The phone continued to ring.

  It rang with a persistence that felt almost deliberate.

  Not loud.

  Not frantic.

  Just patient.

  A landline sitting on a folding catering table should not have commanded that much attention, and yet somehow every person on the soundstage was now staring at it.

  Trevor Spencer raised both hands immediately.

  “Right,” he said. “Not it.”

  Oliver Kushmore didn’t even look up.

  “Oh absolutely not.”

  Courteney Cox folded her arms.

  “We are not answering that.”

  Jenna Ortega shook her head.

  “Yeah. No.”

  Mason Gooding leaned against the prop mailbox.

  “That is literally how every one of these movies starts.”

  Melissa Barrera nodded slowly.

  “And nobody ever learns.”

  Joel McHale glanced around the room.

  “You’re all serious.”

  Another ring.

  David Arquette shrugged.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “You answer it.”

  Joel pointed back at him.

  “No chance.”

  Across the fake front porch of one of the set houses, Isabel May sat with her phone in her hands, watching the landline like it might explode.

  She slowly looked up at the group.

  “…Why is nobody answering it?”

  Oliver gestured toward the phone like a museum exhibit.

  “Because we all value being alive.”

  Isabel frowned slightly.

  “That’s a little dramatic.”

  Trevor shook his head.

  “No, that’s actually very accurate.”

  Marie Janae leaned against the edge of the catering table.

  “You realize if we ignore it long enough it’ll just stop.”

  The phone rang again.

  Persistent.

  Patient.

  Isabel glanced toward Neve.

  “…Sidney would answer it.”

  Neve smiled faintly.

  “Sidney’s fictional.”

  That earned a quiet laugh from Courteney.

  “Smart woman.”

  Another ring echoed across the set.

  Trevor shifted uneasily.

  “Okay, this is officially weird.”

  Mason nodded.

  “Extra weird.”

  The ringing continued.

  Then finally—

  Silence.

  The phone stopped.

  Everyone exhaled.

  Trevor pointed triumphantly.

  “See?”

  Oliver frowned slightly.

  “Wait for it.”

  A second later the phone chimed softly.

  Joel looked down at the screen.

  “…Voicemail.”

  The room stiffened again.

  Joel picked up the phone slowly.

  “Well,” he said, “since nobody wanted to answer it…”

  No one objected.

  He pressed play.

  Static crackled briefly.

  Then a voice emerged.

  Soft.

  Distorted.

  Whispering.

  “Hello, Hollywood.”

  The room froze.

  “I knew you wouldn’t answer.”

  Isabel’s expression changed instantly.

  “Oh… that’s creepy.”

  “You’ve all seen these movies,” the voice continued.

  “You know the rules.”

  Trevor whispered beside Oliver.

  “Oh that’s not good.”

  “I expected you to ignore the phone.”

  The voice almost sounded pleased.

  “But rejection isn’t really something I accept.”

  Skeet Ulrich slowly lowered the script in his hands.

  “Matthew was only the opening scene.”

  A ripple of unease moved through the group.

  “And I plan to end the franchise.”

  A pause.

  Then the whisper returned.

  “Because one by one…”

  The distortion hummed faintly.

  “…everybody falls.”

  The voicemail ended with a quiet click.

  No one spoke.

  Joel slowly set the phone back down.

  Trevor looked at Oliver.

  “…mate.”

  Oliver nodded.

  “Yeah.”

  Trevor swallowed.

  “We’re definitely in a horror movie.”

  Across the set, Neve Campbell leaned lightly against the porch railing beside Isabel.

  She shook her head with a tired smile.

  “Somebody should really change the ringtone.”

  Isabel snorted.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Preferably to something less murdery.”

  The tension in the room loosened slightly.

  But the phone remained on the table.

  Silent.

  Waiting.