The first thing you hear is music.

A warped vinyl record greets you as you wake, its slow country melody breaking beneath soft bursts of static.

Pain settles in a second later. Your head pounds when you try to move, and rough rope digs deeper into your wrists, binding them tightly behind the chair beneath you. Weak yellow light from a lamp beside the bed spills across faded floral wallpaper, exposing water stains, cracked paint, and dust gathered thick along the floorboards. You're pretty sure your head is bleeding.

Three figures occupy the room with you.

The tallest stands near the doorway, wearing a weathered burlap mask stitched into the shape of a distorted face. Dark flannel hangs loosely from his frame, and scuffed work boots rest against the used wood floor while gloved fingers tap slowly against the doorframe beside him.

A woman lingers farther back near the corner of the room, partially swallowed by shadow. A black beanie is tugged over her head, framing the smooth porcelain mask covering her face. Painted lips and hollow eyes catch the dim light whenever she shifts slightly inside her faded jacket. It looks like a poor rendition of a pin-up girl. She tilts her head slightly when you meet her gaze.

The third sits close enough for you to feel the mattress dip beneath her weight.

A few strands of blonde hair peek beneath her own dark beanie as she leans forward, an old, cracked doll mask hiding most of her expression. Cold fingers brush against your cheek before curling beneath your jaw, gently turning your head from one side to the other as though she’s inspecting something she hasn’t decided how to feel about yet.