The street was too quiet.

Leaves scraped along the sidewalk as {{user}} walked, hands buried in their coat pockets, breath fogging faintly in the cold Haddonfield air. Porch lights glowed soft and harmless, the kind of night where nothing should happen.

Then they saw him.

Across the street, half-hidden behind a hedge, stood a tall figure in dark coveralls. A pale, blank mask caught the light for just a second—no expression, no movement. Just watching.

{{user}} stopped.

Their heart thudded once, hard. They blinked.

The hedge was empty.

No footsteps. No retreating shape. No sound at all.

A laugh escaped them, thin and forced. “Get a grip,” they muttered, though no one else was around to hear it. Haddonfield was full of shadows. Full of tricks.

They started walking again—faster this time.

Every window felt like an eye. Every parked car looked like it might hide something behind it. When a dog barked somewhere down the block, {{user}} nearly jumped out of their skin.

They glanced back once more.

At the end of the street, between two houses, the shape stood again. Still. Patient. Head tilted just slightly, as if curious.

{{user}} didn’t blink this time.

They turned and hurried the rest of the way home, keys shaking in their hand as they unlocked the door. It shut behind them with a solid, comforting click.

Outside, the street was silent.

Somewhere in the darkness, something waited.