I Accepted The Friend Request, And Yep, I Got Spooked

Content note: mentions of suicide and creepy internet stuff.

I watched the horror movie “Friend Request” on a rainy Thursday night. Lights off. Popcorn in a bowl that was way too big. My friend Jess sat on the floor, hugging a pillow like it was a shield. My cat? She lasted five minutes and noped out. Smart cat.

(If you want the extended saga of this scream-filled evening, here’s the full play-by-play of what happened when I accepted the friend request—and yep, got spooked.)

What It’s About (in plain words)

A college girl named Laura accepts a friend request from Marina, a lonely, goth art student. Marina wants to be close. Way too close. After a fight, Marina kills herself on video, and the posts won’t stop. Laura’s account starts to share messed up clips she didn’t make. Her friends begin to die, one by one. The curse acts like a virus. It spreads through shares. You can’t delete it. You can try, but it laughs in your face.

That’s the hook. Simple, modern, mean.

How I Watched It

  • TV sound up, bass turned low (neighbors, sorry)
  • Phone face down, but buzzing on the table, which did not help
  • I kept a sticker over my laptop camera. Don’t judge me

Halfway through, I paused to check my own privacy settings. I never do that mid-movie. That’s how jittery it made me.

Three Moments That Got Under My Skin

  1. The suicide video. It’s not gory, but it feels real. The room is small, the screen light is cold, and the silence before it happens is worse than any scream. My stomach sank. Jess said, “Nope,” out loud. We both stared at the progress bar like it could save us.

  2. The elevator scene with the black wasps. They pour out like smoke. The glass starts to crack. It’s that slow, awful kind of crack, like ice on a lake. You know it will give, and your brain begs it not to. Sound design here? Tight. Low hum, little wings, sharp snaps.

  3. The printer scene. Papers fly out with creepy drawings, all in that scratchy style. I’ve seen that trick before, but this one builds. Page after page, the same face, darker each time. It’s like the machine is breathing. I laughed a tiny bit, and then the last page hit, and I shut up.

Why It Worked For Me

  • Social media horror feels close. We all live on screens. We all get friend requests we don’t know what to do with.
  • The UI overlays look slick. Posts, messages, profile pics—clear and fast. It doesn’t talk down to you.
  • The curse rules make sense enough. Shares spread it. Isolation feeds it. And the last shot? Cold. I won’t spoil it, but it sticks.

From a film nerd angle (sorry, I’m that person): the pacing holds most of the middle act. The jump scares aren’t all cheap. Many are slow burns. The mix favors mid-bass rumbles over shrieks, which I like. It makes your chest tight.

Side note: not every ping from a stranger has to spell doom. If you’d prefer your screen interactions to be more steamy than spooky, you can browse this guide to the best sex apps—a concise rundown of the hottest platforms, their standout features, and the safety tips you need before you start swiping.

If you’re in California’s Central Valley and would rather line up a real-world rendezvous than tempt fate with haunted friend requests, the hyper-local Backpage Lathrop classifieds round up live ads for everything from casual coffee dates to discreet overnight connections, complete with verified photos and easy contact options so you can set something up without any jump scares.

Where It Tripped

  • Some friend group banter feels thin. Like “we’re friends because the script said so.” I wanted more hangout time before the bad stuff.
  • The police and the school act like fog. They show up, then fade. No real pushback, which pulled me out.
  • The witch backstory gets told fast. I liked the idea—old ritual meets new tech—but it needed one more beat to land.
  • A few kills try to outdo the last. Bigger, louder. Not always better.

Small nitpick: posts auto-playing death videos on every phone, everywhere, with zero platform limits? I get it, it’s horror. Still, part of me said, “Okay, but content filters exist.” Then another part said, “Shh, Kayla, you’re scared. Eat your popcorn.”

A Weird Thing I Noticed

My phone buzzed during a quiet scene. I jumped and kicked the coffee table. My popcorn did a little fountain move. For a second, the movie and my life mixed. That’s the trick here. It pokes your daily habits. Click. Scroll. Like. Share. Gulp.

Bits I Loved

  • The moth/wasp motif. It crawls through the whole film.
  • Reflections—laptop screens as mirrors. Simple, eerie.
  • Alycia Debnam-Carey sells panic without yelling every line. Small face acting. Good stuff.

Craving something more atmospheric? Take a stroll through candlelit corridors with my night of gothic horror, told in first-person shivers.

Bits I Didn’t

  • One “gotcha” effect repeats. When you see it the third time, it loses bite.
  • The boyfriend is kind of cardboard. He’s more “plot tool” than person.
  • A late exposition dump tries to explain too much, then stops short. Pick one.

If You Liked These, You’ll Be Fine Here

For an even deeper plunge into screen-bound scares, check out the unsettling rabbit hole over at AllFlesh.

Did It Scare Me?

Yes. Not the “don’t sleep” kind. More the “don’t click that” kind. After, I closed my apps, then opened them, then closed them again. Silly, I know. But fear lives in small loops.

My Quick Take

Friend Request is a solid Friday-night scare. It’s not perfect. It is effective. It pokes a soft spot we all have now: strangers at the edge of our screens. It made me feel watched while I was the one watching. That’s a neat trick.

Score: 3 out of 5 moths. Creepy wings, steady buzz, a few broken panes of glass.

You know what? I’m keeping that sticker on my webcam. Just in case.