As the "Projectionist" lunged at her with a jagged shard of glass, she didn't scream. She struck a match. The booth erupted in a roar of orange flame, the old film acting as a fuse. Chloe tumbled out of the window just as the booth exploded, the silhouette of the killer swallowed by the very fire he’d lived in for years.
The neon sign for "The Silver Screen Drive-In" flickered, casting long, rhythmic shadows over the group of five friends huddled in a beat-up sedan. It was the theater’s closing night, and the local legend of the "Projectionist"—a man who supposedly went mad and trapped his victims in the celluloid—was the only thing on their minds. Slasher
"It’s just a movie, Leo," Chloe laughed, tossing a handful of popcorn at the driver. But Leo wasn't laughing. He was staring at the projection booth, where a tall, hooded figure stood perfectly still, watching them instead of the screen. One by one, the group began to dwindle: As the "Projectionist" lunged at her with a