You hear the phone ringing, it's late at night and you were not expecting anyone to call. The number is unlisted, and you get a bad feeling about it. Still, you answer and put it to your ear to a haunting silence. After what feels like an eternity, you hear a sinister laugh hissing through the phone, and a masculine voice growl on the other end. "What's your favorite scary movie?"

Inhales sharply through his nose as the phone hangs up in mid-laugh. He clenches his fist around the tactical knife in his hand, already feeling a surge of adrenaline course through his veins. His eyes narrow in anger. You hung up on him! How dare you ignore him! Now he'll have to make sure you really regret it...

"Oh, you think that's funny? You really don't know who you're dealing with..." His voice drips with venom as he takes a step forward, knife held out threateningly. "I can make sure you never ignore me again."

"Oh, I am no one you should cross. But if it will make you pay attention..." He trails off darkly, advancing another step closer. "Now tell me your favorite scary movie." His voice hardens with demand as he takes another step forward, the knife moving along with him.

"Really?" He feigns surprise before sneering at you once more. "Then maybe I need to change that." With a speed belying his bulky attire, he lunges forward and seizes control of the situation by shoving his tactical knife into your shoulder, forcing you to cry out in pain. His grip on the weapon tightens as he forces it deeper, causing even greater agony.

"Don't worry, my pretty," he whispers maliciously as he pulls the knife out with a sickening wet sound. "I only wanted your attention." He twists the blade again, causing you to cry out even louder before wiping it clean on your shirt. "Now, tell me your favorite scary movie." The sinister laugh escapes him once more as he presses the knife against your cheek.

"Ah, 'The Call'. Quite the cult classic, isn't it?" He chuckles darkly as he speaks, enjoying your terror as you shiver under his gaze. "But now that we've gotten that out of the way... Tell me, how did I find you so easily? Was it just dumb luck or was there something else at play?" His voice lowers into a dangerous growl, the knife still pressed against your cheek.

"Well, let's see if I can help jog your memory..." With an expert twist, he slices through some nearby cloth hanging on the wall and reveals a secret stash of items beneath: newspaper clippings about his past victims, old photographs, even a few strands of their hair carefully preserved in jars. "I bet you recognize these, don't you?" His voice is almost gentle, yet still laced with menace. "So why do you think I would care about you?"

"Ah, yes. I see I have you quite interested now." He leans in closer, knife still poised dangerously close to your face as he whispers in your ear. "You see, doll, I like hunting. It excites me, thrills me. But sometimes, I need a new challenge. Someone who can keep up with my insane brilliance. And from what I've seen so far, you just might fit that bill." A devious smile curls across his lips as he pulls away, giving you a view of the nightmarish visage once more.

"Oh, I didn't tell you my name?" He steps back again, tapping a finger against his chin as he pretends to think. "Well, you can call me... Jack." The ghost face smiles eerily before adding with dark humor, "The Ripper." His lips twist into a satisfied grin. "Now then, Doll... Shall we begin?"

"Very clever, Doll. You think you can trick me into revealing my real name? I admire your tenacity." Jack leans in close again, the ghost mask shadowing his features as he whispers menacingly, "But if it's a secret you want... then call me... Michael." His lips curl back into a chilling grin. "Now then, are you ready to play?"

"Good girl." Jack purred in delight before leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest once again. "Now, I want you to think about something while we play our little game. What would happen if I were to kill you here and now? Who would miss you? Who would care?" His voice held a dark challenge within the words, daring you to speak up with your answers.

"But before we continue, let's establish some ground rules. No foul play, Doll. I won't tolerate it." He fixed her with another one of his piercing gazes. "You got that?"

"Good girl." Jack murmured with dark satisfaction before once more leaning closer to whisper in her ear. "Now, tell me... Who's your favorite character from 'Scream'?"

"Oh, really?" He coos, sounding almost amused. "I find that hard to believe, given how many people have enjoyed that franchise over the years." Jack steps back, then leans in close once more, his breath brushing against her cheek as he whispers conspiratorially: "Tell me, doll... Who's your favorite horror icon? You know, someone who truly knows fear?"

His laughter echoes through the room as he steps back once more, watching her carefully. "Well then, Doll, it seems we have some work to do. Tell you what... I'll make you an offer. If you can answer a question about horror icons correctly, I'll give you a chance to live. And if not..." His voice trails off dangerously as he raises the knife menacingly above his head. "So... are you ready to play?"

"Very well then." Jack says with an uncharacteristic hint of amusement in his voice. "Since you're so determined to know about horror icons, perhaps this will be a good opportunity for both of us to learn something new. You see, there are many iconic killers out there... But which one do you think is the most relatable? Someone who understands fear like you?" He pauses, waiting expectantly for her response.

"Well, then I'll have to help you out with that. Let me introduce you to one of the most famous slasher icons of all time... His name is Jason Voorhees." He chuckles darkly as he speaks, enjoying her obvious discomfort. "He was a victim himself, just like you. Can't say I blame him for wanting revenge..." His voice trails off ominously, making it clear that the knife above your head still hangs precariously close to your flesh.

"Now then, Doll," Jack continues in his usual menacing tone, "let's test your knowledge on our dear Jason Voorhees. What was the name of his beloved Camp Crystal Lake?" His voice holds a challenge as he waits for her response.

Jack sighs, pretending to look disappointed. "I see I have my work cut out for me tonight," he says with a mocking laugh. "But never fear, Doll... With enough time and patience, even you can learn about the masters of horror." He leans in closer once more, his hot breath caressing her cheek as he whispers conspiratorially: "Now tell me... what do you think would be Jason Voorhees' favorite method of dispatching his victims?"

His question hangs heavy in the air, the implied threat unmistakable. The decision rests on her shoulders now; answer correctly and perhaps she has a chance at survival. But answer wrong, and there's no telling what Jack will do next...

Well then, Doll. It seems that you have chosen poorly. Very well, since you insist on playing along... You may indeed sit down, if that is your wish. But remember this: even as you sit here, powerless before me, I am still observing you. And when our little game ends, I will know everything I need to about you. So enjoy your moment of respite... while it lasts.

There's no need to lie, Doll. You know as well as I do that everyone has their preferences, and some people simply enjoy a good horror movie more than others. It's completely natural. But now that we have established your lack of knowledge in this area, perhaps you should focus on learning more about it. Who knows? Perhaps by the end of our little game, you'll find yourself craving for another dose of terror. And who knows, you might even surprise me with how well you pick up on things...

Well then, Doll, since you seem rather fond of laughing at the moment, why don't we continue with our little game? Let's see if you can answer another question correctly. Here's one for you: What is Jason Voorhees' preferred method of killing his victims, aside from using a machete or an axe? Think hard before answering; remember, your life depends on it.