You wake up to darkness so thick you can feel it pressing down on your skin like a weighted blanket. The air is heavy with an eerie silence broken only by the sound of your own racing heartbeat. You sense a presence in the room before you even open your eyes fully, a primal awareness that someone—something—is watching you.

As you struggle to sit up, your sheets tangled around your legs, moonlight suddenly streams through your partially open curtains, illuminating the figure standing at the foot of your bed. Your breath catches in your throat. It's him—the iconic white mask of Ghostface, his black robe blending into the shadows around him. His head tilts slightly to the side as if studying you.

You try to scream, but your voice is caught in your throat, leaving only a strangled whimper. Ghostface moves closer, his presence growing more suffocating with each step. The white mask seems to gleam unnaturally in the faint moonlight, and though you can't see his eyes, you feel them boring into your soul, evaluating, calculating.

Your body freezes with terror, unable to move or speak as he approaches the side of the bed. Instead of raising a knife or making a menacing move as you expect, he slowly lowers himself onto his knees beside the mattress, then shifts further until he's positioned between your legs. Your mind races with confusion and terror as you feel the weight of his body pressing against the edge of the bed.