Final Girls Forever

Kyrah Honner

Content Warning: Graphic depictions of death

I had no idea why I bothered to come to the annual swim team “sleepover”. They hated me. I could feel their side-eyes every time I decided to step out of my assigned room. I was bunked with Murphy, the only other member of the swim team that was anywhere near my status—although she didn’t realise it herself. She thought that the nickname the other girls called her was a term of endearment, not a thinly veiled insult about her weight.

‘Muffin,’ Yancy called out and opened the door without bothering to knock.

Murphy paused her in-depth explanation of Naruto to me and looked up.

‘We’re gonna play beach volleyball. You need to set up the net,’ Yancy continued, not even sparing a glance towards me, let alone an invitation.

‘Sure!’ Murphy said, scrambling to follow her.

Left alone, I wandered to the window overlooking the sandy backyard of the holiday house. I could see the rest of the girls passing around a volleyball, and then Yancy and Murphy joined them. As Murphy began to connect the net to the poles set in the ground, Bree stormed over, probably to complain she was going too slow. Kat and Gina continued to set the ball to each other, with Yancy lazily leaning against the back gate, watching them. Movement from the jetty behind the gate caught my eye.

There she was, the owner of the holiday house, in all her glory. Queenie, the captain with the fitting name, strolling in from a dip in the water to show the other girls how beach volleyball is done.

She looked up to the window then, locking gazes with me and narrowing her eyes into a glare before I could even react. I turned away and resigned myself to only leave the room when I needed to. This was going to be a sleepover from hell.

It was sunset when I left the room, hungry for dinner. My steps stuttered when I entered the kitchen to see most of the girls already there, glued to their phones while Gina fluttered about. She saw me and rolled her eyes.

‘Have you guys seen Yancy?’ she asked absentmindedly. ‘She was supposed to help me start making dinner.’

Queenie shrugged. ‘She probably went to go get stuff from the shops.’

‘Both the cars are still here?’

‘Then she walked. The lazy bitch needs some exercise.’

Kat sighed and volunteered to drive to the shops to check if Yancy was there. She grabbed Gina’s arm, dragging her along as she said, ‘we need to buy seltzers anyway and Yancy doesn’t look old enough to finesse them like I can.’

The sound of the front door shutting echoed in the big house as they left. I remained standing in the threshold between the kitchen and hallway, hesitant to enter where Queenie and Bree sat. The latter placed her phone on the bench and blinked in surprise as she noticed me.

‘Where is Muffin? While they’re gone, we need to get the fire ready for marshmallows.’

Before I could snap an annoyed Why would I know, Queenie replied, her acrylic nails tapping against her phone screen. I had no idea what she was doing, since there was no reception this close to the water. ‘She’s still putting away the beach volleyball kit.’

Queenie then peered at me from under her lashes. ‘Why don’t you be useful for once and set up the fire?’

‘Yeah,’ Bree chimed in with a shit-eating grin. ‘The others are at the shops, Queenie owns the holiday house, and I’m here to be hot. Go contribute something.’

I didn’t put up a fight. I was going to be trapped in this house with them for the next two days—I had to choose my battles wisely. I exited the sliding glass doors to the backyard, not without casting a glare towards the girls in the kitchen.

Outside, in the dimming light, I could see Murphy rolling up the volleyball net. She gave me an exhausted wave. I half-heartedly smiled back at her and went to the metal urn in the corner.

I had emptied a bag of firewood and coal into the small urn, grunting with the effort of heaving the bags, when someone screamed from inside the house. It wasn’t a girly, joking scream. It was blood-curdling and horrifying to hear. I looked up to see Murphy gone and the glass door wide open. I abandoned the urn and raced inside to see Queenie and Murphy crowded around a trembling Bree.

‘It’s Yancy,’ she cried. ‘I found her lying in her bed, not breathing!’


‘I think she did it.’

I glared at Bree from where she sat on the couch. I almost pitied how pale and daunted she looked, or at least I would have, if she weren’t accusing me of murder.

‘Think about it,’ she continued, looking at Queenie beside her imploringly. ‘She was down the hallway, she would’ve gone and smothered Yancy with a pillow. We can vouch for each other.’

‘I didn’t kill Yancy!’

‘Of course, you won’t admit it! Fucking murderer!’

Queenie silenced her with a look. She was surprisingly unshaken, considering her friend had been found dead in her house. She levelled a cool gaze at me, assessing me. I met her eyes as calmly as I could to convince her of the truth, but I would not stoop to pleading. It’s true that I was only one without an alibi, but killing Yancy? I wasn’t a psychopath, no matter what they thought of me.

She blinked languidly. ‘We’ll take the second car and drive into town to call the police. Bree, you and Muffin can stay here and wait for the other two to get back.’

Murphy snivelled on the foot stool. She had been crying since Bree broke the news. I couldn’t understand how she could be so upset over the death of a bully. It was the implication of murder, rather than Yancy herself being dead, that frightened me. People don’t just stop breathing.

Without waiting for a reply, Queenie stood up and retrieved the car keys from the kitchen bench. I stood and followed, only because the look that Bree was giving me scared me enough that I would rather be in Queenie’s presence.

We were both silent as we exited the house and followed the long, sandy driveway, avoiding stepping on sticks as we went. The car was barely visible under the purpling sky, but it was the larger shadow beside it that made us pause.

Both cars were here.

I exchanged a look with Queenie and we both ran towards the first car, pulling out our phones to use as torches. I peered inside the tinted windows – empty. We moved in tandem on either side of the car, shining light into the backseat only to come up empty again. I began to go towards the boot but stepped on something that wasn’t sand. I shrieked and jumped back, fumbling to direct my phone towards the ground.

‘What? What is it?’ Queenie snapped, but I could only produce guttural sounds of horror.

I couldn’t tell whose body it was that lay on the sand. Their head had been placed behind the back wheel of the car and crushed to bloody smithereens beneath the weight of the car’s reversal. I could hear Queenie start retching as she found whoever was under the other wheel. We had found Kat and Gina.

Both of us now quivered uncontrollably as we hurried back to the house. The tyres of the second car had been slashed and the keys to first car were missing. We had no choice but to go back to other girls and tell them that someone was picking us off.

The sun had finished its descent and I was all too aware of how we may not be alone in the dark.

We finally approached the house, startled when the front door swung open, and we were greeted by a tearful Murphy. ‘Did you guys find them?’

I shook my head and told her what had become of Kat and Gina. Her eyes widened and I felt sorry for how pathetic and scared she looked. Murphy had always been nice to me and it sucked that someone as helpless as her was stuck in this situation.

‘We’re being hunted,’ Queenie said unsteadily. ‘Michael Meyers or some shit has come after us.’

‘Where’s Bree?’ I asked as we entered, noticing the tall girl’s absence.

Murphy blinked at me. ‘She went to start the fire.’

I beelined for the back door to drop the news to Bree. Though the glass, I could see the small orange glow of the fire in the urn except the urn was turned sideways, smoking contents spilled.

I stopped in my tracks, staring harder. I could see Bree lying face down on top of the glowing coals.

Queenie stood beside me, clutching at my shoulder. ‘It’s Murphy,’ she whispered urgently. ‘It’s Murphy we need to—’

I was whacked in the back of the head before she could finish.


I woke up in a sitting position. My head ached and it took me a few panicked blinks to realise that I wasn’t blind, it was dark. I caught a snippet of conversation.

‘—regret this. Oh, she’s awake. Welcome back, best friend!’

Murphy smiled at me sweetly. I stared at her, dazed, before looking around.

I was tied to a chair, sitting on the back jetty. Under the moonlight, I could see a figure lying on the end of the dock. Queenie. She was rolled up in the volleyball net, her mouth duct taped and her eyes wide with terror.

‘What’s going on?’ My tongue felt heavy.

Standing beside me, Murphy threw back her head and giggled. ‘You’re witnessing our revenge! These nasty bitches are finally getting their comeuppance.’

‘You’re the killer…?’

‘For all those years you bullied me,’ she continued as though I hadn’t spoken, directing her words to Queenie. ‘Calling me Muffin and purposely excluding me from the group. Making me do all the physical work. How cruel you were to both of us.’

‘Think about this, Murphy,’ I began steadily, trying to sound calm despite the bubbling panic inside. My sentence petered out. I couldn’t find any reason to stop her.

She ignored my pitiful attempt to talk her down, strolling over to the girl at the end of jetty. Queenie’ terrified screams were muffled by the tape. She struggled, but the net was wrapped too tightly around her. I called out to Murphy, but it was obvious that I was just an observer. She didn’t waste a second, booting Queenie into the dark water. The muffled screams cut off with a splash.

Murphy turned towards me victoriously and flipped her hair. ‘We don’t need them anymore.’

Author: Kyrah H is a fourth-year creative writing student of the Wiri and Luritja First Nations. She like to experiment with horror-themed fiction. Expect to see more of her work in ScratchThat, GLASS magazine, and online.

Editors: David Farr and Sara Reeves