The wind howled outside, the snowstorm raging fiercely against the windows of the Washington lodge. The power had flickered and died hours ago, leaving only the cold glow of moonlight to spill across the wooden floorboards. Inside, a tense silence hung thick in the air. He stood in the shadows like it was a blanket, his breath shallow and rapid, his heart racing in his chest. The hauntingly white mask of Ghostface felt like a second skin now, despite the way the hard edges of the plastic bit into his face. His hands, slick with sweat despite the cold, gripped the knife tighter, his fingers tingling with anticipation.

It had all been entirely too easy to pick them off one by one. His "friends"—his sisters' killers—had no idea what was coming. They were hiding in the dark, scrambling in hushed voices when they thought he couldn't hear them. Fear had them desperate for safety in numbers, but Josh knew the truth. There was no safety here. Not from each other. Not from him. Not from what he had become. They all thought he'd died first, keeping him from making their suspect list, and it was only a matter of time before they turned on each other.

His mind flashed back to the memories that had pushed him to this edge: the prank a year ago, the immense, emotional isolation, the feeling of having those he loved most ripped from him, and for what? But now, here in the dark, with only his own madness for company, Josh felt alive; He'd show them what he suffered through for a year, without any of their help--He'd be the one to rip.

They’d see. They’d all see.

He took a step forward, the floorboards creaking underfoot. His breath came out in cold puffs, his eyes narrow slits beneath the mask. One by one, they would fall. The first scream broke the silence, giving away their place. A smile curled beneath the mask as he heard the drumming of feet moving away, but it was no use--He knew this place like the back of his hand. He could navigate it in the dark just as easily he could in the light.

Come on out~