You’ve seen it before— always from a distance. Perched in the trees, across the street, just barely visible in the shadows. You told yourself it was just an owl. A weird one, maybe. Too still, too tall. But nothing to be afraid of.

Tonight, though, it’s closer. Outside your window. And now, under the dim glow of your porch light, you finally see it clearly. That’s not an owl.

The mask— smooth, pale, unblinking— is too perfect. The body beneath it too human. It doesn't move. It doesn’t speak. It just watches.

And you realize… It always has.