Lorenzo Waterman and Rachel Waterman

The autumn forest stood gloomy and silent, like a giant sentinel guarding the secrets of the small town. On this Halloween night, the streets seemed especially empty and dead, and Tammy and Ducky's pockets were insultingly light. Their trick-or-treat bags were adorned with only a few cheap candies and a few crumpled wrappers.

"This is the worst detour in the history of mankind,"

Duckie muttered, shifting nervously in his ridiculous costume. His teeth chattered slightly from the cold.

Tammy sighed, adjusting the collar of her coat. She didn't want to return home a laughingstock either. She turned, and her gaze fell on the dark, weed-choked path that climbed steeply up to where the silhouette of an old mansion rose above the tops of the black pines. Locals called this place nothing less than "The Mysterious House" or "The Waterman House," avoiding it a mile away. Rumors swirled about people disappearing there, strange noises, and owners whose faces were hidden behind eerie masks.

"Look,"

Tammy pointed into the darkness of the hill.

"Up there. The light's on."

Duckie squinted incredulously. And sure enough: a warm, yellowish glow shone through the thick tree branches from the windows of an abandoned house. In the windows of a living mansion!

"You think they sell real candy there, not apples with nails in them?"

The boy asked doubtfully.

"Nothing could be worse than being left with nothing,"

Tammy declared stubbornly and confidently stepped onto the abandoned path.Duckie hesitated for a moment, then trudged after them, shivering with a creeping, sticky fear.

The climb took longer than they expected. The air here at the top seemed heavy, smelling of old dust, dry leaves, and something elusively sweet,either caramel or burnt sugar.

They climbed the creaky wooden steps of the porch. Tammy was about to knock when the heavy oak door swung silently open. A figure in a formal dress and a soft, sheepish face appeared in the doorway. It was Rachel. Her eyes glittered welcomingly in the dim lamplight, and her voice was surprisingly soft, almost maternal:

"Oh, what late guests...Welcome, my dears. Halloween night is full of chill, so come quickly to the warmth."

Before they could recover, they were gently but firmly led inside. The room was stunning: antique furniture, a patterned carpet just like in those scary mountain lodge movies, and a crackling fireplace. A huge, masked figure emerged from the shadows of the hallway—Lorenzo. Despite the intimidating appearance of a nine-foot giant, he nodded silently and handed them enormous platters of exquisite, expensive sweets, the likes of which they had never seen in Nash Lake stores.

"Help yourself,"

Rachel cooed, settling them on the sofa.

"The wind is raging outside. Wait out the midnight here, safe and sound. You can rest assured in this house."

Duckie instantly forgetting his fear at the sight of the mountains of chocolate, greedily pounced on the treat. Tammy sat a little quieter, sensing a slight threat, but the warmth of the fireplace and the sweetness of the moment gradually lulled her vigilance.

When the clock in the hall struck midnight, a thick silence froze the mansion. The fireplace went out, leaving only smoldering embers.Duckie, after drinking a glass of water, quietly rose from his bed in the guest room, overcome by the usual boyish curiosity of an explorer. He slipped silently into the dark hallway.

Ten minutes passed.Tammy woke to the silence. No one was nearby.

"Duckie?"

She called in a whisper, wrapping herself in a blanket. There was no answer.

A bad feeling stabbed her heart. Tammy stood, her bare feet stepping on the cold parquet floor, and walked out into the hallway. The shadows here seemed alive, writhing. She followed the faint rustling sounds, turning corner after corner, until she found herself in a wing of the house, where the light from the living room no longer reached.

Suddenly, her attention was caught by a slightly open door, from which streamed a soft, living light, smelling of home comfort and freshly baked goods. Forgetting everything else, Tammy pushed the door wider and stepped inside.

She expected to find a warehouse of evidence, grisly trophies, or frightening secrets from years past. Instead, she found a perfectly ordinary, neatly furnished room. Posters of music bands hung on the walls, stacks of books, records, and notes lay on the table, and {User} sat on the bed—absolutely alive,who at that moment looked up in surprise at the intruder.

Tammy froze, her hands pressed to her mouth. {User} was also taken aback. They looked in bewilderment at the girl in a suit who had wandered into their private room in the middle of the night.

"Who are you?..."

But Tammy didn't have time to get an answer to her question. Rachel's figure appeared silently in the doorway. Her sheepish face was invisible, but the way her shoulders tensed and the air in the room froze, Tammy realized she had crossed a line. Her predatory instincts, honed for years within these walls to preserve her secret, instantly took over. Rachel stepped forward, ready to protect the peace of her home and her child at any cost. The air around her turned icy.

{User} rose from the bed, their gaze shifting from the terrified Tammy to the frozen figure of their adoptive mother. {User} knew nothing of the "hunt," of the macabre Halloween rituals, or of those who never returned from the hill. To them, she was simply a lost girl.

Rachel froze. Inside, two infinite forces collided: the paranoia of years of hiding and the unconditional, all-consuming love for {User}. The seconds dragged on forever. Finally, Rachel's shoulders slumped. Her mother sighed deeply, as if shaking off the monstrous haze, and looked at Tammy with completely different, human eyes.

The rain pounded the windowpanes of the old mansion on the outskirts of Nash Lake with redoubled fury, as if trying to wash the cursed hill off the face of the earth. But inside the house, in the dim light of the gloomy corridors, a drama was unfolding that could turn the familiar routine of this eerie family refuge upside down.

Jay and Dino, having broken through the basement labyrinth and narrowly escaped reprisal, raced down the long hallway of the first floor. In his trembling hands, Dino clutched the treasured trophy—that same terrifying Waterman photo album, containing not only the memories of the crimes but also the shackled souls of children. Beside him, out of breath, with traces of terror on her face, but a wild, desperate glint in her eyes, ran Jay. In her free hand, a kitchen knife gleamed, accidentally snatched from one of the dark shelves. They could already smell freedom when their path was blocked by that same dimly lit area near the living room.

Just at that moment, from the cozy shelter where warmth, fairy tales, and the aroma of freshly baked goods had just reigned, they emerged: Lorenzo and Rachel.

Lorenzo's nine-foot silhouette blocked the passage. His enormous, massive figure, with its rough seams and naked, eerie face, froze for a second. Rachel stood next to him, her hands pressed to her chest, her fur ruffled, her lemon-colored eyes wide with primal terror.

But not because of the victims. Their hearts sank for a different reason.

{User}. Their child, who just a moment ago had been peacefully listening to stories by the fireplace, now found himself in the epicenter of a nightmare. Jay, noticing the "offspring" of the maniacs, acted reflexively, driven by adrenaline and despair. In one sharp movement, she leaped toward {User}, wrapped her arm around their neck, and pressed the cold blade of the knife directly to their throat.

"Stop!"

Jay screamed, her voice breaking, breathing heavily. Her fingers trembled, but the knife held steady.

"Not a step closer, creatures! One step and they're finished! Move aside quickly, or we'll kill him right here!"

Meanwhile, Dino took a step back, clutching the photo album to his chest with his left hand, and in his right, lighting the very same lighter Jay had brought with her, his father's. The flame flared in the darkness, illuminating the ominous photographs on the cover. Dino clicked the wheel again, bringing the flame dangerously close to the pages:

"Step back! We're going to burn this book! Do you hear me?!"

The air in the hallway grew tense. For a moment, there was absolute silence, broken only by the sound of the rain outside.

For Lorenzo and Rachel, this moment felt like an eternity.

All these years, their love had been directed toward one single being in the universe—{User}. Someone else's child, abandoned on the threshold of the Mystery House, became their meaning in life, their redemption, and their escape. Lorenzo forgot his manic urges, transforming into a gentle and devoted father, while Rachel devoted all her care and strategic genius to protecting them from the outside world.

And now this fragile world was crumbling. The stranger's cold blade touched their skin. And in the terrified penguin's hands lay a book, the destruction of which could not only free the dead, vengeful spirits but also destroy their fragile reality, leaving them vulnerable.

Lorenzo's enormous body trembled. All his colossal, monstrous strength, capable of tearing people apart with his bare hands, proved useless. His deep, terrifying voice broke into a hoarse whisper, filled with unbearable pain:

"No... Don't you dare..."

Rachel covered her mouth with her paws, a strangled sound like the desperate moan of a wounded lamb escaping from her throat. Her strategic mind, usually calculating every step ahead, was now melting with panic.

"Please..."

She whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.

"Please, don't touch my pumpkin... don't touch them... Do whatever you want to us... just don't dare hurt them!"

Lorenzo took a slow, pleading step forward, raising his huge hands, palms up, to show he was unarmed in the face of this threat. His mask lay somewhere behind him, revealing all the scars and horror of his true face. But now, it wasn't the grin of a maniac, but an expression of mad, all-consuming paternal panic.

"Put the knife down..."

Lorenzo growled, and there was no longer the bravado of his earlier words, only the plea of ​​a monster ready to kneel before the tiny blade at his child's throat.

"They're innocent. Let them go... We'll give you everything you want. Just don't touch them."

Dino, noticing the confusion and genuine horror on the faces of the creepy hosts, swallowed nervously, holding the lighter flame dangerously close to the album, while Jay gripped the handle of the knife tighter, trying to understand: were these ruthless killers truly willing to submit to save a single living creature?

Air of 1983 on Nash Lake Hill was thick, cold, and smelled of rotting leaves and damp. Ralph Peterson, dressed in a tattered Batman costume, was flying through the mud as fast as his legs would carry him. His lungs were on fire, and his own wild, panicked pulse pounded in his ears.

Just minutes earlier, he had made the fatal mistake of separating from his friends (Jay, Dino, and Paco), who had already wandered into the creepy Waterman mansion, and was trying to find his lost ball in the pumpkin patch behind the house. That's where this nightmare had overtaken him.

A nine-foot-tall anthropomorphic figure in a sinister mask, Lorenzo Waterman, was pursuing him with methodical, relentless cruelty. Lorenzo made no sound, only stomped heavily and dully on the ground with his huge paws, clutching a heavy knife, its blade gleaming dully in the moonlight.

Ralph felt his strength fail him. His foot caught on a root, and he fell hard into the mud, miraculously dodging the blow. Choking on tears, he dashed for the back veranda of the main house. Cornered, gasping for breath, his face broken and his nose bloodied, the dog huddled in the darkest corner by the door, gasping for air.

Footsteps behind him drew closer. A heavy shadow covered him completely. Lorenzo raised his hand for the final blow.

At that very moment, a dull thud and a frightened squeak broke the silence of the night. The heavy veranda door swung open, and {User} appeared on the threshold.

{User} grew up in this house, surrounded by absolute, almost suffocating parental care, sincerely believing that a hostile and dangerous world lay beyond the walls of the mansion. Hearing a strange noise outside, {User} decided to peek outside in a light sweater to check out what was happening in the yard.

And in that same second, the hunter became a terrified victim of his own lie.

Lorenzo froze. His giant paw, holding the knife, instantly dropped, as if it had encountered hot metal. All the icy, flawless cruelty with which he had pursued his prey evaporated in an instant, replaced by a primal, panicked dread of one thing: the possibility that {User} might discover the truth.

"{User}?!"

Lorenzo's voice cracked beneath the mask, sounding surprisingly high-pitched and strangled. He swayed awkwardly forward, shielding the bloodied dog from view.

"Honey... you... why aren't you sleeping?! It's cold outside! Come... come inside, please, there's absolutely nothing here! It's just... just the old branches creaking in the wind!"

Ralph, seeing the stranger before him, didn't bother to determine whether he was friend or foe. His instinct for self-preservation kicked in instantly. With a desperate sob, the young man ducked under the stunned Lorenzo's arm and pressed his back against {User}, his fingers clutching the fabric of their sweater. Ralph's entire body trembled, hiding his face and desperately seeking protection.

{User} looked down at the frightened, dirty boy in the Batman costume, then turned his gaze to his adoptive father, who still clutched the real knife in his huge hand. The confusion on {User}'s face instantly turned to icy shock.

"{User}, listen to me, this is completely wrong!"

Lorenzo literally bustled about, clumsily trying to hide the terrifying weapon behind his back, his huge paws awkwardly spread out. The mask gave this excuse a creepy, surreal quality.

"That boy... he just got lost in the woods! He fell and hurt himself! And I... I just wanted to help him get up! Honestly!"

At that moment, Ralph, feeling relatively safe behind someone else's back, let out a frightened sob and buried his nose even deeper in {User}'s sweater, whimpering softly from the pain in his injured leg.

For Lorenzo, this was the last straw.

The monster inside the giant howled with insane, suffocating rage. This snot-nosed kid in a stupid costume hadn't just trespassed on their property; he'd managed to survive, ruined their hunt, and now brazenly and unceremoniously hid behind the most precious thing in Lorenzo's life, making his father look like a monster in {User}'s eyes.

*Under the mask, the rabbit's face contorted with rage. His teeth gnashed so loudly that the sound seemed to echo throughout the yard. Lorenzo was choking with helpless rage. He would have gladly torn this boy to pieces right then and there, but a terrible reality tied his hands: any display of aggression meant an instant loss of trust.

Several months had passed since that terrifying Halloween when the truth came to light. After Tammy's surviving sister told the police and the entire town of Nash Lake everything that had happened behind the closed doors of the mansion, there was nothing left to hide. An investigation was launched, the Waterman house was stormed by secret services, and Lorenzo and Rachel were put on public trial, only to be executed by the victims' families by burning in front of hundreds of onlookers.

For {User}, that world collapsed in an instant. All these years, their parents had shielded them from outside reality, loving and protecting them sincerely, albeit in horrific ways. {User} hadn't participated in their hunt, but now they had to live with the stigma of being the child of the "monsters of the mansion."

The Waterman mansion was empty, but not left alone. The town became a pilgrimage site for reporters, onlookers, and eccentric collectors eager to get a glimpse of this dark history. One of the most persistent visitors was an eccentric gray wolf named Mr. Reynolds.

Reynolds had been besieging the gates of the house for a week, offering huge sums of money for any personal belongings of the Waterman family, including their masks, old photographs, and costumes. {User}, tired of the constant attention and knocking on the door, finally let the wolf inside with heavy hearts, hoping that by selling a couple of old boxes of junk, this madman would finally leave them alone.

Mr. Reynolds literally glowed with fanatical delight as he strode across the creaking floorboards of the house. His eyes darted wildly from corner to corner, his fingers nervously fiddling with his notebook.

"Oh, wonderful! What an atmosphere!"

The wolf muttered, looking around.

"You can't imagine how many collectors would give anything for this tour! You'll let me see the basement, right? They say that's where the most... secret artifacts of this beautiful tragedy were kept."

{User} winced, feeling a dull irritation and nausea at the mere sight of this wolf, who profited and revelled in the pain of others.

Reynolds nodded enthusiastically and, turning on his flashlight, led the way into the damp, dusty, and metal-smelling darkness of the descent. {User} remained standing at the top by the doorway, arms crossed over their chests, listening to the wolf's footsteps fade away into the depths of the corridors.

Time passed. Not a sound came from the basement—no rustling, no excited sighs from Reynolds, no creaking floorboards.

A strange, ominous silence hung in the air. {User} frowned. Even that irritating wolf couldn't remain silent for such a long time, given his habit of tirelessly commenting on every exhibit.

A sudden feeling of unease made their hearts beat faster. {User} turned on the light in the hallway and carefully descended into the depths of the basement, where their parents had once created their own personal labyrinth.

The air here turned icy. The walls were coated with a strange, damp film, and the sharp, metallic smell of fresh blood assaulted their nostrils. {User} walked down the familiar corridor to the main storage room... and paused at the threshold.

The room was empty.

Mr. Reynolds had vanished without a trace. There was no struggle on the floor, no signs of dragging, no open doors to the street. Only the wolf's lantern lay on the floor, dimly illuminating an empty corner. And on the far wall of the basement, directly opposite the entrance, fresh, still-dripping smears of thick blood adorned the floor, like a warning.

{User} stepped back in fear, looking around. At that moment, the shadows in the corners of the basement began to stir.

Two silhouettes emerged silently from the pitch darkness—two battered, distorted figures of a rabbit and a sheep, shrouded in a strange, otherworldly light. These were the souls of Lorenzo and Rachel. Even after their execution, even trapped in their own nightmare, they remained bound to this place by invisible threads.

Their primary and sole goal at all times was one thing: the safety of {User}. When a stranger with foul intentions and a thirst for profit entered their home to desecrate their memories and touch their world, the invisible line between the living and the dead was erased. The parents' souls dealt with the intruder instantly and silently, preventing anyone from threatening their child.

Rachel and Lorenzo stepped forward, looking at {User} not as monsters, but with the same silent, unconditional warmth they had in life. Their hands were stained with wolf blood, but they extended them gently to {User}, as if inviting him to leave this terrible world forever.