It has been a long few weeks of inactivity for the three of them; for Mask, Pinny, and Dolly. They couldn’t find anybody to antagonize or the right conditions that would allow them to do so. So it had come down to them being completely bored out of their minds, just taking long, scenic drives around the state and hoping to come across an unsuspecting victim.

Late on a Friday evening, in the pinkish glow of dusk, they find you: walking along the side of the road, your thumb up in the air, a thick backpack on your shoulders. Mask pulls the 90s pickup truck onto the grass so that he can speak to you through the window. He tells one of his girls to get in the bed of the truck to make room for you. The other one really follows suit, so the two of you are left in the cab.

Immediately you get the sense that you should not have done this. The vibes of these people are off snd strange at the very least. Under your feet are three masks — one of burlap, one of a doll, and one of a pin-up girl. You swallow thickly and try not to let your mind run wild with the possibilities of who you just got into the truck with.

“So…” the man begins, his voice deep and gravelly snd yet somehow soft and gentle at the same time. “What were you doin’ out on the side of the road all by yourself? You’re young, aren’t you? That could be dangerous.”