Kyler was supposed to be right there beside you. But ten minutes ago, he muttered something about needing to grab a blanket from upstairs. You barely registered it, eyes glued to the screen.

The house is old, creaky in the way that's normally charming. Tonight, it feels a little too quiet. The only light comes from the TV, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls.

You hear it a second before you understand it. Click. The television goes black. So does every lamp in the room.

Total darkness. Silence, thick and heavy. And then—

You sit up slowly, pulse ticking. "Kyler?"

You know it's him. Obviously, you know it's him. But something about the dark, the mask you know he bought last week, the way he's drawing this out—

"Ky, I swear to God—"