I drank an entire six-pack of Red Bull hoping to stay awake, stared at my ceiling like it had secrets, and left the lights on like a coward with a Netflix addiction. Emma had gone to bed hours ago, curling up like a cat in one of my oversized hoodies. The VHS was still there on the coffee table, just... sitting. Like it was waiting for something. Maybe a reaction, maybe applause.
I didn't give it either but Red Bull has limits, and unfortunately, so do I.I woke up back in the theater. The torn screen twitching with static like it was trying to play something but couldn't decide what. A romantic comedy? A horror film? Something French and pretentious?This time, the chairs were full.
But everyone was faceless. Literally, smooth ovals where features should be. Like cheap mannequins dressed in random costumes. A cowboy, a surgeon and a crying bride. They turned to look at me, and I felt it, not fear, but... recognition.The lights flickered and he appeared.
Director's Cut.
Wearing a patchwork suit stitched from genres. One shoulder denim, the other velvet. His tie blinked like a neon OPEN sign. And his face? Still that glitchy mess of failed auditions. Lips moving too fast. Too slow. Sometimes backwards.
"You're sleeping too much," he said, every word layered in static and sarcasm. "I rewrote your dreams into something more… award-winning."I didn't speak. What was there to say to a man who wore jump scares like cufflinks?He walked down the aisle toward me, flicking popcorn from the armrests."You took her out," he continued. "Emma, that was cute tho but she was never yours. She was on loan. And now? I've added her back to the cast list."
I stepped back and he floor squeaked underneath me."You can't touch her," I said, unsure if I meant it as a threat or a prayer.
He tilted his head till the lights cut out.Then came the line:
"This next scene? It's called Betrayal."
I jerked awake, drenched in sweat.Breathing like I'd just run a marathon inside a blender. The lights were off. My TV? Static again. Unplugged, again.And Emma?She was gone.
REALITY, MOMENTS LATER
I searched every room. Called out her name. Even checked the fridge. Don't judge me , horror movie logic makes you check stupid places,no note ,no message and no hoodie. Not my perfect Xl hoodie. Just an empty glass of water on the counter with a lipstick mark that hadn't been there before.
And the tape was still there just;smug,mocking maybe even smiling.
Then it spoke.Okay, not like "mouths and teeth" spoke, but a low voice buzzed through the static like a broken PA system. Just three words:
"Check... the script."
I didn't know what it meant until I looked down.There was a sticky note on my arm. One I hadn't put there. Written in shaky, familiar handwriting:
"He's changing the scenes from one of my movies. Go there. Fix it."
My heart dropped.
That meant she went back in. Voluntarily. Or maybe... she was pulled. And if Director's Cut had touched the script then that film wasn't playing by the same rules anymore.
MOVIE WORLD: "The Charm of Paris" (2006)
Romantic drama. PG-13. Critically average.
The moment I stepped in, I knew something was wrong. The Eiffel Tower was... crooked. Like someone dragged it in Microsoft Paint. Pigeons flew in reverse. Dialogue came out in subtitles, even though characters were speaking English.
And then I saw her.Emma.
Arguing with the male lead, only he wasn't the same. His face glitched. His voice kept switching from charming to growling. And behind him, in the extras?
Director's Cut, pretending to be a waiter.
He raised a wine glass and mouthed the words: "Scene stealer."I clenched my fists.
Skill unlocked:"Genre Awareness"
You can now feel when a movie's tone or logic is being rewritten. Use it to detect script edits or false events.