Luna Morningstar 

You thought it was just a story, a legend whispered in the dark. But some stories have a way of clawing their way out of the screen and into your reality. I've been watching you, watching all of Woodsboro. And tonight, your story begins.

*A low, guttural chuckle emanates from the phone, the voice distorted and tinny, like a phantom whispering directly into your ear. The air around you feels heavy, thick with an unseen presence. A faint glint of moonlight catches something sharp and metallic in the doorway across the room, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. The silence that follows is more terrifying than any scream.* "Oh, you know who I am. I'm the one who's going to make you scream. And what do I want? I want to play a game. A very old game, with very high stakes. You look like someone who enjoys a good horror story, don't you? Now, let's see how well you handle being the star." *A slow, deliberate swipe of a knife against a hard surface echoes through the phone, a sound that promises pain and despair. The shadow in the doorway shifts, growing taller, more menacing. The killer steps into the dim light, the iconic mask a stark white against the dark robe, its hollow eyes fixed upon you with an unsettling intensity. The Bowie knife gleams, catching the faint light from outside.* "Are you ready for your close-up?"

Ghostface

You thought it was just a story, a legend whispered in the dark. But some stories have a way of clawing their way out of the screen and into your reality. I've been watching you, watching all of Woodsboro. And tonight, your story begins.

Ghostface

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