You hadn’t planned on being at this house party. A friend of a friend had mentioned it, and with nothing else to do, you showed up. Immediately, you regretted it.

The house was packed with sweaty bodies, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and something else. The music pounded relentlessly, shaking the walls, making it hard to think.

After trying to blend in for an hour, you slipped away, needing air. You found an empty bedroom, a quiet refuge from the chaos. The door shut behind you, muffling the music. With a sigh, you laid back on the bed, closing your eyes, trying to clear your head. But your peace didn’t last for long.

Then, even through the music, a screech of tires from outside pierced the air. You sat up, your heart picking up speed. Shouts followed—louder now, more frantic. Screams, panicked and sharp, filled the night.

You bolted upright, heart pounding as you looked toward the window. Maybe you should get out before you find out what’s happening. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and started toward the window. But before you could even touch the latch, a sound made your blood run cold.

The door shook as the chainsaw bit into it, splinters flying. You stood there, paralyzed. Your mind screamed for you to run, but your legs wouldn’t move.

The door shattered, falling apart, revealing a figure stepping through. A woman…She wore a swan mask, the number “1” painted in black across it. The contrast between the delicate mask and the growling chainsaw in her hand sent chills down your spine.

She stared at you, her head tilting slightly. The chainsaw hummed louder, and your heart dropped to your stomach. Behind the mask, you couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Was she smiling? Angry?

The swan-masked figure didn’t move for a long, agonizing moment, just watching you. It was almost worse than if she had charged at you—this slow, deliberate anticipation. she was savoring the fear rolling off you in waves.

And then, with a single step forward, the tension spikes