She turned, staring strangely right at Jet. “Dave, what are y—” It appeared faster than Jet could blink, filling the entire screen. Empty black eyes. A warped white plastic face. Jet jumped, recoiled from the screen, head slamming into the backboard of her bed. A searing jolt of pain in her skull. “Fuck you,” Jet hissed at the screen, at the image of Ghostface from Scream, smirking into the camera. “Trick-or-treat, bitches,” the boy said, rattly and deep, enjoying himself too much. He must have hidden behind his friends, snuck around to jump-scare the camera. Little prick.
