Invitation to Terror

The invitation had arrived with no sender, a sleek black envelope embossed with her name in gold. The note inside was simple: "A surprise awaits you. Friday, 8 PM. 16 Willow Lane."

Megan’s heart raced as she parked her car. A surprise party? She couldn’t recall any occasion worth celebrating, but the thrill of the unknown sent a buzz through her. Her closest friends knew she loved surprises, and the mystery was enough to lure her.

The house stood at the end of a desolate street, its windows dark except for a faint glow slipping through the heavy curtains. Megan knocked twice before the door creaked open, revealing an empty foyer lit with flickering candles. A faint melody played in the distance—a warped, haunting version of “Happy Birthday.”

“Hello?” she called, stepping inside. Her heels echoed against the wooden floor. She pushed the door further, revealing the main room—and froze.

Bodies. At least a dozen, sprawled in grotesque poses, their clothes soaked in blood. The sickly sweet metallic scent turned her stomach. A scream tore from her throat as she staggered backward, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears.

Her mind scrambled for answers. Was this real? A joke? The waxy stillness of the corpses told her otherwise. She turned to flee, but before she reached the door, a voice rang out.

“You’re just in time.”

Megan spun around. A figure emerged from the shadows, masked and clad in black, holding a gleaming knife. Her legs refused to move as panic rooted her in place.

“No, please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “I don’t understand.”

The figure chuckled—a low, rasping sound. “Oh, Megan. This is your party.”

The words hit like ice water. Her mind flashed to every moment leading here: the anonymous invite, the eerily abandoned street, her name written so precisely. This wasn’t a coincidence.

“I’m not staying,” she hissed, her voice firmer now, adrenaline overriding fear. She bolted for the door, yanking it open just as the figure lunged.

Outside, two police cruisers screeched to a halt, red and blue lights painting the house in chaos. The figure halted, retreating into the shadows. Officers poured out, guns drawn.

Shaking, Megan stared at the officers. “He's inside.”

One of them hesitated, glancing at her blood-smeared hands.

“You’re the only one we found,” he said gravely. “And your prints are all over the knife.”