it came to confronting her reality; but beneath that reluctance lay a determined and vicious mindset that would do anything to survive.
Yes, those two would be quite the challenge to overcome, but William had the advantage that his methods were radically different to Ghostface, so he could still catch the sisters off guard.
Sure, there was a ‘rule book’ to this franchise, but rules can be rewritten or broken and Ghostface had a habit of ‘shaking things up’ with each new incarnation.
HUM!
HUM!
HUM!
HUM!
William flickered his eyes over towards his desk drawer.
HUM!
HUM!
He smiled as the humming sound continuously rang out, before slipping his hand into his trouser pocket and retiring his drawer key.
HUM!
HUM!
William turned the key in the drawer’s lock, feeling and hearing it click before pulling it wide open.
HUM!
HUM!
His second phone, because in his expertise, having a backup was always handy, if not essential.
HUM!
HUM!
Afton reached into the drawer and retried the phone, bringing up to his eyes to examine the number.
He smiled, his green eyes lighting up with both satisfaction and anticipation.
In a few ways Afton would admit that he and Ghostface were alike.
They both did and could act alone, but that wasn’t always their preferred option.
William pressed the accept button and placed the phone’s speaker next to his ear.
“You called fast, two minutes earlier and I would have had to reject your call as I was busy with a client,” he stated casually, but with an amused tone.
A female voice with a playful child like demeanour that bordered on sinister flowed smoothly through the phone’s inbuilt speaker.
“Ah, sorry Will, but I really wanted to find out if you have any new subjects lined up for us?"
“Did you have any fun today mister Afton?”
William chuckled eagerly at the woman’s words, allowing his darker impulses to manifest, monstrous thoughts that begged to ascend from the deepest recess of his mind and transcend into reality, before fully reining himself in.
His partner though, she was passionate and more than capable to carry out what ideas were forming in his mind. William had shaped her to become a killer and a creative and crafty one at best.
William internally smiled at what was perhaps his greatest achievement and no doubt Vanny was wearing her hand tailored white red eyed bunny costume again.
“Well, Vanny,” William answered slowly, but with much clear anticipation, knowing that Vanny would be listening closely at his every word.
“As it turned out, we have struck gold today.”
Immediately William could hear Vanny rapidly clapping her hands in excitement.
“Ooooh, do tell me, pretty please, I have to know, was it her?!”
William couldn’t help but smile further at Vanny’s declared enthusiasm for their collective. . .passion.
At first Vanny, or Vanessa before she'd taken the name Vanny for herself, had been a reluctant follower. Yet slowly with each steady step, William patiently led Vanessa into the dark side of humanity by the hand. Within its shrouds he dissembled Vanessa's morals, untangled her from her humanity, overthrew all ‘instinctive’ prohibitive barriers and made her feel alive, free, and reborn.
Now Vanny partook in the murderous art with a boundless vigour; coupled with an unrestrained delight that matched her ever growing bloodlust and creativity with her knife.
Sometimes it was nice to have a partner who could cover your back without the suspect of betrayal.
“Well, I just so happened to encounter Samantha Carpenter,” William answered with the feeling of success heavily interwoven into his words as his green eyes lit up with a deep seated pleasure at having gotten so tantalizing close.
Vanny’s enthusiasm was another step up, her smooth seductive voice carrying much unrestrained joy at how easy it had been.
“I knew you would be interested in her boss, that’s why I slipped your company’s card into Sam’s bag when she visited the diner I worked at, after she happen to lose her job,” Vanny replied eagerly with an ominous gleefulness.
“I merely provided a suggestion that could give Samantha a way out of her troubles, her desperation did the rest.”
Vanny’s voice then gently morphed into curiosity, but it didn’t lose her natural optimism.
“Pure happenstance, did she give any hint of suspecting any foul play in how she turned up at your desk?”
William restrained his instinctive impulse to shake his head, replying with a more cautious demeanour as he held down his anticipation for what was soon to follow.
“We’ve played our first card well Van, whilst Sam displayed little to no indication that she suspects me; she is cautious, understandably so given what she has endured and she doesn’t hold back her honesty, for that alone she has my respect," he remarked reflectively.
“She appreciated my words of understanding though, becoming increasingly touched by my patience and flexibility.”
“She has been accused of murder and the social mark of being Billy Loomis’s daughter has seemingly eroded her endurance somewhat.”
Then William's voice shifted to become more serious as he stressed one hard lesson to his apprentice.
“Yet, be careful Van, Sam isn’t to be underestimated lightly, she has killed a Ghostface and she knows Sidney Prescott; so she is more than aware of the game's rules.”
“Well, I do like a challenge, but I appreciate the warning, I’ll be extra careful,” Vanny answered sweetly, but firmly and William could easily imagine her to be playing with her knife as she talked.
“I know that we aren’t the only hunter in this game.”
HUM!
Hum!
A loud vibration came from William’s phone, followed immediately by a more quieter vibration coming through its speaker, its source being Vanny's phone.
Withdrawing the phone from his ear and looking at the cause of the vibration William saw that it was a news alert.
‘Breaking News, Two Blackmore Students found murdered in university flat in a suspected Ghostface Attack!’
There was a brief description of an infamous Ghostface mask being found at the scene.
“That’s pretty bold of Ghostface boss!” Vanny exclaimed and William could easily imagine her eyes widening.
William’s own eyes narrowed, trying to understand Ghostface’s rationale for choosing a seemingly isolated target.
Only it wasn’t isolated, it rarely ever was when Ghostface was concerned.
“This is their declaration of war,” William replied firmly.
“Ghostface often kills for a reason, to make a point,” he added, feeling the cogs in his mind click.
“The victims nearly always have a connection to the killer’s target,” Vanny interjected enthusiastically, almost purring at the end of her words.
“Being university students, they could only have a connection to Tara and her friends somehow, but Tara would have been the reason and by targeting Tara. . .”
“You target Sam,” William muttered observantly, finishing Vanny’s line of thought.
“Sam did express a concern with not being near her sister, so it does add up.”
“How do we deal with this Ghostface, or Ghostfaces?” Vanny asked curiously, there being but an element of childish mischief in her voice.
“For now, we wait and observe how things play out, even if it means waiting until act three to reveal ourselves.”
“Yet. . .” Vanny called playfully, pulling hard on William’s darker impulses and he knew it.
“Yet, that doesn’t mean we can’t throw a few spanners into the works of everyone’s plan and wrestle control over the game before the final curtain,” William answered menacingly, instinctively gripping the phone.
Vanny’s response was instant hand clapping with additional sounds of her jumping up and down enthusiastically.
“Oh boy oh boy, oh boy!” she exclaimed happily, her childish nature being on full display.
“I can see it now boss, we’ll out do everyone!”
William smirked, pleased by Vanny’s enthusiasm.
“This is our little horror story.”
“Oh yes!” Vanny answered seductively, her innate bloodlust flowing forth in her words.
“This is about more than gaining petty revenge or finishing a movie.”
William chuckled, agreeing with Vanny’s sentiment.
“Who gives a fuck about movies these days,” he replied firmly, leaning back in his office chair.
Vanny giggled at his words, before replying with.
“I know, I have some fun, got a few creative curve balls in mind.”
Suddenly, there came brief sounds of background noise as Vanny moved the phone away from the ear.
“Alright guys, are you four ready to rock this world!” she called out eagerly.
HUM!
CLANG!
MMMMMM!
THUD!
A combination of mechanical sounds erupted from Vanny’s end, as four all too familiar voices spoke into being.
“Rock and Roll!” a gruff deep and aggressive male voice aggressively roared.
“Who Wants Candy!” a shrill and energetic female voice sweetly called out.
“I Bet I’m Your Favourite!” a smug and proud female voice boastingly declared.
“It’s Past Your Bedtime!” another cruel mischievous male voice sneered with childish mockery.
”Naughty, Naughty!”
William smiled, feeling his desire for blood steadily building, to indulge his passion for murder, even though his ambitions stretched far beyond sating his darker urges.
It had long been about more than just killing for the sake of it. . .
“Have the Glamrocks remain on standby, let the Funtimes have a proper turn first; I trust you to maintain your cover whilst picking out moments of opportunity,” William ordered firmly, but he retained a degree of enthusiasm in his words.
“Sure thing boss, I’ll keep you updated and don’t worry, no one suspects anything,” Vanny answered reassuringly and with much eagerness.
“I won’t let you down,” she added determinedly.
“It’ll be fun. . .”
“I’m sure it will be Vanny,” William replied cooly.
“I’ll inform you of any changes at my end, good luck.”
“Same with you William, happy hunting!”
There came the double hum as Vanny ended the call at her end and William removed his phone from his ear.
Returning his second phone to his desk drawer and locking it firmly shut. William rested his chin on his hands as he pondered the rules of the game that he was participating in.
The rules changed with each new addition to the franchise, a new twist, a new revelation, a new creative way of either killing or hiding in plain sight.
Yet, there was always a connection between the current incarnation of Ghostface and their immediate predecessor. Did they want to create a movie or was their motivation gaining vengeance for the previous set of killers?
William at this moment in time was leaning towards Ghostface’s motivation being vengeance. It being a more powerful emotional drive than a desiring to finish a movie.
Now William was introducing a new rule, there being two groups of killers involved and they were working against eachother from the start; unlike the past two cases where one of the two Ghostface duos murdered their partner to fulfil their own personal goal.
Although Ghostface didn’t know about William Afton yet, but eventually they would do and they would come to fear him beyond being killed by a final girl.
William smirked, closing his eyes as he vividly imagined his intended ending. . .
Sam lying on the floor, dying as blood pooled around her body, struggling to breath let alone stay conscious. Vanny dressed in her white rabbit killer costume roughly dropped Tara onto the floor, as she began to bleed out. Vanny’s trusty skills with her knife having ensured a quick efficient delivery of vicious stabs to Tara’s back and chest.
Then there was Ghostface themselves, immobilised on the floor as their black robes turned a deep red as they became saturated with their blood from numerous stab wounds.
Their face mask was crackled and partly fragmented, shattering its long held power of intimation. Ghostface’s knife lay broken in half and their breathing was noticeably strained as it passed through their damaged voice modifier.
When deprived of their facemask, knife, and sinister voice modifier, Ghostface was effectively just as vulnerable as their victims.
And there’s nothing William Afton loved more than breaking another predator.
THUD!
THUD!
William strode across the room, closely passing Sam by, her wide and terrified brown eyes focusing on the tall partly damaged yellow rabbit animatronic, SpringBonnie.
Yet William’s eyes were locked on Ghostface, their single exposed human eye narrowing in both anger and fear as William loomed over them.
“Lucky me!” William exclaimed happily; his ominous voice marred by the childish hopeful overtone of SpringBonnie’s voice box. He visibly branded his own hunters knife, feeling his hand twitch, not simply for bloodlust’s sake, but for a creative drive as death could be. . .artistic.
“This is beyond perfect!” William stated eagerly, the deranged smile of the slightly degraded SpringBonnie matched that of his own, as his eyes were alit with an all-consuming exhilaration.
He briefly turned in Sam’s direction, recognising her critically wounded state with Sam’s breathing becoming more strained as he set his murderous eyes on her.
“First I kill the final girl!”
William turned his menacing gaze back at Ghostface.
“Now I kill you, symmetry my ghostly friend!”
THUD!
William sharply brought his right foot down on Ghostface’s left arm. . .hard.
CRACK!
Ghostface groaned, the deepest of their voice modifier producing an unnerving anguish.
“You’ve had an impressive run Ghostface, but now the grave calls for you!” William declared, able to narrow the eyes on SpringBonnie’s face as he towered above his stricken prey.
William ran his hand like the blade’s length, perfectly mimicking Ghostface’s classic knife clean swipe.
“You are finished!”
The exposed human eye of Ghostface’s wearer narrowed in anger, despite their immense pain and hinderance they could still express the bloodthirsty monster which had consumed their soul.
“I wan. . .ted my rev. . .enge!” Ghostface roared, their damaged voice modifier mostly managed to carry the strong will determination of their words.
William growled in dismissal, revenge was meaningful, but it was often hollow; retaining life after death. . .that alone made every one of his efforts worthwhile.
William raised his hunters knife, angrily declaring as he slashed down hard.
“Who gives a fuck about revenge!”
SLASH!
William opened his eyes, allowing the adrenaline to gradually die down as he reined in his passion inspired thoughts.
Despite his longing enjoyment to enact such a scene as imagined, William wasn’t going to declare victory until he had actually won.
He wasn’t going to boast like Ghostface, acting as though their victory was all but inevitable and that their victims could do nothing but delay their deaths. . .as had all their predecessors before they followed one another into the grave.
Not until the light faded away in Sam and Tara’s eyes would William feel. . .satisfied.
“Despite the challenges that lie ahead,” William remarked softly, but with great anticipation.
“Winning this game is going to be entertaining. . .”
The Yellow Rabbit would soon have his grand debut. . .