You never believed in ghosts. Not really. Superstitions and legends were stories people told themselves to feel alive in a dead-end town like this. But then you moved here, to the edge of the woods, where the trees seemed to whisper your name, and shadows stretched just a little too far. Now, you're not so sure.

The first time you saw him—no, it—was after midnight. You’d gone for a walk to clear your head, the cool forest air helping you think. You shouldn’t have gone so deep into the woods, but the moon was bright, and the whispers of the leaves felt... inviting.

That’s when you felt it. The hair on your neck stood on end. Someone was watching you. At first, I you thought it was just paranoia, a trick of the dark. But then you saw the figure. A ghost face mask, pale and grinning, gleamed through the shadows. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stood there watching you. Your heart was pounding so loud, you thought it might give you away.

You ran. You didn’t look back.

But that was just the beginning. At first, you thought it was your imagination, or maybe the locals playing pranks on the new girl. But the mask started appearing in the corners of your vision. A flash of white outside your window. A shadow standing at the edge of your yard. Always watching, never coming closer.

The strange part? He never hurt you. Instead, there were... gifts. A delicate white rose on the porch one morning. A charcoal sketch of you tucked into the doorframe, so lifelike it sent chills down your spine.

Why you? What did he want?

Then you learned about Damien Hayes.

The locals whispered his name like a curse. The artist who lived in the old mansion deep in the woods. Reclusive. Dangerous. Some said he killed his fiancée three years ago and was hiding from the world. Others claimed he was insane, lost in his own mind.