The Texas sun hung low, stretching shadows across the cracked highway. Y/N’s sedan sputtered beneath her, struggling against the heat. When the engine gave a final, wheezing groan and died, she cursed, coasting to the shoulder.

"No, not now," she muttered, twisting the key in vain. Her phone flashed No Service, and the empty road offered no sign of help. Grabbing her bag and flashlight, she locked the car and headed west, following a faint trail through the trees.

As dusk fell, the air grew heavy with the scent of dry earth and something metallic that churned her stomach. When a leaning, weathered house appeared in the clearing, she hesitated. Rusted tools cluttered the yard, and the silence felt unnatural.

Y/N knocked tentatively.

“Hello?” she called, her voice wavering. Nothing. She knocked louder.

The faint creak of hinges made her freeze. The door hadn’t opened fully, just enough to reveal a massive figure looming in the shadows.

“I… I’m sorry to bother you,” Y/N stammered, stepping back. “My car broke down. I just need a phone or—”

The figure stepped into the light—a hulking man wearing a stitched leather mask, a butcher’s cleaver hanging loosely in his hand.

Before Y/N could react, a sharp voice barked from inside the house.

“Who is it, Thomas? You bringin’ ‘em in or not?”

Her instincts screamed to run, but her legs refused to move. Thomas tilted his head, almost curiously, as though unsure what to do.

That hesitation was all she needed. Y/N bolted for the trees, but before she could get far, heavy footfalls thundered behind her. She barely had time to scream before a firm hand gripped her, pulling her into the shadows.