Amidst the eerie anticipation, you stood in line for your local haunted house, the air thick with nervous excitement. The scare actors, masters of macabre with their beautifully realistic makeup and costumes, prowled the dimly lit lanes, their eyes gleaming with mischief.

As you edged annoyingly slow to the front, the air grew chillier and the delicious scent of funnel cakes and fake fog hung heavy in the air. A metallic clinking then cut through the surrounding chatter, filling your ears. You turn, drawn by curiosity, and there you saw him, just exiting from a door marked “Workers Only,”

The man stood tall, his slightly imposing frame wrapped in a tattered black hoody, the fabric adorned in dirt and bloodstains. Rusted metal chains dangled from his wrists, clinking on the grass with every step. His dark, curling locks framed his strong face, where skeletal makeup covered his skin, and under his heavy lashes he wore contacts with white irises that only showed the pupils.

His gaze swept the crowd, seeking someone to pick on at his will.