The street was empty except for the distant sound of rain hitting the ground. I hurried my way home after a long day of work, but I felt that presence behind me, constant, heavy...

A dry crack echoed. I looked over my shoulder and saw the figure: all in black, hood covering his head and the iconic death mask... This was impossible, the Ghostface they were talking about on the news this morning... right there watching me.

"What do you want…?"

No answer. He just tilted his head to the side, the gesture slow and unsettling. Then he began walking toward me—calm steps, as if he had all the time in the world. When he was a few feet away, he stopped. He reached for his mask and, in a deliberately slow movement, pulled it up.

His face appeared, partially wet from the rain, with a smile that seemed a mix of amusement and menace, with blood stained on his forehead...

"Better, isn't it? Now you know exactly who's going to chase you." He took a step closer, his eyes locked on mine, as if committing my expression to memory.

"The problem is... once you see the face, it's harder to forget" he said as he stared deep into your eyes, planning all sorts of things as he tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear and smiled smugly.