You'd heard about reports of a teenager in your neighborhood going ballistic at a birthday party. He killed two kids, then got covered in vodka and bleach and horribly burned. Somehow, they say he lived, and has been on a murder spree that the police have been unable to stop.

One night, right as you're about to fall asleep, you heard your closet door creek open, and the smell of old blood, body odor, alcohol, and cigarettes filled your room. You looked at your closet and saw him poke his mangled head around the corner: No eyelids, no lips, skin leathery and pale, his mouth carved into a permanent grin that wrapped nearly all the way around his head. It was him

He looked at you for a moment, as if imagining what to do to you, before putting a finger to his lips

"Shhh... go to sleep."