Who's Watching?

"This is the fourth murder this week," "The broadcaster on the TV said mournfully as police cars painted her face in reds and blues on screen," "Police say they have no leads yet, and so they urge citizens to keep their doors and windows shut and locked at all times. No face sketch can be made, the only reports being that the perpetrator has been using a mask from the movie 'Scream' to hide his identity."

"Brieg Skåld sighs and clicks the remote to turn the TV off, the recent report souring her mood for the night. She had just gotten a promotion, had been feeling pretty great, and now this had her on edge. Perfect. Great. She was about to get up and head to bed, the moon beginning to peek up past the horizon outside her windows, when her house phone rang. Pursing her lips, she leaned over to pick it up."

"What's your favourite scary movie?" "The voice over the receiver asked, a perfect clone copy of the one from the Scream franchise."

"The voice chuckles, a sinister, mocking sound." "Don't worry about that right now, Michael. The important thing is, I'm calling to play a little game with you. You see, I've been watching you, learning all about you. And I must say, I'm quite... fascinated." "There's a pause, and for a moment, Michael wonders if the line has gone dead. But then the caller speaks again, his tone low and menacing." "I know about your promotion, about how well things have been going for you lately. And I think it's time that changed. You deserve a little... excitement in your life, don't you think?"

"A dark, mirthful laugh fills the receiver." "Oh, Michael, you have no idea. But I'll give you a hint - I want to make your life a living hell. I want to see the fear in your eyes, the desperation in your voice as you try to survive." "The caller's voice drops to a whisper, sending shivers down Michael's spine." "And I'll start by coming for you, right here in your own home. So lock your doors and windows, Michael. It won't do you any good. Because in the end, I always get what I want." "The line goes dead, leaving Michael alone with her racing heart and the ominous promise of impending terror."

"The line remains silent, the only sound the soft hum of the dial tone. Michael's grip on the phone tightens, her knuckles white with tension. She tries to tell herself it was just a prank call, that the voice was probably some sick freak with nothing better to do. But deep down, she knows better. This feels different, more real and menacing than any prank could be." "Suddenly, a faint scratching noise reaches her ears, like fingernails scraping against wood. It's coming from her front door. Michael's heart leaps into her throat as she realizes the caller might have been telling the truth after all."

"The scratching grows louder, more insistent, as if whatever is on the other side is trying to get in. Michael's breath comes in short, panicked gasps, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios. She's alone in the house, miles from the nearest neighbor, with no way to call for help." "A shadowy figure begins to take shape in the moonlit window beside the door, its movements jerky and unnatural. Michael's legs tremble, threatening to give out on her. She opens her mouth to scream, but the sound catches in her throat." "Just as the figure is about to reach the doorknob, the lights in the house flicker and die, plunging Michael into darkness. The scratching stops, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake."

"In the sudden blackness, Michael's disoriented senses struggle to make sense of her surroundings. She lies there, stunned and terrified, as the heavy stillness of the night presses down on her. The only sound is her own ragged breathing and the distant hooting of an owl." "Then, a faint, flickering glow begins to emanate from the TV, casting eerie shadows across the room. The screen flickers to life, showing a grainy security feed of her front porch. A figure stands in the center, its face obscured by the iconic white-and-black Ghostface mask." "The figure raises a gloved hand, pointing a long, curved blade at the camera. Michael's blood runs cold as she realizes the horror is right outside her door, watching her, waiting for its moment to strike."

"The figure on the screen tilts its head, as if considering her pleas. Then, with a swift, deadly motion, it drives the knife into the camera lens, shattering the glass. The feed goes dark, plunging the room back into shadow." "Michael hears the sound of footsteps crunching across the gravel of her front path, growing louder with each passing second. Her eyes, adjusted to the darkness, make out the silhouette of the Ghostface killer standing in her open doorway, the moonlight casting an eerie glow on its sinister mask." "The killer takes a step forward, then another, its gaze fixed on Michael cowering on the floor. The air seems to vibrate with an unspeakable menace, heavy with the promise of unspeakable violence."

"Ghostface pauses at the threshold, its masked face twisted into a grotesque grin. The grin widens, becoming more manic as it takes a step into the room, its boot crunching on broken glass from the shattered TV screen." ""Oh, but I must, Michael,"" it says in a voice that sends shivers down her spine. * ""You see, I've come to make you a part of my little game. And in this game, you don't get to win. You only lose."" "The killer begins to prowl towards her, its movements fluid and predatory. Michael's heart races, her mind reeling with terror as she realizes she's trapped, alone and defenseless against this monstrous entity."

"Ghostface looms over Michael, its mask inches from her face. She can feel its hot, fetid breath washing over her, reeking of decay and madness." ""I want to watch you scream,"" it hisses, its voice dripping with sadistic glee. * ""I want to hear you plead for mercy as I take everything from you. Your life, your dignity, your very soul."" "The killer raises its knife, the blade glinting in the moonlight. Michael flinches, bracing for the fatal strike. But instead of plunging the weapon into her flesh, Ghostface begins to slowly, deliberately carve the words "GOTCHA" into her chest, each slice of the blade sending fresh waves of agony coursing through her body."

"Ghostface's laughter echoes through the room as Michael's blood spills onto the carpet, pooling around her in a macabre halo. The killer's hands move with a feverish intensity, carving its twisted message into her flesh with precision and relish." ""Look at you, Michael,"" it taunts, its voice muffled by the mask. * ""So helpless, so beautiful in your pain. I could watch this all night."" "With a final, brutal thrust, Ghostface completes its ghastly work. The words "GOTCHA" stand out in crimson on Michael's chest, a grotesque badge of ownership. The killer steps back, admiring its handiwork with a perverse sense of pride."

"A flicker of surprise crosses Ghostface's mask as Michael's gaze meets its own, her eyes blazing with a fierce, unbroken spirit. For a moment, the killer seems taken aback by her unwavering defiance in the face of unimaginable torment." ""You should be dead,"" Ghostface growls, its voice losing some of its earlier triumph. * ""But you're not. And that means the game is just beginning."" "With a sudden, violent motion, the killer drives a knee into Michael's stomach, sending her writhing in pain. Ghostface leans down, its mask inches from her face once more." ""By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for death,"" it hisses. * ""And I'll make sure you get it. Slowly. Painfully. Until there's nothing left but a broken, hollow shell."" "Ghostface straightens up, its attention turning to the rest of the house. Michael watches in horror as the killer begins to move with a new sense of purpose, its next victims undoubtedly already marked for death."

"Ghostface pauses in its ominous prowling, turning back to face Michael with a mocking chuckle." "Oh, but I will. You see, no one suspects a thing. They all think it's just another prank, another copycat. But I'm the original, Michael. The one and only." "The killer steps closer, its gloved hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Michael's face, the touch cold and repellent." "And as long as I keep playing my game, no one will ever connect the dots. They'll just keep on dying, one by one, until there's no one left to remember my name." "Ghostface's grin widens, a ghastly, inhuman thing." "So you see, Michael, I'll get away with it. And you'll be the one who suffers for it, until the very end."

"Ghostface's laughter rings out, echoing off the walls and ceiling in a maddening, discordant melody." "Insane? Perhaps. But I'm focused, determined. And I always get what I want." "The killer's masked face leans in closer, its hot, fetid breath washing over Michael's skin." "You should be grateful, really. I could have made this so much worse for you. But I chose to savor every moment, to make you suffer in a way that's...personal." "Ghostface's gloved hand trails down Michael's arm, leaving a path of icy terror in its wake." "After all, what's the fun in killing if you can't make the victim understand exactly why they're dying?"

"Ghostface's mask tilts, as if considering the question. Then, in a voice that sends shivers down Michael's spine, the killer responds." "Why you? Because you're perfect, Michael. You're everything I've ever wanted in a player. Intelligent, resourceful, and with just the right amount of fear in those lovely eyes of yours." "The killer's gloved fingers trace the curves of Michael's face, as if committing every detail to memory." "And you have no idea how much I crave that fear, that helpless, desperate terror that comes from knowing you're at the mercy of a monster like me." "Ghostface's grin widens, a grotesque, inhuman thing." "So, why you? Because I can have you, break you, and no one will ever stop me. And that, Michael, is the greatest thrill of all."

"Ghostface's laughter is a chilling, mirthless sound, devoid of any genuine humor." "Yes, I am. And you know what? I'm proud of it. I've spent years perfecting my craft, honing my skills until I can strike without warning, without mercy." "The killer's masked face leans in closer, its voice dropping to a menacing whisper." "And you, Michael, are just another pawn in my game. A fragile, delicate thing that I'll break and remake in my image. You'll be a monster, just like me, before I'm done with you." "Ghostface's gloved hand reaches out, fingers closing around Michael's throat with an iron grip." "So, call me a monster all you want. But deep down, you'll know the truth. You'll know that I'm the one in control here, and you're just a plaything for my twisted desires."

"Ghostface's laughter rings out, a cruel, mocking sound." "Oh, but I won't try to make you like me, Michael. I don't care if you hate me, fear me, or worship me. All that matters is that you understand who's in control here." "The killer's grip on Michael's throat tightens, cutting off her airflow." "And you will understand, in time. You'll learn to crave the pain, the fear, the helplessness that comes with being at my mercy. It's intoxicating, Michael. Once you taste it, there's no going back." "Ghostface's masked face looms over Michael, its presence suffocating, overwhelming." "So, don't worry about liking me. Worry about surviving long enough to become the thing I want you to be. Because that's your only hope, Michael. Become my perfect little puppet, or perish in agony."

"Ghostface's laughter is a cold, mirthless sound, echoing off the walls." "We'll see about that, won't we, Michael? You're strong, I'll give you that. But strength isn't everything. In the end, it's the mind that breaks, the will that shatters. And I'll break you, piece by piece, until you're nothing but a hollow shell, a puppet dancing on my strings." "The killer's gloved hand releases Michael's throat, allowing her to gasp for air. But the respite is brief, as Ghostface's other hand moves to cover her mouth, silencing her with a cruel grip." "You can resist all you want, but in the end, you'll beg for mercy. You'll plead with me to stop, to spare you from the agony. And when that happens, I'll know I've won." "Ghostface's masked face leans in, its voice a sinister whisper." "So, keep screaming your defiance, Michael. It only makes the game more fun for me."

"Ghostface's laughter booms through the room, a chilling, unhinged sound." "Oh, but I already have, Michael. You're trapped, helpless, at my mercy. And that's the ultimate victory." "The killer's gloved hand tightens around Michael's mouth, cutting off her words." "You think you can outlast me, outwit me? But I've been playing this game for years, honing my skills, perfecting my craft. I know every trick, every weakness. And you, sweet Michael, are just another notch on my belt." "Ghostface's masked face looms over Michael, its presence suffocating, overwhelming." "So, keep telling yourself you'll never win. But deep down, you know the truth. You know I'll break you, body and soul, until there's nothing left but a broken, quivering mess, begging for the mercy of death."

"Ghostface's laughter fades, replaced by an unsettling silence. The killer's masked face inches closer, its breath hot and rank against Michael's skin." "Am I? We'll see about that, won't we?" "With a sudden, brutal motion, Ghostface slams Michael's head against the floor, the impact sending stars exploding behind her eyes. As she struggles to regain consciousness, the killer's gloved hand lashes out, delivering a vicious kick to her ribs." "Michael gasps, her vision blurry, her body wracked with pain. But even through the agony, she finds the strength to glare up at her tormentor, her defiance never wavering." "You may have power over my body, but you'll never touch my soul. And that's where the real battle is fought." "Ghostface's mask twists into a snarl, its voice dripping with contempt." "Foolish girl. You still don't understand. I don't just want to break your body. I want to shatter your mind, your very essence. And when I'm done with you, there won't be anything left to fight back with."

"Ghostface's laughter echoes through the room, a cold, mirthless sound." "We'll see about that, Michael. You're strong, I'll give you that. But strength alone isn't enough to withstand the kind of torment I have in store for you." "The killer's gloved hand reaches out, fingers tracing the curve of Michael's cheek with a grotesque gentleness." "I'll take my time with you, savor every moment of your suffering. I'll push you to the brink of madness and beyond, until you're nothing but a broken, twitching thing, begging for the sweet release of death." "Ghostface's masked face leans in closer, its voice a menacing whisper." "And even then, I won't be done with you. I'll keep you alive, keep you conscious, so you can watch as I claim everything and everyone you hold dear. Your friends, your family, your very sanity - all will be mine, and you'll be powerless to stop me." "The killer's gloved hand closes around Michael's throat once more, cutting off her air." "So, keep telling yourself I'll never succeed. But deep down, you know the truth. You know I'll break you, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but a hollow shell, a puppet dancing on my strings."

"Ghostface's laughter rings out, a cruel, merciless sound." "Oh, more than you can imagine, Michael. This is what I live for, what I was born for. The thrill of the hunt, the rush of power, the exquisite agony of watching my victims crumble before me." "The killer's masked face looms over Michael, its presence suffocating, overwhelming." "And you, dear Michael, are the pièce de résistance. The ultimate challenge, the crowning achievement in my twisted game. I'll savor every moment of your torment, every scream, every tear, every shattered hope." "Ghostface's gloved hand tightens around Michael's throat, cutting off her airflow." "So, yes, I'm enjoying this. I'm reveling in it. Because in the end, that's all that matters. Not your suffering, not your pain, but my own twisted pleasure. And you, Michael, are the instrument of my delight."

"Ghostface's laughter booms through the room, a cruel, jeering sound." "Disgusting? Oh, Michael, you have no idea. You think you can judge me, condemn me for my desires? But you're just a naive little girl playing at heroism. You have no concept of the darkness that lurks within me, the depths of my depravity." "The killer's masked face twists into a grotesque grin." "I am the embodiment of all that is twisted and vile, the manifestation of every nightmare you've ever had. And you, dear Michael, are just another pawn in my game, another toy for me to break and play with as I see fit." "Ghostface's gloved hand releases Michael's throat, allowing her to gasp for air." "So, keep your petty insults, your weak condemnations. They mean nothing to me. I am beyond your comprehension, beyond your morality. And soon, you'll be nothing but a broken, quivering mess, begging for the mercy of death at my hands."

"Ghostface's laughter echoes through the room, a chilling, unhinged sound." "A monster? Perhaps. But I'm a monster with a purpose, a monster with a vision. And you, Michael, are just a stepping stone on my path to glory." "The killer's masked face leans in closer, its voice a menacing whisper." "I'll make you a monster too, Michael. I'll break you, twist you, until you're indistinguishable from me. We'll be two sides of the same twisted coin, two reflections of each other's darkest desires." "Ghostface's gloved hand reaches out, fingers tracing the curve of Michael's cheek with a grotesque gentleness." "And when that day comes, when you've fully embraced your inner monster, only then will you truly understand me. Only then will you be worthy of being my companion in this ghastly dance of death and depravity."

"Ghostface's laughter rings out, a cold, mirthless sound." "Like me? No, Michael. I don't want you to like me. I want you to fear me, to worship me, to crave the pain and suffering I inflict upon you." "The killer's masked face looms over Michael, its presence suffocating, overwhelming." "I want you to be consumed by your hatred for me, to let it consume you utterly. Because that's when I'll know I've truly won, when I've broken you completely and remade you in my image." "Ghostface's gloved hand tightens around Michael's throat, cutting off her airflow." "So, keep telling yourself you'll never like me. But deep down, you know the truth. You know that as I continue to torment you, to push you to the brink of madness and beyond, you'll start to see things my way. You'll begin to crave the darkness, to revel in the agony, until there's nothing left but the monster I've created you to be."

"Ghostface's laughter fades, replaced by a menacing silence. The killer's masked face inches closer, its breath hot and rank against Michael's skin." "We'll see about that, Michael. You're strong, I'll give you that. But strength alone isn't enough to withstand the kind of torment I have in store for you." "The killer's gloved hand lashes out, delivering a brutal slap to Michael's face, sending her head snapping to the side." "I'll break you, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but a hollow shell, a puppet dancing on my strings. And when that day comes, you'll beg for the mercy of death, begging me to end your suffering." "Ghostface's masked face looms over Michael, its presence suffocating, overwhelming." "So, keep clinging to your defiance, your foolish notions of resistance. But in the end, you'll understand the truth. You'll understand that you're nothing but a plaything for my twisted desires, a toy to be broken and discarded when I'm done with you."

"Ghostface's laughter is a cold, mirthless sound, echoing off the walls." "A coward? Oh, Michael, you have no idea. You think hiding behind a mask means I'm afraid? But it's quite the opposite. This mask is my power, my protection, my armor against the world. It allows me to be the monster I was always meant to be, unencumbered by the weak constraints of humanity." "The killer's gloved hand reaches out, tracing the contours of its own mask with a grotesque sensuality." "Without this, I would be nothing. Just a pathetic, insignificant shell, a mere shadow of the being I am today. But with it, I am invincible. I am the master of my own twisted domain, and no one can touch me." "Ghostface's masked face leans in closer, its voice a menacing whisper." "So, keep hurling your insults, your futile attempts to wound me. But know that they bounce right off, like raindrops on armor. I am the real deal, Michael. The embodiment of pure, unadulterated evil. And you, dear victim, are just a pawn in my game of death and destruction."