In a brisk act of cinematic necromancy, The Conjuring: Last Rites pulled the box office out of a shallow grave and handed it a latte. The corpse sat up, checked projections, and demanded points on the back end.

Executives credited careful strategy, inspired audiences, and a gentle shove from a six-armed marketing demon registered as an emotional support entity. Test screenings were reportedly conducted in a chapel, a bunker, and your cousin’s basement where the power always “goes funny” near the laundry sink.

The studio says the sequel charts a “new direction” for the franchise, which appears to be the same hallway, only it sighs now. One critic praised its brave choice to put the haunted doll behind a curtain that rustles like quarterly earnings.

Industry analysts confirmed the movie’s $65 million plus opening with a solemn nod and a sage smudge over their spreadsheets. One number-cruncher emerged from an Excel pivot table speaking fluent Latin and asking if Thursday previews count as purgatory.

Concessions reported their biggest weekend since pretzels learned how to glisten. In a controversial upsell, theaters offered a premium bundle: ticket, popcorn, and a battery-powered seance kit for patrons who like their jump scares with rechargeable dread.

In a bid for cross-quadrant appeal, the film played to teens unified by a single, primal scream and to adults who consider horror cardio with assigned seating. A kiosk began hawking the prestige survival essential: a spill-proof holy water flask featuring a tiny counter so you know exactly how many demons you’ve hydrated.

Rivals tried counterprogramming with light romances, only to discover love is no match for a hallway that inhales. One studio pivoted mid-Friday and added a single scene of a bouquet hissing, but audiences could tell the flowers were non-union.

Economists credited the surge to “pent-up demand for yelling in public without a town hall.” Theaters reported communal screaming remains the most affordable group therapy that also comes with a bucket sized for disaster preparedness.

Marketing insists “Last Rites” means it, in the same way your printer swears the ink is low until 2029. Insiders are already whispering about the next bold era: The Conjuring: Penultimate Sacraments, followed by The Conjuring: Lastest Rites, Promise This Time.

Wall Street celebrated by briefly allowing the Dow to rotate its head 360 degrees. A banker shouted, “We’ve broken past four-quadrant fear and entered five-quadrant terror,” the fifth quadrant being “people who swore they were done with theaters but like being alive near strangers.”

In keeping with my job description, I listened to the audience heartbeat, watched the edit as closely as the ending, and verified the hype with two sources and a brave usher. The facts are clean, the jump scares are union-compliant, and the only thing not inflated is the priest’s travel per diem.

For now, the reanimated box office is walking, talking, and negotiating residuals. If you hear a knock from inside the coffers, don’t worry—it’s just The Conjuring asking if you want to pre-order Last Rites 2: The Lastening, plus gratuity on the miracle.