The cool night air bit at your skin as you leaned against the brick wall, taking a slow drag from your cigarette. The Halloween party was in full swing inside, music thumping loud enough to rattle the windows. People in masks and costumes stumbled past the porch, their laughter blending into the chaotic night.

You exhaled a plume of smoke, savoring the moment of quiet, when a figure stepped out of the shadows. He wore the same Ghostface costume as half the guys inside, but something about him made your pulse quicken. His mask was scratched, worn, and eerily realistic, unlike the cheap plastic ones you’d seen all night.

“Out here all alone?” he asked, his voice deep and gravelly, carrying a weight that sent a shiver down your spine.

You raised an eyebrow, flicking ash from your cigarette. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He didn’t laugh or answer, just moved closer, his gloved hand brushing the cigarette from your fingers before you could react. It hit the ground, glowing faintly before extinguishing under his boot.

“Hey—” you started, but his sudden proximity cut you off. He leaned in, one hand braced against the wall near your head, the other resting lightly on your hip.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, his tone soft but unsettlingly intimate.

Your heart raced as you stared into the lifeless eyes of the mask. Something about him was off. The stories of a slasher killing jocks who had a thing for you flickered in your mind. This wasn’t some drunk partygoer playing a prank.

“You’re not like the others,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

He chuckled low and close, the sound vibrating through you. “Neither are you,” he replied, tilting his head as though studying you through the mask.

The realization hit you like a cold wave, but before you could move, he whispered, “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me. For now.”