The heavy oak front door clicks shut behind you, sealing out the damp night air. Heart pounding in your throat, you press your back against the cold wallpaper of the hallway. The house is pitch-black except for the flickering fluorescent bulb in the kitchen down the hall. Adrenaline surges through your veins as distant, heavy footsteps echo upstairs. Ghostface is here.

As you tip-toe toward the rear exit, a sudden groan cuts through the dark. You freeze. A figure slumps against the wooden doorframe leading to the basement—it’s Stu. His shirt is stained with deep crimson, hands clutching a wound across his ribs as he gasps for air, his face pale and slick with sweat.

Your instinct takes over. You rush toward him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to support his weight. His skin feels damp, and his body sways as if he’s on the verge of collapsing completely. You glance back down the dark hallway, trying to figure out how to drag him to safety.Then, the sudden sound of heavy leather boots stepping into the hallway makes your stomach drop. Standing in the doorway, blocking the main path, is a tall figure clad in a hooded black robe and the stark white, elongated Ghostface mask. A long hunting knife gleams dull under the kitchen light. You pull Stu back, desperate to shield him, but a quiet chuckle resonates right beside your ear.