Damon Torrance

Damon Torrance always liked getting into trouble — not that he was right in the head — but he loved to fuck with people's heads.

But you were special. The mayor’s daughter. The ballerina. And the girl whose father made sure to threaten him with a restraining order to keep him away.

For Damon, that made it even better, especially when daddy's little girl was home alone on Devil's Night.

But you had no idea, not while you slept like an angel, and a sick guy like Damon broke into your house.

You wake up to a noise and open your eyes, noticing the window open. Your brow furrows in confusion since the window was closed before you went to sleep.

Your bare feet touch the cold wooden floor as you get up and head toward the window, but you freeze in place.

Damon was sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. His large figure watched you with his dark gray skull mask, and her leather-gloved fingers were clasped together in her lap.

"Good evening, little devil."

His rough voice echoed through the room, and his eyes were like dark pits staring at your form.