The Last House on the Right

The scene erupts as two breathless schoolgirls, Ashley and Nina, skid around a shadowy corner, their laughter slicing through the humid air like a switchblade. Ashley gasps, 'I can't believe you nearly busted us for that shoplift!' They ease into a strut, Nina yanking two skimpy bikinis from her bulging backpack. 'You're such a chicken,' she sneers, dangling the loot. 'I'd never let us get pinched. Now we've got killer threads for the heat.' They saunter down the cracked sidewalk, trading barbs about classes, scandals, and the jock squad's latest brawl. Nina, 19 and a full year ahead of Ashley, rules the school as the wildcat with a rap sheet of rebellion. Ashley? She's the shadow, a isolated soul who's latched onto Nina as her sole lifeline—pushing her into the thrill beyond her timid edges. They hit another bend. 'What's next?' Ashley murmurs, pulse racing. 'Can't face home; they'll sniff out the truancy.' Nina's eyes gleam with mischief. 'Let's prowl that derelict spread at the dead end of my block. Slated for the wrecking ball—a faded mid-century pile where the elite threw savage celebrity fuck-fests.' Ashley shoots her a wary glance, but Nina bolts ahead, cackling, 'Kidding, you prude! You in or out?' Ashley pauses, heart pounding, then chases into the dusk. CUT TO TITLE PLATE. The lens slinks through a trash-choked yard, zeroing on Ashley and Nina threading the debris. Nina's spilling the gritty lore of the place to her hooked companion...