🎃 The Nightly Storyteller Presents🎭 The Masquerade

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A Halloween Tale

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🕯️ Intro — The Night of Masks

> Before we begin…  
> Turn down your lights.  
> Let the glow of your screen be the only thing between you and the dark.  
> If you have a candle, light it. If you have music, make it something slow—something that hums like a heartbeat beneath the floorboards.  
> Because tonight’s story isn’t just about masks.  
> It’s about what waits beneath them.

Welcome, my dear listener… to The Masquerade.

> “Some masks hide faces. Others hide intentions.  
> But the worst kind… hide nothing at all.”

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The house sat just across from the woods—an old colonial with sagging shutters and a porch that creaked even when no one was standing on it.  

It felt less like a building and more like a thing that had stopped breathing centuries ago, but whose eyes still watched.

Eight friends arrived in four cars, headlights slicing through the fog like blades.  

Each one wore a full costume—head to toe, no faces visible. That was the rule. The only rule.

A mummy. A plague doctor. A jack-o’-lantern. A pharaoh.  
A demon. A scarecrow. A jester. A witch.

Inside, the house pulsed with music—low bass thumps that made the floorboards vibrate.  

It no longer sounded like a party, but like a massive, distant heart pumping fear through the house’s veins.

Scarabs blinked red and green from the ceiling, casting twitching, insect-shaped shadows across the walls.  

Bowls of gold coin chocolates gleamed on every table, catching the light like tiny, tempting treasures.

The air smelled like cinnamon, sweat, and cheap vodka.  

But beneath it all lingered a sharp metallic tang—like blood waiting to be noticed.

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🕛 The Game Begins

At 9:42 p.m., someone screamed.

It came from upstairs—sharp, wet, and cut short.

The music kept playing. No one moved.  

In the room full of indistinguishable figures, every tilted head and every silent approach was an accusation.

Did the jester always stand that still?

“Nice touch,” the jack-o'-lantern rasped, raising a plastic cup. “Creepy sound effects.”

But when they found the body, no one laughed.

The jester lay crumpled in the bathtub, throat slit, the porcelain basin soaked with blood.  

Their mask was gone, tossed into the corner like a piece of discarded trash.

Worse than the blood was the payment: a single gold coin pressed into the jester's open, lifeless palm—still warm to the touch.

---

Panic spread fast.

The pharaoh rushed to the front door, yanking the knob.  

It rattled once, then was still. Locked.

As they stepped away, they distinctly heard the loud, heavy click of the deadbolt sliding home—from the inside.

“We need to unmask,” said the mummy, voice muffled through gauze.

“No,” said the plague doctor. “That’s how the game works.”

“What game?” the scarecrow snapped.

The plague doctor didn’t reply.  

They simply turned—and saw the other plague doctor standing just behind them.

Same mask. Same cloak. Same slow, deliberate movement.

The witch shrieked. “I thought you were already here!”

“I was,” said the first one, taking a step back.

The second one raised a hand, its leather glove catching the scarab light, and spoke in a voice that was too deep, too smooth to be one of their friends:

> “And now I am here, too.”

---

Before anyone could move, the second plague doctor lunged.

At 10:19 p.m., the scarecrow vanished, leaving behind only a pile of straw and a faint, sweet smell of cinnamon.

At 10:27, the witch was found in the basement—eyes wide, mouth stuffed with gold coin chocolates until her jaws were visibly strained.

Each time, the killer wore a new costume. A new mask. A new role.  
And each time, a coin was left behind.

The pharaoh, trembling, picked one up.  

It was etched with tiny, dizzying constellations that shimmered.

When they held it closer, a sickening realization hit them:

The constellations matched the Zodiac sign of the person who had just died.

The killer didn’t just know their friends’ faces.  
They knew their birthdays.

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🪞 The Invitation

By 1:03 a.m., only the pharaoh remained.

They hid in the pantry, heart pounding a violent rhythm against their ribs, breath fogging the inside of their golden mask.  

The scarab lights blinked overhead, casting twitching shadows across shelves of preserves.

Footsteps echoed through the house—slow, deliberate, savoring the silence.

Then… nothing.

The pharaoh crept out, trembling, clutching the wall.

The front door was open.

Outside, the woods were silent, swallowing the fog.  

A figure in the demon costume walked calmly across the lawn, toward the trees.  

Not running. Not hiding. Just… leaving.

The pharaoh stepped onto the porch and watched the demon stop at the edge of the woods.  

The figure slowly turned back toward the house and raised a hand in a casual, parting wave.

Then, the demon vanished.

The pharaoh looked down.  

A gold coin lay on the welcome mat. Still warm.

They picked it up, fingers tracing the constellations etched onto the surface.

This time, the pattern was Leo.  
It was the pharaoh’s own sign.

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🕯️ The Aftermath

The next morning, the house was empty.

No bodies. No blood. No costumes.

Just a single, polished bowl of gold coin chocolates on the entry table.

And a note, resting on a freshly arranged scarab decoration:

> “A mask can only hide a truth for so long, Pharaoh.  
> Keep the coin.  
> Your invitation for next year is already sealed.”

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🚪 The Neighbor's Discovery

At 9:14 a.m., a neighbor crossed the street to borrow sugar.

She found the front door ajar, swinging slightly in the morning breeze.

“Hello?” she called softly. “Is someone home?”

No answer.

The air inside was cold and unnaturally still.  

The faint scent of cinnamon and something coppery lingered.

Her eyes caught on the pantry door—ajar, a sliver of darkness yawning beyond it.  

She took one hesitant step forward.

Then she saw it: a body on the kitchen floor, dressed as a pharaoh, golden mask cracked in two.

The neighbor screamed.

And the bowl of gold coin chocolates on the entry table rattled… even though no one touched it.

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🕯️ Outro — The Final Invitation

> “You’ve stayed until the last candle flickered out… brave.  
> But before you go, check your pocket.  
> If you find a gold coin, don’t panic.  
> Just remember—next Halloween, the invitation is already sealed.”

Until next time,  

🕯️ The Nightly Storyteller

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Stick around. Subscribe. Share.  
📸 Instagram: @NightlyStoryteller  
🩵 Bluesky: nightlystoryteller.bsky  
🌐 Blog: thenightlystoryteller.blogspot.com  
✉️ Email: thenightlystorytellerblog@gmail.com

And if you dare… drop a comment and tell me your favorite scary movie, urban legend, or horror memory.  

We’re just getting started—and things are about to get dark.




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