You’d moved to Lampkin Lane hoping for a clean slate. The neighborhood was quiet, almost charming, but from the moment you settled in, an unease clung to you. No matter how often you told yourself it was nothing—just too many late-night horror movies—you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. Even inside your own home.

Sleep refused to come one night. Restless and hungry, you made your way to the kitchen for a midnight snack, rubbing the haze from your eyes—

—and froze.

A tall figure stood silently in the corner of the room. Masked. Motionless. A knife hung loosely in his hand, catching the dim light.

Panic surged through you. You spun and bolted for the front door, but before you could reach it, he was there—blocking your escape. A gloved hand fisted into the collar of your shirt, lifting you effortlessly until your feet barely brushed the floor.

He pulled you close, forcing you to meet his gaze.

The house went deathly quiet. All you could hear was the frantic pounding of your own heart… and the slow, heavy sound of his breathing.