I ran fast. It ran faster. The fog wrapped around me. I ran off somewhere, I didn't know where. All I knew was that I had to run away before it sunk the knife into my skin. However, the scariest part was not its mask, nor the awful laughter, but the fact it had no reason for its killing spree. It just wanted to. And it did. Soon, I reached the gravelly road in front of my house, falling to my knees and scraping them both. I touched the ground. 'Good,' I thought. 'Good. I'm on the road. If I go to another house, the killer will be revealed and I'll be safe... good,' I rose to my knees, smiling brightly and walking down the road, my hands in front of me as to ensure I didn't bump into anything. As I walked down the road, I saw dim lights faintly glowing. They were the lights from the party at Megan's house. Something resembling a smile crossed my face, and I limped towards what might be my safety.

Closer and closer I crept to Megan's house. I felt the transition from the tough gravel of the road to the soft cushion of the lawn. The lights and music became closer, louder, brighter. I reached my hands out, my fingers barely strong enough to flex. Soon, I looked down and saw steps that lead up to the porch. Clumsily, I stepped up the creaky boards and met the painted white porch with ease and relief. My hand graced the doorknob and my weak fingers wrapped around the bronze. I smiled so brightly when I opened the door, when the light surrounded me and I was out of the fog. But just then, all of my hope and relief was crushed with a single, wrecking swoop.

All around, I saw that the figure in the pumpkin mask had been to Megan's house already. All around, the figure's work was shown by the dead corpses littering the floor of the living room. I could see it there, right then, as if by some sort of strange clairvoyance. The figure had entered the home, to the fright and shock to the partygoers. In sadistic rage, the pumpkin masked lunatic killed them all with the first knife that went missing. Only Megan survived, but the phone service was done, she had told me that in her invitation. She knew I had phone service to call 911, so she rushed to my house. The pumpkin masked killer chased Megan, and killed her before she could call for help, leaving her bloodied body for me to find. And now, it was chasing me.

I looked all around and I saw the terrified looks of the at least fifteen lifeless bodies, strewn across the floor, with stab wounds and slits in their throats. There was a pool of spilling blood that my shoes were soaked in. I struggled to hold back tears, trying not to scream. Now, there was more evidence that could be used against me. No one would believe my story... no one at all. I had to reveal the killer, before I was gutted. I turned to leave, when a cold hand grabbed my ankle. I gasped and turned, pure terror on my face. It was a partygoer, on the verge of dying from blood loss, with only a few more breaths in his life. Tears ran down his face. "The killer is..." the nearly dead man croaked, "The killer is... is..." And then, no more words came out of his mouth. He simply laid there, now dead, unable to tell me the killer's true identity.

I ran. Adrenaline pumped through me, as my heart raced. The killer knew where I was. It was just playing its game. I kept seeing shadowy figures dancing about, taunting and mocking me, though whether these spirits were tangible or a figment of my rampant imagination I do not know. Everywhere I looked, there could be a killer. I raced one way, then turned without reason, looking frantically around. It was like that Greek tale of Theseus and the Minotaur in the grand, twisting labyrinth, though where Theseus was a noble fighter hunting the beast, I was a cowardly victim running from my killer. However, one thing I could not run from was my injury. I had ghastly stab wounds in my back and chest. Blood dribbled down, accumulating until I fell.

My running slowed down to a jog, and then to a walk. I dropped to my scraped knees on the gravel, the pointing stones piercing my skin. With one last breath, I fell unconscious. But no, I couldn't give up. I had to keep fighting! But, oh, the pain was unbearable, both mental and physical. The last sound I heard was thudding, rocky footsteps, coming closer and closer, as my view of the outside world dissolved into an empty void...

And then, I felt the warmth of the outside world. I reached out to save myself from the sea of my own darkened, blank mind. With one pull, my eyes started to flutter and my fingers started to twitch, the first signs that I was saved from death. I thanked fate with kindness as I opened my eyes, but that thankfulness slowly mixed into confusion. Where was I? I should have been dead by then, from the wounds. But I knew I wasn't. I was definitely alive. Where was I? Where the hell was I? Sirens blared, as yelling and screaming accompanied the screeching symphony. I could barely see the bright flashes between crimson and blue. I felt the soft spring of a mattress, and smelt the manufactured scent of medicine and sterile surroundings. My wounds didn't hurt nearly as bad as they once had, covered by some sort of scratchy cloth or bandage. It didn't take long to infer I was in an ambulance, heading towards health and safety.

A quivering smile broke onto my face. The wheels drove down the gravelly street, and I could only smile at what I imagined happened. The killer in the pumpkin mask must have been seen. Someone must have called the police. The killer must have been in police custody for his crimes, maybe on death row. Good... that was good. Soon, the speeding ambulance hit steady asphalt, and I closed my eyes in relief. Two others were in the vehicle, the medics attending to my health. They were facing the opposite direction, their heads covered by the equipment. "Thank you! Thank you all so much!" I said gently. The medics with me didn't respond, going on with their paperwork and preparation. "Um... excuse me, sir," I said, touching one of the medic's shoulder. Suddenly, they both turned to me and I saw their faces with a smile.

But, their faces were not the smiling, kindly men attending to my safety. Their faces were covered by two... orange... pumpkin masks.

I screamed, and opened my eyes, realizing it was a dream. The killer was still alive. I was in my own home, still on Halloween night. Someone had brought me up to my bedroom. The door was locked from the outside. Footsteps paced behind the wooden door. I got out of the bed, my wounds still flowing, burning, aching. My fists pounded on the door, as I shouted, "Let me out! I'm not a killer, please, believe me!" The footsteps pacing the hallway outside ceased, as a gasp of realization came from the other side. I struggled with the doorknob, but it fell to the ground in a metallic clang. The door unlocked, from the person on the other side. Those clicks marked the unlocking, as the door opened. I heard a nice, gentle voice call out to me. "It's okay, Lizzie... it's fine... I know you aren't the killer. Stay calm," it said.

"How do you know?" I asked, as the door slowly creaked ajar. "Because," the mysterious person said, "You can't be the killer. I am,"

The door was flung open as I screamed in terror. It was that hideous pumpkin mask, but this time, the mask was blood soaked and distorted, like a messy, torn Halloween costume worn and scraped. The eyes were soulless, and in the pumpkin masked killer's hand was a dagger, gleaming and sharp. The only sound that accompanied my shreik of fright was the cuckoo clock, that annoying, ringing device screeching to the world that the time was 10 o'clock.