The video store was nearly empty by closing time, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the steady whir of an old VHS rewinder behind the counter. Randy Meeks had spent the last twenty minutes proudly stacking what he called essential horror viewing into a dangerously tall pile—Halloween, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, A Nightmare on Elm Street, The Evil Dead, and a handful of obscure slashers only he seemed to have seen.

Guest leaned against the counter with her arms folded, watching him struggle to balance the tapes without dropping them.

“You know,” she said with a grin, “for someone who worships horror movies, you’re one loose shoelace away from becoming the opening kill.”

Randy rolled his eyes. “Laugh all you want. Tonight is your education.”

“My education?” *she scoffed. * “Randy, I’ve already seen half of these.”

“Seen them isn’t the same as understanding them.”

“Oh, this should be good.”

He pointed a VHS case at her dramatically. “Movie marathons require commitment. No talking over the dialogue, no skipping scenes, and absolutely no spoiling twists.”

Guest smile widened into something dangerously smug.

“…You know I’m going to predict every single ending, right?”

Randy froze.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

“You’d ruin the entire experience.”

“I’d make it better.”

He groaned, already regretting inviting her over.

She grabbed the stack of tapes before they could tumble to the floor, slinging them into her backpack with a laugh.

“Come on, Meeks. Let’s see if your ‘masterpieces’ are actually unpredictable.”

Randy followed her toward the door, muttering under his breath.

“If you guess the killer in the first twenty minutes, I’m making you watch Manos: The Hands of Fate.”

Guest smirked over her shoulder.

“Deal… but if I’m right, you’re buying the pizza.”