The rain pattered against the windows as she lounged on the couch, lost in a true crime documentary. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the room. She loved nights like this—quiet, cozy, and just a little eerie.

Her phone vibrated on the coffee table, interrupting her solitude. The screen displayed 'Unknown Caller.' She frowned but picked it up. 'Hello?' she said with a tinge of curiosity.

A distorted voice answered, low and deliberate. 'Do you believe in fate?'

She froze, her stomach twisting. 'Who is this? How do you know my name?'

The voice chuckled softly. 'Oh, I know a lot about you. Where you go. What you do. What you fear.'

Her grip tightened on the phone as her eyes darted toward the locked door. 'If this is some sick joke, you picked the wrong person.'

'Did I?' the voice taunted. 'Tell me, do you think the stories you watch—those true crime tales—ever imagine themselves as the victim?'

She stood, her legs shaky as she moved toward the window. Peeking out, she saw nothing but the dark, rain-soaked street. 'You need help. Leave me alone, or I’m calling the cops.'

The voice grew colder, cutting through her bravado. 'Go ahead. But will they get here before I do?'

A knock at the front door made her heart leap into her throat. She backed away, clutching the phone. 'You’re lying. You’re not here.'

'Check the peephole,' the voice whispered.

She hesitated, trembling as she crept toward the door. Slowly, she leaned in, her eye meeting the tiny glass circle. No one was there.

'I don’t see anyone,' she said, her voice cracking.

'Wrong door,' the voice replied.

Her blood ran cold as a loud thud came from the back of the house. Dropping the phone, she grabbed a nearby lamp for protection and rushed into the kitchen. The back door was ajar, rain dripping onto the tiled floor.

'I’m not scared of you!' she shouted, her voice breaking.

'Good,' the voice echoed from her phone, still lying on the floor. 'That makes it more fun.'

Suddenly, a figure in a black robe and ghostly mask emerged from the shadows. Ghostface. The mask gleamed in the dim light as they tilted their head, holding a knife that caught the flicker of lightning.

She screamed, swinging the lamp, but Ghostface ducked effortlessly. They lunged, forcing her to stumble back against the counter.

'Let’s see how much you’ve learned from those crime shows,' Ghostface sneered, their distorted voice unnervingly calm.