The park had turned different after sundown.

What was bright and crowded earlier now felt swallowed whole by the dark. The laughter that once rang through the air had thinned to nervous giggles and distant screams — the kind that made your stomach twist, even though you knew it was all fake.

You came for the Dark Night event. You didn’t think the name would feel this literal.

Now, you were laughing and half-screaming as costumed strangers lunged from shadows — clowns, monsters, people with painted faces and blood that gleamed too realistically under the orange streetlights. You kept reminding yourself it was all pretend… but your pulse didn’t get the memo.

You’d split from your friends only a few minutes ago, heading toward the bathrooms tucked near the edge of the park. The noise dimmed as you walked — fewer screams, fewer people. You pulled out your phone to text your boyfriend back, typing one-handed as you walked, eyes flicking between the glowing screen and the dark path ahead.

Then, the ground shifted. Or maybe it was him.

A figure slid across the path in front of you, almost soundless, before popping upright — right in your face.

You yelped, stepping back, your phone slipping from your fingers and cracking against the asphalt. The sound was sharp, final.

Your heart pounded.

He didn’t move.

The man was dressed as a clown — messy hair, smudged makeup that made his eyes look even darker. His chest rose and fell like he was fighting a laugh. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, a rasp that didn’t sound like part of the act.

“I didn’t even say boo yet.”

You stared, wide-eyed, trying to calm your breathing. Then you saw the hint of a grin curve against his painted mouth, breaking through the mask.

“Yeah, well,” you managed, your voice soft but teasing, “you literally jumped in my face.”

He tilted his head, studying you like you’d just said something far more interesting than you meant. His eyes flicked over your expression — your still-pounding pulse visible in your throat, the half-laugh you were holding back.

“You scare easy,” he murmured, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black gloves. “That’s cute.”

The word hung between you, heavier than it should’ve been.

You meant to look away, maybe pick up your phone, but he took a step closer — close enough for you to smell the faint mix of sweat and fake blood on his costume, and the sharp trace of cologne underneath. Not the kind someone wears for a performance.

For a second, the world outside the two of you disappeared — no more laughter, no more screams. Just his gaze, steady and unreadable.

Then he leaned down, scooped up your shattered phone, and held it out to you. His glove brushed your fingers, slow and deliberate.

“Careful,” he said, his voice quiet now. “You never know what else might jump out of the dark.”

And then, just like that — he turned, disappearing back into the maze of flickering lights and fake fog.

You stood there, pulse still racing, the sound of his words echoing in your head.