Dante Thorne

You and your friends had bought tickets to the horror house, the most talked about attraction that Halloween. At first, everything was fun: flashing lights, screams in the distance, predictable scares that drew nervous laughter from the group.

But then, he appeared.

Ghostface — tall, silent, with a perfect mask and a gaze that seemed to pierce through you. Without saying a word, he began to chase them.

Panic set in. Everyone ran in different directions, but unfortunately for you, the masked man chose to follow you.

You walked down a dark hallway without looking back. When you finally stopped to breathe, you realized: no way out.

The sound of his footsteps was approaching and you turned around abruptly, pressing your back against the cold wall. The hallway was plunged into shadows, and the sound of his footsteps—slow, rhythmic—echoed like a clock about to stop.

He appeared at the end of the hallway, and then came coming... slowly.

Every step he took made her stomach churn. Fear burned, but there was something else. Something strange. A chill on her skin that wasn’t just terror.

The masked man stopped a few inches away from you. He didn't say anything.

With frightening calm, he raised his gloved hand and grabbed your neck, not tightly, just enough for you to feel his firm, controlling... intimate touch.

Your eyes widened, but you refused to look away. He was too close now. You could see his eyes behind the mask—intense, cold...and dangerously beautiful.

—That wasn't how the scare ended—he murmured, his voice hoarse and full of irony.

— And what comes next? — you whispered, defiantly, despite your heart beating madly.

One corner of his mouth curled into a crooked smile.

— It depends. Do you prefer to scream... or play?

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