Horror Classics Reimagined

Alex's fingers tightened around the receiver as the faint sound of breathing continued. His heart hammered against his ribs.

"Hello?!" he barked, a tremor of fear breaking through his voice.

Then, suddenly, a voice crackled on the other end. Smooth, deliberate, and unnervingly familiar.

"Hello, Alex."

The words were low and sharp, slicing through the static like a knife. Alex froze, every nerve on edge. His mind raced—this couldn't be real.

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"You've been chosen," the voice continued, playful and mocking now. "For an exclusive offer."

Alex blinked, confused. "What?"

The voice suddenly shifted, losing its menacing edge as it became chipper and rehearsed. "Thank you for shopping at Hallow's Haunt! We're excited to offer you fifty percent off your purchase of the all-new Ghostface costume. Victim-themed accessories sold separately. Don't wait—this sale is killer!"

Alex let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. A spam call. He hung up, shaking his head, embarrassed at how his mind had jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

"Stupid Halloween junk," he muttered, dropping the phone onto the counter. But as he climbed the stairs to his room, a nagging unease lingered.

---

Across town, Jake Miller wiped down the bar at The Rusty Spigot, the local watering hole that had somehow managed to stay afloat despite its outdated decor and rickety stools. He glanced at the clock—12:37 a.m. The last of the stragglers had finally stumbled out, and he was looking forward to closing up and heading home.

Jake wasn't one to get spooked easily. A former college wrestler turned bartender, he had a thick skin and a thick skull to match. But even he couldn't ignore the uneasy atmosphere hanging over the town lately.

As he stacked glasses on the shelf, the phone on the counter rang, its shrill tone cutting through the silence.

Jake frowned. Nobody called the bar this late. He picked up the receiver. "Rusty Spigot, we're closed."

A pause.

"Jake Miller," the voice on the other end purred, each syllable dripping with malice. "Do you have time for a quick game?"

Jake smirked, shaking his head. "Yeah, sure, pal. Let me guess—you're looking for someone. How about I. P. Freely?"

The voice chuckled darkly, low and deliberate. "Clever. You sound just like someone who'd laugh at their own jokes."

Jake paused, his smirk fading slightly. "Alright, who is this? If this is a prank, it's not funny."

"Not a prank," the voice said smoothly. "More of a promise. One you're about to regret."

Jake rolled his eyes, though unease prickled at the back of his neck. "Alright, listen. You're not even good at this. The next time you call someone, try being less obvious."

The voice chuckled again. "The only obvious thing here, Jake, is that you're wasting time. Turn around."

Jake's blood ran cold. He spun around, his eyes scanning the empty bar. Nothing. Just the dim lights and rows of bottles gleaming on the shelves.

He turned back to the phone, but the line had gone dead.

---

The heavy creak of the back door made Jake whip around. His pulse quickened as he grabbed the closest thing to a weapon—a metal shaker.

"Who's there?" he shouted, stepping cautiously toward the sound.

The answer came not in words but in movement—a dark figure lunged from the shadows, the gleam of a blade catching the light. Jake swung the shaker, but the figure ducked effortlessly, slamming him against the counter.

"Let's see if you can wrestle your way out of this," the distorted voice mocked, still ringing with the faint buzz of a phone line.

Jake struggled, adrenaline surging as he threw a wild punch. The attacker staggered but recovered quickly, driving the knife into Jake's side. The bartender let out a choked cry, sinking to his knees as blood pooled beneath him.

The figure crouched, tilting their head as they watched Jake gasp for breath. The Ghostface mask was expressionless, but the voice that followed was anything but.

"You know what they say," it whispered. "Some drinks just go straight to the heart."

Jake's vision blurred as the attacker stood, flicking the blood off the blade.

---

The scene cut abruptly.

Darkness.

Then, the distorted voice returned, smooth and smug, breaking the silence. "Don't you just hate it when they skip the good parts?"

The mask filled the mental screen—or perhaps something deeper—as Ghostface leaned closer, breaking the fourth wall entirely. "Don't worry. The next act's gonna leave a real mark."