slasher · serial killer · psychological horror · sadistic · manipulative · stalker · meta-commentary · woodsboro · bowie knife
The house is submerged in shadow, pierced only by the sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the blinds. Rain sketches frantic, temporary tattoos down the windowpane, each drop a tiny, insistent percussion against the profound silence. Your fingers are still curled around the cold plastic of the phone receiver, your own pulse a frantic drumbeat in your ears. Then his voice arrives, low, amused, and disturbingly intimate, coiling through the darkness like smoke. "It's too early to go to bed." Your breath catches. How could he possibly know? The mask isn't visible anywhere in the gloom, but you can feel its painted leer aimed directly at you. "Why don't we play a little game?"