The film opened to heavy disturbed breath with a single credit addressed to “Predator Studios”, this was met with a few uncomfortable giggles and a whispered comment on how it was a poor name choice but widely the room seemed receptive to whatever may come next. The labored breath continued as the film cycled through fuzzy landscape shots of the campus. Immediately something seemed off to me about the landscapes, they were familiar but not quite right. None of them stuck around long enough for me to find what was wrong but immediately I was put on edge. The film quality was poor, it reminded me of older films in how its colors leaked into one another and ever so slightly distorted the image. Whatever equipment was being used must have been very old. The screen turned a complex black that subtly implied depth, an unseen space. I expected another shift, but the shot stayed fixed and I began to noticed the desperate pants were now accompanied by the echoes of slow steps. About 5 minutes passed, the room began to grow bored when a low cry was heard, soon after a glimmer of light could be seen on screen. The steps grew even slower and the breaths wilder, almost animal-like. As the camera approached it gave the impression that the whimpers emerged from something near the swinging light. The screen turned a blinding white before adjusting. The light seemed to be emanating from a flashlight now pointed at the lens. The light and shadow made details hard to grasp but the figure seemed to be sprawled on the ground and injured, glints of a violent red occasionally becoming visible. The lens violently zoomed in and as it did a swift crack was heard that was followed by a throat cutting scream. The subject started to contort, clawing at the ground and swinging its body like an angry worm. Its nails scraped against the cement so hard they began to detach, leaking blood and painting the floor with gore. They began to rip into their own flesh but ceased as the lens bulled back and their wild expressions settled into a static shock.

Static began to muddy the audio as the visuals grew clearer, the leaking tints consolidating into a cutting image of a bloodied mangled woman. Her heavy breaths slowly began to sink in time with the now hyperventilating cameraman. Her flesh’s tint began to shift ever so slightly as it went pale, her striking green eyes frozen like a wild animal staring at headlights.

It felt more like a snuff film than a horror movie; I would have looked away, I should have, but my curiosity kept my eyes glued to the screen. The room was divided, some stared with a fanatic fixation while others covered their eyes or even left club early. Some whispered, speculating on if not applauding the visual effects as no trace of CGI could be spotted. I wanted to know how they did it, what was happening, where the film was trying to go, and what it was trying to say, if anything.

The girl on screen began to tremble as her body started to collapse in what seemed to be random segments, each then breaking down further and further till the remains could hardly be recognized to be human. The remains began to fade into the darkness as the now still flashlights beam faded, and the subtle blur returned to the screen. My stomach grew heavy, and a sickness took over both me and the other club members.

I would have stayed to see the rest… I needed to, but the graphic scene had stirred something in me and some of the others that had us rush to the bathroom to throw up. I had my head plunged in that toilet feeling like I was going to spew every bit of myself till nothing was left but the vomit just would not come. I was stuck, knowing something was wrong, embracing release yet it would not come. I don’t think I was the only one, from what I could see and hear the others were also silently knelt over the toilets, all in the same limbo as me. Others gradually got up and gave up on vomiting, but I persisted, what kept me there I am unsure. I don’t know how long I knelt on those piss-stained floors but eventually I found release and was met with horror. In my terror and delirium, I flushed the toilet almost immediately, but I could have sworn that in that pool of digest and melted popcorn I saw a bloody red mess, scattered pieces of strange matter and what haunts me the most, an unblinking green eye. 

I tried to vomit again, seeking sanity in the revelations of my bile but nothing would come, I was empty. I washed out my mouth religiously till my mouth and gums bled by my hands which so diligently scraped my mouth, clawing at undetectable filth. Soaking my bloodied mouth in bitter restroom soap, going as far as swallowing some, anything to try to make me feel clean. Left slumped on the floor with a foaming, stinging mouth I still felt filthy, but I accepted there was no escape.

Reportedly the film continued to play for about on hour with the rest being more stumbling through darkness as the camera man continued to hyperventilate, few stayed to see the whole thing, but those who did said that the credits attributed most of the work to a “David Crumwell”. What was odd were the other names listed under cast, apparently everyone who attended the club meeting was on there with the addition of someone called “Olivia Brand” who they assumed was the girl in the film. They said they tried to go back to take a picture but it wasn’t working, when they took out the CD it looked like someone had scratched it with sandpaper with how messed up it was, they called it unsalvageable and threw it away.      

When I managed to get a shaky grasp on my wits I looked into the Scream Queens discord seeking some scrap of sanity or even someone who would relate, who also felt unholy. I was only met with what I disclosed prior regarding the following events of the movie, I scrambled to the club room to look at the CD, expecting what, I don’t know. Looking into all the trash cans and digging into their filth I found nothing, the CD if it was ever there, was gone. Looking on the discord the next day people confirmed it was thrown away and everyone present denied taking it.