It was simply going to be another game of F**, Marry, Kill* between pals over drinks, innocent fun. For Emily Carter, however, it was the start of a fatal nightmare.
The game had never appealed to Emily. It was judgemental, superficial, and frequently devolved into an argument that offended someone. However, Jenna, her best friend, persisted. “Remember, it’s only a joke, Em! It’s customary for us to drink every time.
Emily played, then.
The gang sat in a darkly lit downtown bar that night, with neon cocktails and half-empty beer bottles strewn all over the table. Laughter and poor choices filled the air. With a cunning smile, Jenna displayed a random list of celebrities for their evaluation. She said, “Okay, Em,” and
“It’s your turn. F***, marry, kill: Keanu Reeves, Liam Hemsworth, or—” she snorted, looking at the TV, “—Damien Black?”
There was silence at the table.
“Hold on, Black Damien? That eerie independent horror filmmaker? Another friend, Jake, arched an eyebrow. “The man had a graveyard-like face. Why does he appear on the list at all?
Emily’s nose furrowed. “No, indeed. Take a life. Kill, for sure.
They drank more, laughed, and went on. The night turned into a jumble of distorted speech and loud music. Nobody thought twice about it.
However, someone did.
The following morning came the first disturbing message.
“Wrong choice, Emily.”
Her heart was racing as she gazed at the anonymous text. It must have been a joke. Jenna is most likely playing tricks on her. She disregarded it.
Then she noticed the news.
Damien Black had passed away.
The filmmaker had been brutally killed and discovered in his residence in the Hollywood Hills. Though speculation was rampant, the cops were still putting the pieces together. Some spoke of a cult following gone wrong, while others claimed it was a stalker. Emily felt sick to her stomach.
It was just a sick coincidence.
The second text followed.
“We’re down one. Two more to go.
Her blood froze.
Despite Emily’s best efforts, paranoia became ingrained in her. She hardly slept, panicked at every sound, and locked her doors. After a week went by with no further messages, she started to relax. Perhaps it had actually been a twisted joke.
And then Liam Hemsworth passed away.
The news said there was an automobile collision. On the Pacific Coast Highway, a strange collision. Emily thought she was going crazy. These fatalities weren’t the result of her will. It was only a game. A dumb, pointless game.
However, the communications continued.
“Two down. Emily, you made your decisions.
The number was banned by her. switched phones. visited the police. However, they were powerless. “People get prank messages all the time,” the cop shrugged and informed her. “And unless you’re confessing to murder, there’s nothing linking you to these deaths.”
In this nightmare, she was by herself.
The first person to notice Emily’s paleness was Jenna. “You need to relax, baby. This wasn’t your fault.”
Emily said, “You don’t get it,”
