We began filming that same weekend. Freddie showed up early, hauling a couple of cameras, tripods, and lights like it was Christmas morning (and that was two days ago). He was practically bouncing with excitement.
"Okay, I've mapped out the best lighting spots," he said, unrolling a sketch of my mom's house. "We'll start with the bedroom scenes—light's best there in the afternoon. Then we can do the hallway takes when it gets darker."
Carly and Sam arrived not long after. Carly had already printed out the shooting script, highlighted and annotated. Sam, of course, brought two duffel bags full of props, including a pair of plastic skulls and a toy bat.
"This one screams when you press the eye," she said proudly. "We're keeping it."
I facepalmed. "Sam, we are doing a real horror movie."
The hired director, Paul—mid-30s, grungy hoodie, and full of indie spirit—was already setting up near the dining room. He had worked on a few smaller projects before.
"Let's get sound rolling and go for a test shot," he said, adjusting his headset.
Carly would play the daughter, and Sam was cast as Diane Mercer—the internet girl.
Freddie, now fully in his element, managed the technical side, constantly tweaking lighting angles and camera positioning. "How do you want the camera movement in the night scenes?" he asked me and the director. "I can set up the auto-pan."
"Exactly that," I nodded. "Slow pan, side to side. Nothing too sudden—let the tension build in silence."
The director just nodded—he already knew my vision.
The living room, now filled with cables and lighting stands, looked nothing like it did three days ago. Judith came into view just as we were running a rehearsal take. Her arms were crossed. Her eye twitched.
"Are we really filming a horror movie in our house?" she asked, her voice tight with disbelief.
Pepper, seated on the couch with a coffee in hand, looked skeptical.
Later, I went over to talk to her privately. "Don't worry, Pepper. If this doesn't work, we do it again with a new crew."
I like my friends, but I'm not going to throw away a $200 million movie potential.
She gave me a long look, then simply nodded.
The camera started rolling.
After weeks of intense work, it was already late January. School had started again, and the movie was done. Wrapped. Filmed. Edited.
In the post-production Pepper turned into the devil herself.
She drove the editing crew like a general at war, demanding cuts, revisions, pacing, audio corrections.
She was terrifying—but effective.
Now, we were all gathered at Uncle Charlie's house, in front of the biggest TV on the market—Charlie had insisted on that part.
Everyone was there: Pepper, Carly, Sam, Freddie, Spencer, Alan, Judith, Charlie, and Evelyn.
The lights were off, popcorn bowls filled, and the remote control in my hand.
Time to watch what we had made.
Halfway through the movie, chaos reigned.
Dad had already screamed like a little girl—twice. Spencer somehow turned it into a competition, complete with exaggerated gasps and dramatic clutches to the armrest.
Freddie, Carly, and Sam were huddled together on the couch. Carly had her hands over her mouth, Freddie was holding onto both of them, and Sam—trying to act like she wasn't fazed—was clearly failing.
Only Pepper remained neutral, arms crossed, eyes locked around, to see everyone's reaction
Charlie leaned in from his recliner. "This is... actually terrifying."
"Told you," I muttered with a grin.
When the movie finally ended, silence fell across the room.
Freddie broke it first. "Did we really do this movie?" he asked, eyes still wide.
"Yeah," I said. "We really did."
Evelyn exhaled slowly and muttered, "I'm too old for this."
Pepper, still calm and composed, gave a slow nod, her eyes calculating. "This one can actually work."
I leaned back, thinking to myself. Maybe my opinion is biased, but... the movie's better than the original.
That doesn't mean it'll have the same success, of course.
"It was not that scary," Dad said, trying to form a smile.
"Alan, you screamed 'mommy' two times—and she's right next to you," Uncle Charlie replied, deadpan.
"Yeah, I think it was okay," Sam added.
"Sam, you let Freddie hug you for half the movie," I pointed out.
Sam's eyes widened for a second—then she promptly kicked Freddie off the couch
"Traitor," Freddie muttered from the floor.
"Maybe I need a new house," Mom murmured.
Dad shuddered at those words, fresh chills running down his spine.
We were all still recovering from the adrenaline when I looked around the room. There were no more jokes for a minute, just quiet awe. Whatever happened next, this movie had already done something amazing.
And it was only the beginning.
Pepper stood up, smoothing her blazer. "Alright, everyone. This was good. But I have work to do."
She gave me a quick nod before heading toward the door.
"Let's talk tomorrow, Jake. We've got a lot to prepare."
I nodded back. Then, to break the tension, I asked, "So... what's for dinner?"
While we were having dinner, Carly spoke with a wide smile, "I still can't believe we'll be in the theater."
"Yeah, and Sam will have an even scarier reputation at school," I added.
"Nice," said Sam with a smile.
I leaned forward a bit. "I'm going to rent a few theaters for the premiere. Feel free to invite whoever you want."
"I don't know if I want my mom to see it," said Freddie, grimacing.
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