Straight to DVD

 This is a commission I did for DeviantArt

Bryan’s plan had been simple: scare the college girls in the last house on the left during their Halloween movie marathon. A plastic machete, a knock on the window, a quick jump scare — harmless fun. He waited until the thunder rolled from their TV speakers, then scraped the blade across the glass and shouted, “Heeere’s—” Everything went black.

When he opened his eyes, he was lying on a cold wooden floor beneath a chandelier that burned too brightly. The air smelled of candle wax and perfume. Long corridors stretched into white decorative walls, lined with portraits whose eyes seemed to follow him. “Okay,” Bryan muttered, sitting up. “This isn’t funny.” His voice — higher. Smooth, trembling. His hands — pale, slender. He looked down and froze. A floor-length black dress shimmered faintly in the flickering light. His hair spilled forward, long and brown. “What the hell…” A mirror hung nearby. The woman who stared back was beautiful in a tragic way — wide-eyed and open-mouthed like an exquisite deer in the headlights..

“Haley,” a man’s voice barked from the hallway. “We need to go — now!” A tall man appeared, tuxedo shirt torn, a fireplace poker gripped in his fist. His jawline looked carved from panic. “Haley, it’s back. The Phantom. We have to move.” Thunder cracked overhead. Somewhere in the mansion, slow footsteps echoed — deliberate, dragging metal against stone.

Bryan stumbled, the dress tangling around his legs. The shoes — impossibly tall stilettos — stabbed into the floor with every step. He tried to kick them off, but the straps bit into his ankles like wire. He bent over to fumble with the fastening and he felt his soft round butt bump an ornate moulder white door-frame.

The man turned. “Haley, what are you doing?” A figure emerged from the shadows at the end of the corridor: tall, masked, expressionless. The air seemed to tilt toward him. The sound — Bryan noticed now — was wrong. Too clean. Every heartbeat amplified, every breath echoing like a soundtrack.

“This is a movie,” Bryan whispered. “Oh my God. I’m in a movie.” A scream ripped through the hall, cutting him off. They ran. The mansion warped around them, halls looping, doors changing. Every time Bryan looked behind, the Phantom was closer — inevitable, cinematic. They burst into a grand ballroom, candles flickering in crystal holders. Bryan tripped, crashing against the piano. He grabbed a silver candlestick, swung, and the Phantom fell — not bleeding, but glitching, flickering like a damaged reel of film. Before Bryan could react, the man in the tuxedo grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a long deep kiss.

When he finally freed himself, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and surveyed the room around him. A television sat on the ballroom floor, glowing faintly. On screen, the girls from the last house on the left leaned forward, popcorn spilling. “Oh my God,” one whispered. “That was awesome. Play the sequel?”