I had been planning this for months. The unexcused absence?
Pfft! That attendance lady could braid my plum hair for all I cared. I had ten bucks in my pocket and zero fucks available for donation. See, back in ‘96, I was the fucking man (not legally, because of some bureaucratic-government-trying-to-keep-the-young-man-down bullshit), but spiritually? I was untouchable.
The kids at school called me Mr. Friday Night Premiere because, as sure as Jesus came back as a Christmas zombie, I was always the first to see every new flick. And come Monday? The children waited for my decree. I would raise The Thumb of Fate—if it pointed up, the movie was legendary. If it pointed down? That film would be forgotten faster than OJ forgot what he was doing the night of June 12, 1994.
And so, with the confidence of a young god, I stepped through the theater doors, fluorescent lights warming my ridiculously handsome face. This was my Shawshank Redemption moment. I was getting busy living. Getting busy dying was for the weak, and I don’t even know the meaning of that word.
Ten bucks was golden back then—it bought you a ticket and a large soda (no ice! Do I look like Jack Dawson ova’ heeere?). I walked up to the box office, confidence dripping from me like I had just won the heavyweight title. I swear to God, doves were flying in slow motion behind me, reflecting in the glass.
Then, I saw her.
Black eye makeup. Black lipstick. Pale complexion. A lace choker. She was the one. The goth angel of my dreams.
I removed my winter coat and placed it strategically in front of my nether regions because… umm… I was getting hot… and… umm… you’re not supposed to wear jackets inside.
Leaning in like I was about to drop the most suave pick-up line of the century, I deepened my voice and whispered:
“Yeah, girl. One for Scream, please. And you can write your number on the back of the ticket.”
She popped her gum. Looked me up and down. And in a voice colder than my soul would be in about five seconds, she said:
“What are you, 10?”
My pride vanished that day. There have been sightings over the years, but no strong leads.
I cleared my throat, squared my shoulders. Nah, pretty lady, I thought. I got this.
“Nah, pretty lady, I’m almost—”
“ID?”
I blinked.
“You D what…?”
She smirked. “No, dumbass. I need your ID.”
(God, I miss the 90s.)
I panicked. She needs my ID to get her phone number? Damn, she really goes for younger guys. Chill, Mary Kay Letourneau.
Then she leaned in closer, eyes piercing through me.
“I need your ID for the movie ticket. It’s rated R.”
Where the fuck did this spotlight come from?
Why were my palms sweaty? Why were my knees weak? Why were my arms heavy? Was that vomit on my sweater? Why was I suddenly craving your mom’s spaghetti?
That’s when I went for the Hail Mary.
“Guuuurl, you got pretty eyes.”
She exhaled sharply, adjusted her nose ring, and popped a Marlboro in her mouth.
“Beat it, N’Sync.”
Ouch, girl. The knife’s deep enough, no need to twist.
And that was how I met my wife. We got married ten years later in a Beetlejuice-themed wedding. She still has the ticket she didn’t sell me that day…
Just playin’! SUCKERRRRRRR!
But seriously, folks, all of that was true—except for the wife part.
The kids at school called me Mr. Friday Night Premiere because, as sure as Jesus came back as a Christmas zombie, I was always the first to see every new flick. And come Monday? The children waited for my decree. I would raise The Thumb of Fate—if it pointed up, the movie was legendary. If it pointed down? That film would be forgotten faster than OJ forgot what he was doing the night of June 12, 1994.
And so, with the confidence of a young god, I stepped through the theater doors, fluorescent lights warming my ridiculously handsome face. This was my Shawshank Redemption moment. I was getting busy living. Getting busy dying was for the weak, and I don’t even know the meaning of that word.
Ten bucks was golden back then—it bought you a ticket and a large soda (no ice! Do I look like Jack Dawson ova’ heeere?). I walked up to the box office, confidence dripping from me like I had just won the heavyweight title. I swear to God, doves were flying in slow motion behind me, reflecting in the glass.
Then, I saw her.
Black eye makeup. Black lipstick. Pale complexion. A lace choker. She was the one. The goth angel of my dreams.
I removed my winter coat and placed it strategically in front of my nether regions because… umm… I was getting hot… and… umm… you’re not supposed to wear jackets inside.
Leaning in like I was about to drop the most suave pick-up line of the century, I deepened my voice and whispered:
“Yeah, girl. One for Scream, please. And you can write your number on the back of the ticket.”
She popped her gum. Looked me up and down. And in a voice colder than my soul would be in about five seconds, she said:
“What are you, 10?”
My pride vanished that day. There have been sightings over the years, but no strong leads.
I cleared my throat, squared my shoulders. Nah, pretty lady, I thought. I got this.
“Nah, pretty lady, I’m almost—”
“ID?”
I blinked.
“You D what…?”
She smirked. “No, dumbass. I need your ID.”
(God, I miss the 90s.)
I panicked. She needs my ID to get her phone number? Damn, she really goes for younger guys. Chill, Mary Kay Letourneau.
Then she leaned in closer, eyes piercing through me.
“I need your ID for the movie ticket. It’s rated R.”
Where the fuck did this spotlight come from?
Why were my palms sweaty? Why were my knees weak? Why were my arms heavy? Was that vomit on my sweater? Why was I suddenly craving your mom’s spaghetti?
That’s when I went for the Hail Mary.
“Guuuurl, you got pretty eyes.”
She exhaled sharply, adjusted her nose ring, and popped a Marlboro in her mouth.
“Beat it, N’Sync.”
Ouch, girl. The knife’s deep enough, no need to twist.
And that was how I met my wife. We got married ten years later in a Beetlejuice-themed wedding. She still has the ticket she didn’t sell me that day…
Just playin’! SUCKERRRRRRR!
But seriously, folks, all of that was true—except for the wife part.
Scream 7 Needs to Go Big or Go Home
Three decades after Scream changed the horror genre forever, the franchise is still alive—evolving, adapting, and defying expectations. With Scream 7 officially on the horizon, one question looms large: How will this latest entry shake up the genre? More importantly, will it be enough to redefine horror once again?
The Scream franchise has always been about reinvention. The 1996 original shattered slasher tropes, turning the genre on its head by making the characters self-aware of horror movie rules. Scream 2 tackled the perils of sequels. Scream 3 leaned into Hollywood satire. Scream 4 dissected reboots, and Scream (2022) introduced the “requel” era, blending legacy characters with a new generation of victims and killers. Scream VI further expanded Ghostface’s reign of terror beyond Woodsboro.
Now, the horror landscape has changed yet again. Elevated horror dominates, found footage still lingers, and audiences demand more than just a masked killer with a knife. Scream 7 needs to push boundaries—take bold risks that redefine horror for the modern era. So, how does it achieve that? Here’s how the franchise can evolve and deliver its most shocking installment yet.
Ghostface vs. Ghostface—A Battle of Killers
For six films, the franchise has followed a familiar pattern: Ghostface terrorizes a group of survivors, is revealed, and ultimately meets their demise. But what if the next chapter introduces a completely new concept—two Ghostfaces at war with each other?
Imagine two separate killers, each with their own motivations, unknowingly targeting the same victims. With each murder framed like the other’s work, confusion reigns. One Ghostface begins to realize someone else is stealing their thunder, leading to a deadly game of one-upmanship.
Not only would this introduce an unpredictable twist, but it would also serve as a meta-commentary on copycats, horror fandom rivalries, and even the internet horror community’s obsession with “who did it better.” The ultimate reveal? The real target isn’t the victims—it’s Ghostface vs. Ghostface, a war between masked killers.
The Return of Stu Macher—The Ultimate Twist
For years, fans have speculated that Stu Macher, one of the original Scream killers, never actually died. While Kevin Williamson has repeatedly insisted Stu is gone, the franchise itself keeps dropping hints that suggest otherwise.
Consider this: A television falls on Stu’s head, supposedly killing him. But that’s not an ironclad death. Richie and Amber’s Ghostface shrine in Scream VI displayed memorabilia from past killers—yet, notably, Stu’s “body” was never confirmed. And then there’s Mindy Meeks-Martin’s meta-jab: “If you believe he’s dead.”
What if Stu survived? The franchise could reveal that he’s been orchestrating Ghostface killings from the shadows for years, building an underground network of devoted followers. Maybe he’s been in hiding, waiting for the right moment to step back into the light. Or, in a shocking reversal, perhaps he’s not the villain at all—but an unlikely ally trying to stop the new wave of Ghostface killings.
Stu’s return wouldn’t just be fan service. It would bring Scream full circle, linking the modern era back to its roots. If the franchise wants to deliver a truly jaw-dropping twist, bringing back one of its most iconic killers is the way to do it.
A Ghostface That Actually Wins
Across six films, every Ghostface has been unmasked, confronted, and ultimately defeated. But what if—for the first time in the franchise’s history—the killer gets away?
Imagine a Scream film where, instead of revealing the murderer in the final act, the survivors realize they’ve already lost. The film ends not with a triumphant victory, but with Ghostface slipping back into the shadows, unscathed and unidentified. It would be an unprecedented move, leaving audiences in suspense and setting the stage for something completely new.
If Scream 7 truly wants to shake things up, letting Ghostface win would be the most daring choice of all.
The Beginning of a New Trilogy
While Scream (2022) introduced a fresh generation of survivors with Sam and Tara Carpenter, Scream 7 could take things even further by shifting the focus to Sidney Prescott’s daughter.
There’s been growing speculation that Scream 7 could serve as the launchpad for a new trilogy—one centered around Sidney’s teenage daughter, possibly played by 1883’s Isabel May. If this theory holds, it would place Sidney in a Laurie Strode-like role (à la Halloween 2018), forced to confront her past once again, this time to protect her own child.
The biggest twist? Sidney might not survive this time. If Scream 7 marks the beginning of a new arc, it would make sense for the film to pass the torch definitively—by doing what no Scream film has dared to do before: kill off its most iconic survivor.
A Ghostface Cult—The Final Evolution
Ghostface has never been a singular entity; it’s an idea that can be adopted by anyone. With the Stab movies existing within the Scream universe and Scream VI showcasing an obsessive Ghostface shrine, what if those fans weren’t just collectors… but worshipers?
Stu Macher returns. But this time, he isn’t just one Ghostface—he’s the leader of an entire movement. A cult of masked killers, dedicated to terrorizing survivors across the country. A Ghostface that isn’t just one person but an ideology would be the ultimate escalation of the franchise’s meta themes.
The most unsettling part? The final reveal. What if one of the survivors—the person we’ve been rooting for all along—was a cult member too?
This twist wouldn’t just break the Scream formula—it would rewrite it. The idea of Ghostface as a movement, a following, a religion of murder, is exactly the kind of reinvention Scream 7 needs to ensure the franchise remains fresh.
The Future of Horror Depends on Scream 7
For nearly 30 years, Scream has survived by adapting. Ghostface may wear the same mask, but the story underneath it has always evolved. If Scream 7 wants to change horror forever—again—it needs to take risks.
Whether it’s a Ghostface war, the return of Stu Macher, or a killer who finally wins, Scream 7 can’t be just another sequel. It has to be a game-changer, like the original Scream was in 1996, like Scream 4 tried to be, like Scream (2022) came close to being.
And if it does? Well, I’ll be sitting there on opening night, popcorn in hand, waiting for the moment when horror changes forever.
The question is: Will Scream 7 be bold enough to take the leap?