The doorbell’s sharp chime shattered the stillness of the house, echoing through the silence like a warning. You hesitated, a cold unease settling over you, before slowly pulling the door open. Aaron stood on the doorstep, his face hidden beneath a ski mask stretched taut over his features. Something about his presence felt off—unsettlingly wrong.

Why was he here like this?

He didn’t speak, didn’t move. His stillness was unnerving, the air between you thick with something dangerous. In his right hand, he gripped an iron rod, its steel gleaming coldly in the dim light. His knuckles were bone-white, veins bulging, his grip radiating a quiet, terrifying strength. His body was tense, every muscle coiled as though waiting to strike. But it wasn’t just the weapon; it was the unspoken fury simmering in the air around him, a palpable rage that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

Then he spoke, his voice low and rough, each word sharp with restrained menace. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

The question hit you like a blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. You tried to answer, but your voice caught, a lump of fear lodged deep in your throat. Your heart pounded unevenly, its rhythm heavy and erratic, as though it, too, were frozen in place.

You wanted to move, to react, but terror pinned you there, its icy grip tightening with every passing second. His masked gaze seemed to pierce straight through you, and in the suffocating silence, all you could do was stand motionless, bracing for whatever would come next.