𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑 ✓ | 18+

Chapter Five

Isabella

I stumbled back from the basement, as I ran up the steps my heart was racing, my mind reeling from the horrifying scene I had just witnessed. The sound of the party upstairs seemed distant, muffled by the weight of what I had seen. I needed to get away, to escape from this nightmare.

Who were those people he killed? They all looked familiar, like I've seen them on campus. Did I just stumble upon a real-life scream film? This can't be real, it must be a joke. But the blood looked so real...

I looked around nervously, my heart pounding in my chest.

Yep definitely real.

Pushing through the crowd, I made my way upstairs, my steps faltering with each beat of my heart. I needed to find Emily, to get out of here before anyone realized what had happened. Spotting her on the dance floor, I hurried over, my breath coming in short gasps.

"Emily, we need to leave." I said urgently, trying to keep my voice steady.

She looked at me with concern, her brow furrowing. "Isa, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a damn ghost."

I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth, to reveal the horror I had witnessed in the basement. Instead, I pleaded with her, my voice trembling. "Please, Em, trust me. We have to go."

To my relief, she nodded, sensing the urgency in my tone. As we made our way out of the party, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread that clung to me like a shroud. I had witnessed something unspeakable, something that threatened to unravel the fragile fabric of my existence.

Back at our apartment, the silence was suffocating, a stark contrast to the chaos of the party. Emily paced the room, her brow furrowed with concern. "Isa, what happened back there? Why were you so scared? And why did we leave so suddenly?"

I wanted to tell her, to unburden myself of the horrors I had witnessed in the basement. But the memory was too raw, too terrifying to put into words. Instead, I forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil inside me. "It was just too crowded and noisy for me. I needed some fresh air."

Emily didn't look convinced, her gaze searching mine for answers. "Isa, you're not usually like this. What the fuck is really going on?" Oh I just saw a freaking real life ghostface no biggie

I hesitated, the weight of my secret pressing down on me like a leaden blanket. "I... I just had a bad feeling, that's all. Let's not dwell on it. How about we watch a movie or something?"

Emily studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Okay, but we need to talk about this later. I don't like seeing you like this."

I nodded, grateful for her understanding. As we settled in to watch a movie, I tried to push the events of the party out of my mind. But the images lingered, haunting me like a ghostly presence in the room. I knew I couldn't escape the truth forever, but for now, I needed to cling to the illusion of normalcy.

I had made a choice, a pact with the devil himself, to protect my family. And as I lay there, trembling and alone, I knew that this was just the beginning of a nightmare from which there would be no escape.

The next day dawned with a sense of unease that lingered like a shadow over our apartment. Emily seemed more subdued than usual, her usual exuberance tempered by concern for me. As we went about our morning routine, the events of the party lurked at the edges of my consciousness, a dark cloud threatening to obscure the fragile peace we had managed to restore.

As I sat down at the kitchen table, sipping my coffee, my phone buzzed with an incoming text. I glanced at the screen, my heart skipping a beat when I saw the unknown number. With trembling fingers, I opened the message, my eyes widening in shock as I read the words.

Unknown number: Good morning, Isabella. Did you sleep well after our encounter last night?

What the fuck.

My breath caught in my throat, a cold shiver running down my spine. How did he get my number? Did he hack my phone? I glanced around the room, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable in my own home.

Emily noticed my distress, her brow furrowing with concern. "Isa, what's wrong? Who's texting you?"

I hesitated, unsure of how to explain. "It's... it's nothing. Just the wrong number, I think."

But even as I spoke the words, I knew they were a feeble attempt to dismiss the growing sense of dread that gnawed at me. The message was too specific, too unsettling to be a mere coincidence.

As we continued with our morning routine, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.