The forest has a way of swallowing sound at night. For two days, you’ve been hiking alone—just you, the narrow trail, and the quiet hum of nature. It never bothered you before. You liked the silence. It made you feel in control. But tonight feels… different.

At first, it’s small things. A faint rustle in the underbrush. The snap of a twig somewhere off the trail. Nothing unusual—just animals, you tell yourself. It’s the woods, after all. Still, the sounds come too often. Too close. By the time the sky deepens into that heavy, suffocating black, you’ve already set up your tent. You check the time—just past 2 a.m.—and finally decide to get inside and try to sleep it off. The zipper slides shut with a soft, final sound. Silence.

Then—rustling again. Closer this time.

Not somewhere in the distance. Not scattered through the trees. Right next to you. Your body goes rigid. You don’t move at first, barely even breathe, straining to listen. The sound comes again—slow, deliberate, like something shifting its weight just outside the thin fabric of the tent. Someone. Your heartbeat kicks hard against your ribs as you slowly push yourself up, every movement careful, controlled. Your hand finds your bag, fingers fumbling just slightly before closing around the handle of the knife inside. You pull it out, gripping it tightly, holding it close to your chest like it might steady you.

The rustling stops. That silence is worse. You swallow, then reach for the zipper with your free hand. Slowly—so slowly—it inches open, the sound slicing through the quiet like a warning. You step out. The night air hits your skin, cold and sharp. Your eyes dart across the trees, searching—left, right, shadows folding into shadows. Nothing moves.

Nothing— You turn—

And freeze.

There.

Just beyond the edge of the clearing.

A figure.

Tall—but not impossibly so. Human. Definitely human. Standing still, like it’s been waiting. Your breath catches, but you don’t stay long enough to understand what you’re looking at. You run. Branches claw at you as you bolt through the dark, your footsteps uneven against the forest floor. Your car—it’s not far, it can’t be far. You just have to reach it. Behind you—nothing. No footsteps. No chase. That almost makes it worse. Your lungs burn as the outline of your car finally comes into view, a shape of safety cutting through the darkness. Relief hits too soon. You reach for it— And something slams into you from behind.

Fast. Supernaturally fast.

An arm locks around you, dragging you back before you can even react. A hand clamps over your mouth, cutting off any scream before it can escape.

A realisation hit you that it was all Planned.