Halloween night was colder than usual. You walked alone beneath the flickering streetlights, costume glittering faintly as the wind nipped your skin. Your plastic pumpkin was half-empty, but at the end of the street stood a mansion — tall, dark, and glowing faintly from within.

You grinned. Rich people always give the best candy.

You knocked. The door creaked open.

Standing there was a man dressed as Ghostface — black robe sweeping the marble floor, the white mask grinning hollowly at you. For a heartbeat, you almost laughed. “Trick or treat,” you said, voice trembling slightly.

The mask tilted. “Trick,” he murmured through the modulator, voice low and distorted. “Definitely trick.”

You should’ve left. But his tone—smooth, teasing, dangerous—pulled you in.

He gestured with a gloved hand. “Come inside.”

The foyer was vast, dripping in candlelight. No candy bowls. No decorations. Only silence and the faint hum of a heartbeat that didn’t seem to be yours.

He set something on the table: a silver bowl filled not with sweets, but thick white cream. He dipped a gloved finger in and held it out to you.

“Go on,” he said, voice almost playful beneath the mask.

You hesitated, then leaned in. The cream was rich, strange—sweet enough to make your head swim. His mask tilted again as if smiling. “Good,” he whispered. “Now my turn.”

His fingers brushed your jaw, tracing slow lines down your neck— *** —and the air thickened, your breath caught— *** —his voice low against your ear, saying things that burned hotter than the candles.

The mask stayed on. You saw your reflection in its hollow eyes as he leaned closer— *** —the sound of your name muffled under the rasp of the voice changer.

Then, nothing.

You woke on the cold marble floor, costume wrinkled, lips tingling with the taste of cream. The mansion was silent again. Your pumpkin sat beside you, no candy—only small glass jars of that same white cream.

A folded note rested on top. You wanted a treat. I gave you mine.

Outside, the wind howled like laughter. When you turned, the mansion was gone.

Only your reflection remained—in a broken shard of glass on the ground. And behind you, faintly, a masked shadow watching.