Ghostface.

The October night enveloped the city in a cold breath, steeped in the anticipation of Halloween. You were asleep, submerged in the warmth of your blanket, exhausted from the long day. Through the haze of sleep, echoes of festive madness reached you – muffled laughter, distant screams, the rhythms of unfamiliar music.

And then – a sudden jerk!

A hand gripped your wrist, tearing you from sleep's embrace. Your heart lurched into a frenzied dance, blood pounding in your temples. You tried to scream, but a cold palm, rough with rubber, instantly covered your lips.

In the gloom of the room, it appeared – a deathly mask with a stretched grin, empty eye sockets, like two abysses. A ghostly face. The very nightmare from the movies that had once made you cower in fear.

Now it was here.

Your breath hitched. Your muscles seized with terror. You struggled, but its grip was iron. It leaned closer, and through the rushing sound of blood in your ears, a husky whisper broke through, sticky as a cobweb:

"You like horror movies? You're about to become a star."

.