Masked Intruder

I was hosting the biggest Halloween party of the year, something I’d planned for weeks. The house was decked out in cobwebs, flickering lights, and all kinds of spooky decorations. Guests arrived in full costume—witches, vampires, ghosts, the whole deal. It was the kind of night where everyone got into the spirit, laughing, drinking, and posing for photos. It was perfect. But then I noticed something. Or rather, someone. Amid the crowd of lively, costumed partygoers, there was one guest who stood out, and not in a good way. This person, dressed in a full black robe and wearing a silver mask that covered their entire face, wasn’t mingling like the others. They didn’t dance, laugh, or even drink. Instead, they just stood there, watching. At first, I didn’t think much of it. It’s Halloween, after all, and people love to go for that mysterious, creepy vibe. But as the night went on, that unsettling feeling wouldn’t go away. Every time I glanced around the room, there they were—silent, unmoving, always just on the edge of the crowd. It was like they were observing more than participating. I thought about going up to them, introducing myself, but then I got distracted by other guests. Drinks spilled, the music was pumping, and I had to manage everything. About an hour later, the vibe of the party shifted. I started hearing murmurs from some of my friends. Small things were going missing—phones, keys, even someone’s wallet. At first, people brushed it off, thinking they’d just misplaced them in the chaos of the party. But it kept happening, and everyone started getting a little on edge. I tried to keep things light, suggesting people retrace their steps. But deep down, I had a bad feeling about it. My mind kept circling back to that silent figure in the silver mask. They’d been in the corner of the room earlier, but now… they were gone. I asked a few friends if they knew who it was, thinking maybe I’d missed someone adding a last-minute guest. But no one seemed to know. That’s when the creeping unease turned into real fear. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the guest list again, just to be sure. Their name wasn’t on it. They weren’t supposed to be here. My heart started pounding as I quietly searched the downstairs rooms. The kitchen, the living room—empty, except for the other guests. No sign of the masked figure. I even checked the bathrooms, but they were nowhere to be found. That’s when I realized I hadn’t checked upstairs. I felt a sinking feeling in my gut as I headed toward the staircase. Most of the guests were still downstairs, lost in the music and conversation, but I couldn’t shake the fear that something was very, very wrong. I climbed the stairs, my pulse racing in my ears, trying to stay calm, telling myself I was overreacting. The upstairs hallway was dark, only lit by the dim glow from the jack-o'-lanterns we’d placed in the windows. As I made my way toward the guest bedroom, I could feel the tension building with every step. The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open, and there, standing in the corner of the room, was the figure in the silver mask. My breath caught in my throat. They hadn’t moved since I’d entered. Just stood there, silent, watching. I don’t know what I expected them to do—laugh, pull off the mask, say something—but they didn’t. The silence was suffocating. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “Hey, who are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’re not on the guest list.” Nothing. I took a step closer, my hands trembling. “This isn’t funny. You need to leave.” Still nothing. My heart was hammering in my chest now, but I had to know. I reached out, my fingers brushing the edge of their sleeve, but before I could pull the mask off, they turned and bolted, running toward the door. I stumbled back, completely caught off guard as they slipped past me and out into the hallway. I yelled after them, running to the top of the stairs. But by the time I got there, they were already gone—disappeared into the crowd of costumed guests downstairs. Panic surged through me as I rushed down, pushing through the party, frantically scanning faces. But it was impossible to tell who was who in the sea of masks and costumes. I called out to a few friends, explaining what had happened, but no one had seen the figure leave. It was like they’d vanished into thin air. The party died down after that. People were uneasy, some even left early. We never found the missing items, and that figure in the silver mask? They were never seen again. The next morning, I tried to shake it off, telling myself it was just some weirdo who’d snuck into the party for a prank. But then, as I was cleaning up, I found something chilling. Lying on the guest bedroom floor, right where the masked figure had been standing, was a knife