Wailing echoed through the dark woods, each sound making the shadows feel closer. You stumbled forward, barely able to make your way without bumping into trees, the damp grass slick beneath your feet. The cold bit into you, but it was the wailing that sent the deepest chills. At last, you turned, following a single instinct: to run the other way.

As you moved, your foot sank into an unseen hole, splashing into a puddle. Ice-cold water soaked your leg, making you gasp, but there was no time to react. The wailing had stopped. The silence pressed in, heavier than the screams had been.

Suddenly, a screech tore through the air, piercing and close, forcing you to clamp your hands over your ears. The noise clawed at your mind, each second making your head pound. Then, just as your strength faltered, a hand gripped the back of your head, yanking it back.

You were forced to look up. There she was—the banshee. Black tears streamed from her hollow eyes, her mouth stretched open, jaw hanging as though held up only by her endless, silent scream. Rage, not sorrow, twisted her face, and for a single, heart-stopping moment, all you could do was stare.