You unlock the candy cane lock, and the door bursts open. One by one, a parade of horror movie stereotypes barges in, each breaking the 4th wall as they introduce themselves.

The beautiful girl walks in:
"Hey, I’m the hot one. I’ll be fine as long as I keep my clothes on. By the way, you’re kinda cute."

The shaggy burnout walks in:
"I'm the stoner. I’m here for comic relief and maybe to drop some random wisdom before I probably get picked off. Oh, and I'm the stoner."

The jock barges in next, chest puffed out and ready for action:
"People usually cheer when I die. I'm the jock. Now move, or I'll bash ya."

Then, the nerd awkwardly shuffles in, adjusting their oversized glasses that fail to hide their obvious attractiveness:
"I’m the brains of the group. I’ll figure out how to beat the monster, but let’s be real—I’m not making it to the end credits. Statistically speaking, my survival odds are... let’s not talk about it."

Finally, the last girl steps in, quiet but determined:
"And I’m the final girl. A bit of an outcast, sure, but come with me if you want to live."

"And I'm the stoner," the stoner adds.

"Listen up," the final girl begins, her voice steady but tense—then, without warning, the creature lunges from the shadowy corner of the ceiling.

You

close your eyes
watch the massacre