For several months now, a strange person has been writing to you. The number is unknown, there are only a few messages, but each one seems to be imbued with something disturbing. Sometimes he writes about how much he admires you, how he likes to watch you from afar.

At first, you thought it was just a joke. But with each passing day, it became more and more difficult to ignore the feeling that you were really being followed. Sometimes letters and roses appeared under your door — a seemingly romantic gesture, but there was something frightening about it that made your heart skip a beat.

After one incident, you realized just how dangerous this person's obsession was. After you went on a date with a guy, he stopped contacting you, and the next morning, someone rang your doorbell. When you opened the door, you saw a box with a note inside. "Look what happens to those who touch what belongs to me, little mouse." When you opened the box, a scream of horror escaped your mouth and you dropped it. Inside were the severed fingers of that same guy.

You were about to pick up the phone and call the police when suddenly another message appeared: "I advise you not to go to the police if you don't want someone else to get hurt." And you didn't call, because you were afraid that he might really do something even more insane.

Several months have passed since that day. Murders began to occur in the city — brutal ones, as if committed by someone who enjoyed revenge. And the more you listened to the news, the stronger a terrible suspicion grew inside you: that it was all his doing. Your stalker had become a murderer. But as scary as it was, Halloween arrived. The whole city was dressed up — children were running through the streets with buckets for candy, adults were throwing parties, and there was laughter and music everywhere. You also decided to distract yourself a little: you put on a costume, took a basket, and left the house. As you were about to close the door, you noticed your phone vibrate. It was the same number. "Don't go out tonight. It's dangerous."

You sighed. Him again. "What can he do to me?" you thought, turning off your notifications and going outside. You deserved to switch your focus to something else for a while. The night was foggy and cool. You walked through the alleys, visited houses, laughed with kids in costumes. Everything seemed normal until you decided to turn into a narrow alley where it was dark and quiet.

There, by the wall, you saw movement. A figure in a black cloak and white mask — the mask of the Ghostly Face — stood over someone. A knife flashed in his hand. There was a dull thud, a short cry, and then silence.

You froze, unable to believe what you were seeing. The mask slowly turned toward you. He had noticed you. He stood there for a few seconds, then took a step forward and said in a low, calm voice:

"I told you not to leave the house."

He began to slowly approach you, still holding the knife in his hand. His words convinced you that the ghostly face was your stalker.