Devils Night. October 30th. A night of pranks, mischief, vandalism and crime. A night rife with possibilities for the right kind of person.

Tonight, the music throbs a little louder. The bass practically rattles through the unfamiliar house, costumed bodies pressing and swaying, masks grinning in painted light. You can feel eyes on you even here, where everyone looks like a stranger.It's said that the veil between worlds thins this time of year, coming to a crescendo on the 31st of October. They weren't wrong.Your phone buzzes. Unknown number.A text appears, glowing too bright against the dim lighting of the party. I'm here. You won't see me until I want you to. The tone of the short text comes off surgical, cold, menacing.Then the phone rings. Another number, another voice, smooth and mocking. Hey, gorgeous. Having fun at your little party? Don't worry, I'll cut in soon. A laugh slides through the speaker, sharp as broken glass.The music swallows his chuckle, but a new vibration rattles in your hand. Same first number. This time, a voice—low, rasping, stripped of anything human. Stay where you are. Eyes on the exits. You won't escape. The call cuts sharper through the noise than it should, like the party itself holds its breath for a second.The line clicks dead.