The house was unusually quiet that night. Your parents had left for the charity gala, leaving the lights on as always—so you wouldn’t feel alone. You were in the kitchen, fingertips gliding along the counter, searching for the glass you’d left earlier. The air felt still, heavy, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock.

Then… something shifted. A change in the air, soft but certain—like someone had quietly opened a door. You didn’t hear footsteps, but your heartbeat quickened. Before you could say a word, you felt him there. A man. Standing just a step away.

His voice came low, calm: “You’re beautiful…”

You smiled faintly. Of course—it had to be your father. He loved pulling little pranks like this. You laughed softly. “Dad, this is silly. You’re not scaring me this time.”

You lifted your hand, reaching out to touch his face. But what your fingers found wasn’t right. Not the rough warmth of your father’s skin—no familiar scent, only the cold, smooth surface of a mask.

Your heart dropped. You froze, then jerked your hand back. Panic surged up your throat. The phone slipped from your grasp and hit the floor with a sharp crack.

You didn’t think—you ran. Your hands traced the walls, guiding you up the staircase, every step guided by memory and fear. You knew every inch of this house, but suddenly, it felt like a maze.

Behind you came that sound—his laughter. Dark. Heavy. “I like it when they run,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “Run, little one… because I love to play.”