Extremely Long Author's Note, before we begin:

(Hey you!: actual content of the first chapter is below this note, so if you wish to skip the note, go ahead, but don't skip the first chapter! It's important to the story!)

This is my complete re-write of Scream 2. I liked Scream 2 the best, but I still think it could have been better. In this story, I don't plan on really taking anything at all from the film Scream 2, except the characters. People who did die in the film might not die in my story. People who did not die in the film may in fact be killed here... I think the characters are in a good place in Scream 2. Gale and Dewey sort of like each other, but aren't married yet... Sid and Randy are still young and relate-able (to me anyway, since I'm in university now) And I really like Cotton Weary's character, because his character (unlike many in the Scream films) actually has a bit of depth.

So in this story... I think I might try to give some of the characters more depth (we never knew anything of Gale's family life, or much of Randy's...) I want to write a story that you'll read and think "Oh, my, these characters are like real people... I will feel bad if they get killed..." But I might kill them anyway...

Current Ages of those characters who are from the original film:

Sidney Prescott, Age: 19

Randy Meeks, Age: 19

Dewey Riley, Age: 27

Gale Weathers, Age: 28

Cotton Weary, Age: 37

Explanation: Scream 2 is two years after the first film. Sidney and Randy are in university now, but were in high school in the first film, so they had to have been 18 or younger then. I estimated them at 17, so two years later, they'd be 19. Dewey was 25 in the first film... plus two years = 27. Gale, I believe is meant to be more than just a year older than Dewey, but I don't want her to be, and this is my story... so tough. She looks really pretty in Scream 2, and I don't want her to seem old... And Cotton, if he had an affair with Sid's mother, should be around her mother's age. She's got a child who is 19, so she should be somewhere around 40 at least (if she were alive, and if she followed society's norms on when a woman should reproduce...) and I'm saying Cotton was a bit younger, because it was an affair after all, and why have an affair with someone if they aren't younger and hotter than your husband?

There will be other characters also, of course. If their ages are relevant, I might mention them in the story.

*** Some Background Info: In this story, Sid and Randy have gone off to university. Cotton is out of prison, of course, because in the conclusion of the first film it was discovered that he wasn't the one who killed Sid's mother. Dewey and Gale are doing what they always do: liking each other one minute, and arguing the next...

Of course there are going to be quite a few original characters, because someone has to make up the bulk of the victims... These original characters will not overshadow the characters from the films though. The actual characters will remain the focus of this story.

P.S. don't be turned off by any horror film cliches, because if they are in here, they are here as sarcasm. That's what the Scream films are all about...

So... Here you go:

xxxxxx

Heather turned the water off in the shower, opened the shower curtain and grabbed the towel off the towel rack. Wrapping the towel around herself, she stepped out of the shower and made her way to the mirror. The room was full of steam; Heather always liked to take long hot showers, even though her mother always complained about her running up the water bill. Naturally, the room steamed up quickly, and the mirror was covered in fog.

She yawned. She had a long night ahead of her. Her parents had gone away for the weekend, for something like a second honeymoon, she thought. She wasn't quite sure. They always argued, so she assumed they were trying to salvage what little was left of their marriage. It didn't matter much to her at the moment, of course, because their being away meant she had the whole house to herself for the entire weekend. And that meant more than just not having parents around. It meant her friends could come over, and they could stay up all night, watching scary movies, playing loud music, singing, dancing, playing pranks on each other, and anything else they wanted, without any prudish forty-year old adults scowling at them or telling them to be quiet and go to bed. Heather wouldn't have to worry about her mother pleading for her to go to bed at 11:00 pm tonight. In fact, she'd probably barely sleep at all the whole weekend.

As she reached the mirror, still absorbed in thoughts of the excitement that lay before her, she reached up to wipe a circle out of the fog so that she could see her reflection. But before her hand touched the mirror, she stopped herself. Something was written in the fog. She squinted, unable to quite make it out without her glasses on. She moved her face closer to the mirror until she could make out the letters written there.

"TONITE, YOU DIE."

Heather could feel herself grow cold in a slight fear. No one was supposed to be at her house... Who could have written that? She looked around the bathroom. The door was closed, and she was the only person in the small room. How had someone gotten in to write the note without her hearing the door open and close? And why had they spelled "tonight" wrong?

She thought about locking the bathroom door and just staying in there until her friends arrived... but they weren't due for another hour. After all, the note was probably just a joke. Maybe one of her friends had written it there a different day and it was just now showing up... Bathroom mirror notes had a tendency to do that from time to time...

Holding her breath, Heather opened the bathroom door, slowly, and as quietly as she could manage. She had been watching the news before she'd hopped into the shower; the news was all about the Woodsboro murders. This week was the two year anniversary of the slayings. As she had showered, the image of the ghost mask the killers had worn had been on her mind. And of course she couldn't help but have the image on her mind even more so now.

She tip toed down the hall and into the main room by the front door. The door was closed, but unlocked. She never felt the need to lock the door during the day. Heather frowned as she considered this. Did the ghost-masked killer ever kill anyone during the day? She wasn't sure. Somehow the fact that it was day-time made her feel a bit more safe, but still not entirely so. She quickly locked the door, just in case. Although when she thought about it, it wouldn't really matter if the killer was already in the house. If it had indeed been a murderer who had written the message on the fogged up glass, she had just locked herself inside with him...

She was about to turn around in order to secure the rest of the house when a hand reached out from behind her and touched her arm. Heather screamed as fingers curled around her shoulder. She spun around, swinging her arm out, knocking the strange hand away from her as she prepared to knee whomever it was in the groin and run for her life.

"Heather!" a surprised and somewhat amused voice gasped. Heather's friend Kayla stood there, smirking, but looking a bit shocked. Kayla was a tall girl, a year older than Heather. Though she was older and taller, she behaved much more like a child than her other friends. Sometimes Heather found it frustrating, but at the end of the day, they were still great friends. Kayla took a step back toward Heather, looking like she might start laughing, "Don't kill me. Geeze. You look so freaked!"

"How long have you been here?" Heather asked, disappointed when she heard that her voice betrayed that she was out of breath from being so surprised, "I thought you weren't coming until seven..."

"We came early... We can leave and come back if you want," Kayla smirked.

Heather laughed, "Don't worry about it. I just wasn't expecting you. That's all... You really freaked me out..."

Kayla beamed, "you're so easy to scare!"

"Hey Heather," another voice chimed in. A small dark haired girl, walked into the room with a Dr. Pepper in her hand. This girl was Martha, who was Heather's age, "I told Kayla we should wait. It's so lame to arrive to a party an hour early."

"Well, it's not technically a party, Martha," Heather informed her. Then her eyes grew wide, "It's not a party, is it?" she glared at Kayla. "You didn't invite a bunch of people, did you?"

"Of course not!" Kayla defended herself.

"Yeah, I just said 'party' because I didn't know what else to call it," Martha smiled, "I wouldn't let Kayla invite a bunch of people."

Heather grinned, "great. I'm going to go get dressed. What movies did you rent?" She walked upstairs and into her bedroom, leaving the door half-open so she could hear Martha who read off the film titles.

"Halloween, IT, and My Girl," Martha called out.

"Ha!" Heather couldn't help but laugh, "that's an odd assortment..."

"You guys only want to watch scary stuff. Some of us like other things," Kayla commented, "My Girl is a really good movie."

"It's depressing," Heather commented, walking back into the room and pulling her t-shirt the rest of the way on. She was now dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt, and had her glasses perched on top of her nose, "I can't believe you actually want to watch something so sad. The little boy dies, you know."

"Duh," Kayla said, "I've seen it before. You know, a lot of people die in the stupid movies you like too."

"But they're horror movies," Martha countered, "it's okay for people to die in horror movies. They barely even develop the characters. You can usually tell who will live and who will die just by watching the first bit. If a character doesn't get developed well, they probably won't live. If the character hasn't got a last name, or any name at all... goner."

Kayla rolled her eyes, "blah blah blah. Here we go again..."

"No, really! You can always tell who the extras are, and who the characters who matter are..." Martha continued, "I could go to a horror film opening night, and watch twenty minutes of it. Then I could tell you two things: A. who will make it to the end, and B. who the killer is. Guaranteed."

"If they are so predictable, then why do you watch them?" Kayla giggled.

"That's the fun in it! Plus, Halloween is different. You are supposed to know who the killer is. There's no guessing game there. It's a classic. And IT is the same way. There's no one trying to trick you into thinking someone is a killer, and then you see them get killed, so you know you were wrong, and feel stupid for being tricked... It's very straight-forward; you know what's going on... you just have to watch it happen," Martha explained.

"Ugg," Heather cut in, "Let's not have this conversation again... for the hundredth time... Just put in one of the movies. I'll order us a pizza."

Kayla popped My Girl into the VCR, as Martha groaned.

They watched My Girl, then sat around and talked for hours, played music and danced, found an old "TWISTER" game and played with it for a while, built a fort out of sheets, tables, pillows, and lamps, watched most of IT, and then finally all fell asleep on the sofas or floor.

...

When Martha woke up, the television was buzzing. The video had run to the end, and only static remained. She yawned and looked around the room. Heather and Kayla were nowhere to be seen. That seemed odd. It was 6:15 am according to the clock on the VCR. Why would they both be awake? For that matter, why would either of them be? Martha sat up and walked toward the bathroom, assuming at least one of her friends would be in that general area.

She flipped the light switch on and peered into the bathroom. No one was there.

"Heather? Kayla?" Martha called out, "where are you guys?"

She walked up to Heather's bedroom. Perhaps they had gotten tired of sleeping on the floor and on the sofa and had opted to share the bed. Flipping on the light, Martha looked around. The bedroom was vacant as well. She turned to leave the room, but stopped when the phone started to ring. She stared at the phone next to Heather's bed. Who would be calling so early? Martha paused. Was it really her place to answer it? What if it was Heather's parents calling to check up on her? She thought she had better answer, just in case.

She made her way over to the end table and plucked the phone up off the receiver, "hello?" she said. Then she thought she ought to explain herself further, "this is Martha."

"Hello, Martha," the voice on the other end of the line cooed, sounding a little rough. Martha shuddered. It reminded her of what she imagined the ghost-faced killer might have sounded like. She had heard lots of stories about what he sounded like. Being from Woodsboro, she of course heard about that killer all the time, as it was the small town's claim to fame.

"Are you calling for Heather?" Martha asked, assuming the voice belonged to her friend's father, "she's asleep... I think. Everything's fine."

"Is it really?" the voice asked, sounding like he was attempting some sort of sarcastic surprised, "Well, your definition of 'fine' is rather loose, wouldn't you say?"

Martha frowned, "what?" she asked, "what do you mean?"

"Well, you say Heather's fine, but you don't really know that. In fact... you don't really even know where she is, do you?" the voice responded, "maybe you shouldn't assume things when you really don't know what you're talking about. Don't assume your friend is fine after you search the house for her and cannot find her. It's six in the morning... and you must have been awake until four... She shouldn't have even woken up yet... and now she's not even in the house? where could she be? Why isn't she sleeping in the living room? And where's Kayla?"

Martha stood silently for a moment as the voice flowed eerily out of the phone. She wasn't sure what to say. Whomever was on the other line had just revealed that he knew a lot more than he should about what she and her friends had been doing all night. The only way someone could know all of that is if they had been watching her and her friends...

"Kayla?" Martha asked, hoping her older friend was playing some sort of joke, "is that you?"

The voice laughed, "do I sound like Kayla?"

Martha gulped and looked around the room, "who is this then? And were are Heather and Kayla?"

"I imagine Heather and Kayla will be found at a later date. There's no point in worrying about them anymore. You see, it's too late for them. You're lucky they went silently. You slept through it, so I didn't have to kill you as a witness... What I'd suggest you focus on now is yourself. Where are YOU, Martha, and where do you need to get to in order to ensure your fate isn't the same as your friends'?" the voice mocked, "I'm giving you an opportunity poor Kayla and Heather didn't have. You've got the opportunity to escape... but will you take it?"

Martha stood, shocked. This had to be a joke... but what if it wasn't? She held the phone up to her ear for a moment longer, but the rough voice didn't say anything else. Martha looked out the bedroom door. The house was still. She quietly hung up the phone and then dialed the police.

When the police responded on the other end of the line, she whispered quietly, just in case someone was in the house... just in case someone might hear her... "I just got a really scary phone call; someone saying my friends were dead... and I can't find them... he said he'd kill me too..." she was rambling, panicked, not sure what information she had already given, and what things she still needed to say, "I'm at my friend's house... Heather. He says she's dead... and my friend Kayla too. Heather's address... her parents aren't home... Williamson is her last name. They address is 24 Locust Street... Hurry... I'm really scared."

"24 Locust Street, Williamson residence," the operator repeated, "I'm sending officers right now, and an ambulance. Please stay on the line."

"I can't," Martha pleaded, "he said he's giving me a chance to escape... if I stay here, he'll kill me! I have to go!"

"Where are you dear? Within the house. What room are you in?" the woman on the other end of the line asked, "can you take the phone with you somewhere secure where you can hide until the police arrive? You could even just keep the phone turned on, and stay quiet, just so I'll be able to hear and know you're okay."

"I'm in the bedroom... but I think he's watching me. He knew what my friends and I were doing last night." Martha felt like she might cry. She hoped this was just a joke, but she really didn't think it was. If it was a joke, her friends would think she was so stupid. Yet she still hoped it was a joke, because if it wasn't her best friends were probably dead, and she'd probably be too if the police didn't hurry. "Are the police almost here?" she asked, hearing panic in her own voice.

"They are on their way, sweetheart," the woman responded, "just stay calm, and try to get to a place where no one can get to you. Have you seen anyone in the house?"

Martha shook her head. Then she remembered that the operator couldn't see her, "No," she said.

"Does the room you're in have a lock on the door?" the woman asked.

Martha checked. It did. She closed the door as quietly as possible and locked it. Now she felt a bit safer. "It does," she said, "I just locked it."

"Good. Now just hide somewhere in the room, and wait for the officers to arrive. If you can tell me how to get up to the room from the front door, I can radio the officers and tell them, so they'll be able to get to you as soon as possible," the woman offered.

"Okay," Martha agreed, still trying to whisper, and still very mindful of any noise within the house. She still didn't hear anything. She walked over to the closet, so she could hide inside it, "If you walk in the door and then turn right, the next room is the living room, with the tv and everything," she started, opening the closet door very slowly so as to make as least noise as possible, "there are stairs in that room, and they lead up to the second floor. If you go up them, and then turn left, there will be two doors... I think... The room I'm in is the second one... It says 'Heather's Room' on it. On the door, I mean."

"Very good. I'll have my co-worker relay that information to the officers. They should be there any minute," the woman told her, "just stay calm. Stay on the line, and stay quiet."

Martha nodded, even knowing that the woman couldn't see this gesture. Now that she gave all the information she could, she didn't really think she wanted to risk talking, because talking equals sound, and she didn't want to make any sort of sound.

She had the closet open just enough so that she could slip inside, when suddenly the door opened even further. Someone was in the closet... and they were opening it...

Martha shrieked, dropping the phone and attempting to pull the closet back closed. Whoever was inside was stronger than she, and pulled the door completely open. Martha screamed again, and turned to run toward the door, but was stopped when someone grabbed her from behind and threw her roughly against the wall, knocking all the air out of her lungs. She could hear the woman on the phone speaking worriedly, but she was nowhere near being able to reach the phone. The phone was nowhere near her top priority either. Martha scrambled toward the door as she coughed, trying to convince her lungs to start working again.

As she stumbled toward the door and finally grasped the door knob, she felt hands grab her again, pulling her away from the door handle, dragging her roughly down onto her back, and pinning her to the floor.

"No! Please let me go!" she pleaded, "I didn't do anything to you! Why are you doing this!" She was panicked, yelling out every plea she could think of. When she looked up at her assailant, she saw something haunting: a white ghost mask... And in the hand of the masked figure was a shiny knife, already stained crimson with someone else's blood. Martha sobbed. Kayla and Heather were surely dead. Their blood already soaked the knife... and hers was soon to follow.

"I gave you the chance to escape," the masked-man reminded her, "why didn't you take it?"

Martha shuddered, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, "please," she begged, tears streaming down her face, "please let me go..."

"I'd love to, really," the masked figure's artificially rough voice informed her, "but you're a very important part of my plan."

Martha frowned, staring up into the mask's eyes, trying desperately to see something there, to be able to see this figure as a human with whom she could reason, "what are you talking about?" she sobbed, "what plan? Why me?"

"You're the bait," the voice told her.

Martha was still confused, "bait? For who?"

"I needed some way to reunite the Woodsboro gang. You're the key," he told her, raising the knife in the air. The moonlight shone on the knife, making it shine a silver and scarlet colour. The blood on the knife was fresh enough to still look glossy and sticky.

"Please..." Martha begged, "I still don't understand... just let me go, please. Please," she didn't know what else to say.

As she looked at the knife which was still held up, ready to end her short life, she noticed a third colour added to the red and silver shine. Blue. The blue from the light of a police siren. Martha's eyes widened, "HELP!" she screamed, "Help me! Please! I'm upstairs! Help!"

The masked figure shook his head, "I'll make this quick," he promised, plunging the knife down as Martha continued screaming.

"Ahhh!" she gasped in pain, "Help..." she screamed again as pain radiated through her abdomen. She could feel a flood of warm, sticky blood flowing out of the slash the knife had created in her body. She didn't feel she had much hope, but she knew she couldn't stop fighting, so she continued to call out for help. Her screams weren't as loud as they had been, and she couldn't make them any louder, no matter how hard she tried, "help! help... h-" she coughed as her breaths were unable to keep up with her screams, "help..." She sobbed, knowing she was growing more and more hopeless by the second.

The knife plunged into her stomach again. She felt blood gush out of her, pooling beneath her and soaking her shirt. The knife rose up again, and then plunged down one last time, this time going straight into her heart. And within seconds, all her pain was gone, and she knew no more...

xxxxxx

If this was the film, the little beginning title sequence would play here. It's not though... so it won't.

Please review and tell me what you think! I hope it wasn't too drawn out...

**And remember, this takes place in 1997... That's why they are using VCRs, and people actually have house phones... I remember the 90's. Good times. So most people in this story won't have cell phones either... Next chapter: some characters you know will be involved. ^_^