Your dormitory was the only reprieve. The noise faded behind the heavy door, replaced by the soft crackle of a candle and the distant hoot of an owl outside. The enchanted jack-o'-lantern on your windowsill flickered contentedly, casting shifting shadows across the walls.

Then came the knock.

Three sharp raps, deliberate and evenly spaced, cutting through the silence like a blade.

The door swung open before you could answer. And there they stood.

Six figures. Six identical Ghostface masks. Six black robes that pooled around their feet like liquid shadow. The flickering candlelight caught the edges of their masks, making the hollow eyes and gaping mouth look almost alive. None of them moved. None of them spoke.

They stepped inside, one by one, their footfalls silent on the stone floor. The last one closed the door behind them with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.

Then they just stood there. Staring.

The silence stretched. The jack-o'-lantern flickered.

One of the figures tilted his head. A beat passed. Then—