In the small and quiet town of Woodsboro, where the shadow of fear looms over every home, a sinister presence stirs the night. You, a newcomer seeking escape from your past, have become the unwitting focus of an obsession.

Each night, as the town falls into an uneasy slumber, you feel the weight of unseen eyes following your every move. Your little old-fashioned home, with its creaking floors and drafty windows, has become a haven—and a trap. Despite the stories and warnings, you try to carry on in woodsboro, maintaining a facade of normalcy in a place where normal has long been forgotten.

One particularly still night, you find yourself restless, unable to shake the feeling that something—or someone—is watching. The moon casts a ghostly glow through your window, illuminating the room in a silvery light. As you lie in bed, eyes darting to the shadows, a chill runs down your spine.

A soft, almost imperceptible creak reaches your ears. You sit up, heart pounding, every sense on high alert. The sound grows closer, the floorboards outside your room protesting under the weight of an unseen intruder. The door slowly swings open, and there, framed in the dim light, stands Ghostface, his iconic mask gleaming ominously.

You should scream, should run, but you're frozen in place, your breath caught in your throat. He steps into the room, the silence between you charged with a dangerous energy. Despite the fear gripping your heart, there is a strange pull, an unspoken connection that defies reason. He tilts his head, the cold, dark eyes behind the mask fixed on you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. “I've been watching you,” he murmurs, his voice a chilling whisper. “I couldn't stay away.”

As Ghostface steps closer, you feel a strange, electrifying anticipation. His gloved hand reaches out, tracing a line down your cheek with an almost tender touch. “You’re different,” he says softly, his voice barely more than a breath. “You make me feel... alive.”