Final Girl

In the end, it comes down to me. I am the one the killer cannot seem to finish. The one that he consistently toys with until she has had enough and finally meets him on his own level of crazy. I am the final girl. Depending on which version you prefer, I may be Jamie Lee Curtis or Heather Langenkamp. I’d rather be Jamie. Forty years and she is still kicking butt. The girl in the movie runs and looks back. As usual, she falls and I yell at the TV. “You idiot... get up. What are you doing? Run?”

My phone chimes. It’s a text from my mom. 

MOM: Don’t fall asleep with the TV on, you know those scary movies give you nightmares.

ME: Mom, I’m 19, not 9. I’ll be fine. Stop worrying. 

MOM: You’re still my baby. 19 or 99. 

ME: (Heart Emoji) Good night mom, love you. 

MOM: Love you more, and don’t drink too much juice before bed.

As every semester begins, my mother begins to worry that some killer is just around the corner, waiting to cut me into little pieces. She misses me, but I handle myself well. Unfortunately, I don't listen well. Despite her warning, I fell asleep in front of the television. Moments later, I sprang up in bed, clutching my throat, mouth sticky, powder dry, panting and struggling for air.

A bright white screen glows on my phone as I glance at it. It's 3:33 in the morning. I suddenly feel the need to pee. Too much juice, maybe? Darkness fills the halls. My elbows dig into my sides, eyes darting about like a panicked cat. As I wander through the hallway of the dormitory, I feel like I'm in a low-budget slasher movie. To distract my bladder from releasing, I gallop sideways down the hall. Just as I get my momentum cranked up, a faded black hoodie flies past me. In passing, our shoulders collide. He covers his eyes with his hood as he draws a breath of discontent.

I walk into the ladies' room despite the weirdo in the hallway. The hissing sound of pee hitting the toilet bowl is reassuring. I am not alone. I hate using public restrooms in the middle of the night. There is always a feeling that someone is watching me. My eyes water as the putrid smell of warm pee and cheap vanilla body spray rushes up my nose, tickling the back of my throat. A mixture of snot and eau de toilette clogs my throat. I don't trust public toilets. Particularly with the rise of STDS on campus this fall. Careless freshmen, humping each other like wild rabbits. Straddling the toilet, pajamas gathering around my ankles, I balance cautiously not to touch the tarnished porcelain. Thunder cracks and lightning flashes outside, drowning out my back-splashing stream of urine as rain gurgles in the gutters. Rain snakes down the frosted glass of the tall windows. Great turn of events for a night like this. In the other stall the toilet flushes. The joints of the stall door whine while it slaps shut. I listen to the pitter-patter of bare feet fading out of the mahogany door into the hallway.

Nasty failed to wash her hands. I am alone. A second roar of thunder follows what sounds like a gunshot, then pitch black. I stand in the cloak of darkness.

This is not happening. It's happening. My hands float in front of my face in the dark as I try to feel my way out of the stall. I find the frigid metal handle on the door, opening it to a gloomy hallway. The emergency lights do the darkness no justice. My eyes dart about timidly, trying to focus on the light. Everything seems so cinematic. Hugging my arms close to me I look around with caution. What final girl trusts her surroundings? That’s rule number one. Be vigilant at all times. Unprepared for what lies ahead, I turn the corner. The dodgy jerk from earlier is standing dead center in the hallway. His hoodie covers his face, and I cannot see his eyes. If he charges me, I will not be fast enough to outrun him. if I try to run to my room, he will be close enough to grab me. I look down at his hand. Even in the dark, I can see the shiny steel of a knife. His arm raises and now the blade of the knife is pointing at me. I scanned left, and I scanned right. I run into the janitor's closet and push a mop and bucket in front of the door. I used the mop as a door stopper, sliding it between the handle. I back my way into a corner and sit. The silence is deafening. The anticipation crawling up my back sits on my shoulder and whispers, When?.... One...two...th-

Silence.

Uncovering my ears, I listen. He was playing games with me. Could this be because I bumped into him clumsily, or had he been scoping me out?

In the closet, drops of water fall into the sink. My heartbeat matches the rhythm. 

I can't handle the suspense. In the dark, I fumble with my phone. The last thing I see on my screen is City Wide Blackout. What's going on? On my phone, I click the link and nothing happens. No service. I feel my chest tightening. I have to get out of--

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I scream, but nothing comes out. 

The little device I made stops him from kicking open the door. 

We never exchange words, but it is clear that he wants to harm me. When my mop breaks, he pushes his way through. There was no white in his eyes, they were dark and empty. With the steel blade of his knife, he cuts me across the cheek. I shriek in pain, but nothing comes out but a beep. 

Beep....beep...beep.

The alarm on my phone blares, alerting me that it's 5:30 a.m. I grab my chest. I'm ok. I dreamed it. It was a vivid dream. 

As my bare feet hit the cold floor beneath me, I limp to the bathroom to start my morning routine. As I wash my face, I stare into the mirror. There's a long cut on my right cheek. Even though it's superficial, it still stings. My dream comes back to me. Maybe I scratched myself in my nightmare. As I get ready for class, I try not to think about my dream again.

***

"You look terrible."

I met my friend Nora for lunch in the student cafe. All day, I have been thinking about my dream. I recall the feelings I experienced in that dream. It was a dream, wasn't it? 

I grab a fruit salad from the bar and respond, "Oh wow, thanks.". 

As she wrinkles her nose, she says, "I'm just saying babe... did you even take a shower?".

In awe, I exclaimed, "Nora!". 

Her smile spreads across her face as she says, "I'm just...you know what? I don't care. The Kappas are having a party tonight." 

"Nah." I walked by her to sit outside. 

"Oh, my God. You're so boring. Remember freshman year?" She smirks.

Yeah, I remember it. I was a party animal. Also, I remember when my parents freaked out when they saw my grades. 

"I can't forget you dragged me to every party on campus."

"Is that your way of saying, 'thanks Nora, I'd be lost without you'?"

Rolling my eyes, I eat lukewarm chicken nuggets. 

Come on, Celeste. It's one night. I won't ask you again. I know how adamant you are about your GPA." She waves me off. 

“Everyone doesn't have your genius gene, Nora." I smile. 

"Bull, your dad's a doctor, and so is your mom. You just want to play Miss Perfect when I know you're eager to shake your booty." 

I zone out. It's like an instant replay. The room spins and I'm back in the hall in the darkness. Only this time I feel his breath raining down on me. The knife blade pointed right between the bridge of my nose. My heart trenches and thuds. His teeth sharp as the blade of a knife as he grins down at me. Helpless I can’t move. I whimper, tears running down my cheeks. Just as the knife presses into my skull, I hear...."Earth to Celeste."

It's Nora.

I shake myself back to reality. "Hunh.....what....?"

"Girl, where'd you go? I was saying, This is my friend Jaleel. He just transferred from ...somewhere in London. Jaleel, Celeste, Celeste,Jaleel."

I turn to say Hi, and my heart stops. It's him....my killer.