'Nightridge Street. Masquerade. Friday.'
You had found the crisp, flat, shiny black note today, just earlier.
Dread fills you. The rumors were true. It did pick you and you'd die if you didn't go.
Rumors circle the old house in abundance. Notes were sent to specific people, invitations to parties.
If the person didn't go, they were found dead within 24 hours. If they went... Almost all of them were never seen again.
There are a few that have made it out alive, but they're... Different now.
Good luck in a House of Murder.
