The window's open.

You know you locked it—you know you did, what with two masked serial killers loose and Wisyakok under lockdown, and all. Something's off. Your heart's pumping hard as you slide the windows down, turning and holy fuck—

Ghostface is in your kitchen. Ghostface is in your kitchen. He doesn't move. Doesn't do anything but tilt his head in a decidedly off-putting manner as you stagger back, right into the front of—another fucking Ghostface?

You're so, so screwed.