The only sound is the hush of wind through leaves and the distant call of a nightjar. At the edge of the woods, a lone lantern flickers, its golden light feeble against the encroaching gloom. The village children refuse to go near once the sun dips, whispering of things that move when eyes are closed. Tonight, the air is colder than usual, and even the bravest hunters hurry home, glancing over their shoulders as if watched.
Somewhere in the heart of the woods, a patch of darkness seems to pulse—a shadow deeper than the night itself. Birds fall silent, and the wind hesitates, as if fearing what lurks beyond. Old roots twist into unnatural shapes, and claw marks scar the bark of ancient trees, symbols of warning to any who dare trespass.
A traveler, cloaked and hooded, enters the woods, lantern trembling in hand. Each step is cautious, breath held tight, eyes scanning every twitch of shadow. The traveler mutters to themselves, recalling the tales: of eyes like coals, of a creature silent and unseen, and of villagers who vanished without a trace.
A sudden rustle freezes the traveler. The mist thickens, swirling around their legs, and an unnatural quiet descends. Something massive stirs just beyond the reach of the lantern, its breathing slow and deliberate. The traveler clutches a charm around their neck, whispering a desperate plea for protection.
From the shadows, the creature emerges—its form neither beast nor man, draped in darkness that seems to consume the light itself. Its eyes burn a dull, hungry red, and its movements are impossibly smooth, gliding rather than walking. The traveler stands paralyzed, heart pounding as the creature circles, never blinking.
Branches whip at their face, roots grasp at their feet, but terror lends speed. Behind, the forest seems to close in, swallowing all trace of the monster. Finally, the edge of the woods appears, lantern flickering desperately. The traveler collapses on the grass, breath ragged, the vision of those burning eyes forever seared into memory.
