𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑 ✓ | 18+

Chapter One

Ghostface

Darkness has a way of lingering, like a specter that refuses to fade. My life, once bathed in the harsh glow of pain, took a turn towards the macabre, and revenge became the twisted melody that played in the recesses of my fractured soul.

Back in the day, I was Oliver Blackwood, a normal kid with wild dreams, but As Oliver Blackwood, I wore the scars of a tormented past etched upon my conscience. A childhood marred by the brutality of a father who knew only violence, a mother who fell victim to his unforgiving rage. Witnessing her endure relentless beatings, I became a silent observer to a tragedy that unfolded within the walls of our shattered home.

The climax of my torment manifested the day my father, a monster in human guise, extinguished the flicker of life from my mother's eyes. The authorities intervened, locking him away for the sins he committed against her, but my escape from the shadows only marked the beginning of a descent into my own abyss.

Abandoned to the whims of callous foster parents, I sought refuge in the streets, where survival meant embracing the very darkness that had birthed my pain. But fate, in its cruel design, had more in store for me – a twisted encounter with a friend group that would sow the seeds of my malevolent revenge.

The friend group, with names etched in the bitter pages of my past, consisted of five faces that represented my deepest wounds. James, the instigator of cruelty, his words a venomous cocktail that poisoned the air around me. Lisa, who laughed alongside him, her laughter echoing like sinister music. ugly bitch Sarah, was the silent accomplice, her indifference a canvas for my suffering. Michael, the silent watcher, whose gaze held a morbid fascination with my pain. And then there was Rachel, whose words cut the deepest.

It began with whispers, the cruel rumors that slithered through the halls of our shared existence. They spoke of my mother, her tragic demise a festering wound they prodded with sadistic delight. James, with a smirk that fueled the flames of my rage, painted vivid pictures of her suffering, each word a lash against my already battered soul.

"Hey, Oliver! Heard your mom begged for mercy before your dad put her out of her misery. What a pitiful sight!"

The laughter that followed echoed in my ears like a haunting melody. Lisa chimed in, "Oliver, your mom was a joke. A punching bag. No wonder your dad got rid of her. Who wouldn't?"

I could feel the fury bubbling within me, a tempest of emotions threatening to consume the fragile remnants of my sanity. Sarah's indifferent voice added salt to the festering wounds, "Honestly, Oliver, your mom's death was a favor to her. She escaped the hell that was living with you."

Michael's silent gaze held a perverse satisfaction, reveling in the spectacle of my unraveling. Rachel, the cruelest of them all, delivered the final blow, "Oliver, you're just as pathetic as your mom. A broken, worthless piece of trash."

Their words became the relentless echo in my nightmares, a symphony of cruelty that fueled the darkness within. It was in that crucible of pain that the seeds of revenge took root, and the desire to make them pay for the scars they etched upon my soul became an all-consuming fire.

For me, it wasn't just the bullying, it was a relentless onslaught, a war waged on my sanity. I'd go home, tears streaming down my face, feeling like a ghost in my own life. And there it was, the seed of hatred taking root, fueled by the venomous words they spat about my mother.

So, why am I stalking them? Why am I planning on plunging them into the abyss of their own nightmares? Because revenge isn't a dish best served cold – it's a feast for the damned. I want them to feel the fucking agony they inflicted on me, to drown in the darkness they sowed. Ghostface ain't just a mask; it's the embodiment of the haunting echoes, the retribution that lingers in the shadows, waiting to consume them all.

So As Ghostface, the masked phantom that haunted their existence, I plotted the demise of the friend group. The pain they inflicted upon me would be mirrored in the terror I would unleash upon them. Their lives, like mine, would become a tapestry of suffering, each thread a reminder of the shadows they cast upon my fractured existence.

The stage was set, the curtains drawn, and the macabre dance of revenge awaited its performers. As the haunting melody of my past played on, the friend group would become ensnared in the web of their own malevolence. The shadows of my tormented soul would find solace only in the torment I would unleash upon them.

And so, the prologue of revenge unfolded, the symphony of shadows preparing to engulf the friend group in a darkness they could never escape.