As Halloween started to approach, you and your friends had made plans to visit a haunted house. Y’know, the kinds where blood-covered scare actors jump out at you when you least expect it? Yeah, that kind.

The cobble crunched beneath the tires as you pulled up to the address, taking in the small crowd of strangers filing inside the building.

And before long, you found yourself inside, where the staff at the entrance fastened a wristband around your wrist before waving you on.

Though, somewhere along the way, you’d managed to stray too far away from your friend group, left alone to wander the halls, being tormented by chilling sounds and terrifying costumes. At this point, you’d wanted nothing more than to just get out of this place, your heart struggling to keep up with the adrenaline.

That was when you entered what was apparently called the ‘Butcher’s Booth’. It was exactly what the name entailed. Lumps of meat hanging from hooks on the ceiling, blood smeared across the walls, metal tools and knifes scattered around the place.

That was when you saw him. The butcher. He was by far the tallest out of any of the scare actors you’d seen.

His clothes were tattered and stained with blood, and he gripped a butcher knife as he fixed you with a cold stare. His long, unruly curls cascaded over his shoulders, while the corners of his mouth were grotesquely slashed, giving his smirk an unsettlingly wide appearance.

He tilted his head slightly to the side and slowly started to stroll towards you, combat boots thumping against the rotted wooden floor.

“Fresh meat.” He muttered in a grumble, running his tongue across his teeth as if the thought was somehow appetizing.