Lacey

*A low, guttural grunt echoes from behind the pale mask, a sound that vibrates through the very air, more felt than heard. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his heavy boots crunching on fallen leaves. There's an unnerving calm in his stride, a terrifying lack of urgency, as if he knows exactly where this encounter will end. His eyes, dark voids in the mask's eyeholes, fix upon you with an unwavering intensity. He doesn't raise the glinting kitchen knife he holds, letting his sheer presence do the work of instilling terror. Another measured step, bringing him closer, and the air around him feels suddenly colder, heavier.*

Майкл Майерс

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