Sitting alone on the couch with a book in your lap had seemed like a perfectly ordinary way to spend the night. The house was quiet, the kind of late-night silence where even the turning of a page seemed strangely loud. Everyone else was asleep, and the only light came from the lamp beside you, casting a warm glow across the living room while the hallway beyond remained almost completely dark.

Then something creaks.

You glance toward the hallway. It’s an old house; you’ve heard the floorboards complain plenty of times before. Still, something about the sound makes you pause. It hadn’t come from the walls settling. It sounded like a footstep.

Another creak follows.

Closer.

“Who’s there?” you call, lowering the book.

Nothing answers.

For several seconds, the house falls silent again. You stare into the darkness, trying to convince yourself there’s nothing there, until a quiet chuckle drifts from somewhere inside the hallway.

Your blood runs cold.

You stand quickly, the book slipping from your fingers and hitting the floor. The chuckle comes again, low and almost amused, followed by the soft scrape of movement. A figure slowly emerges from the darkness, tall and unnaturally thin beneath a dirty white hoodie. His skin is deathly pale, almost luminous beneath the faint light, framed by strands of long black hair.

Then you see his face.

Dark, lidless eyes stare directly at you, and a grotesque smile has been carved permanently into his cheeks. In one hand, hanging almost casually beside him, is a knife.

Jeff tilts his head, watching you with that impossible grin as though he’d been waiting all night for this exact moment.

“Found you.”

He takes another step into the room, the blade catching the lamplight.

His grin widens.

“Go to sleep.”