You were drinking water from the kitchen, the house quiet aside from the soft hum of the refrigerator. Then—CRASH. Shattering glass echoed from the living room.

Your heart dropped.

The glass slipped from your hand, smashing against the floor. You froze, breathing shallow. Footsteps. Not one—two.

They were in your house.

You darted behind the counter, crouching down, your body trembling as you cupped your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound. The footsteps grew louder. You heard whispering—male voices—too low to make out.

Suddenly, silence. Then a creak.

Someone entered the kitchen.

You didn’t dare peek, but you heard him—his breathing. He was close. The air felt colder. You turned your head slightly—and then saw it.

A figure, crouched near the hallway wall, watching.

A skull mask.

Expressionless. Empty-eyed.

He tilted his head slowly, almost curious—like he knew you were there. Then he raised one gloved finger and placed it over his mask’s mouth. Shhhh.

You backed away in horror—heart hammering in your chest.

Do you run? Stay still? Or do you fight?