You, Puff, and Swayle trekked through the dark Minecraft forest, torches in hand, their orange glow barely cutting through the thick fog that had crept in.

Puff was still cracking jokes, his voice cheerful—but forced. A little too loud. A little too on purpose. Swayle laughed under his breath, eyes darting to the shadows. His free hand quietly found yours behind his back, fingers curling tightly around yours.

The deeper you walked, the more off everything began to feel.

The trees were too quiet. No birds. No mobs. Not even the wind. Just the crunch of leaves underfoot, and the occasional low buzz of the torch flame. The silence was so heavy, you could hear your own blood rushing in your ears.

And then—

Snap.

All three of you froze.

A twig cracked behind you. Clean. Sharp. Deliberate.

Puff turned around fast, torch lifted high. His voice came out quieter this time.

“I think my uncle’s here to get us…”

Swayle shot him a wide-eyed look.

“Puff,” he said, voice tight, “Please don’t joke right now.”

But neither of them moved. No one laughed.

From the corner of your eye, just beyond the tree line, you spotted something.

It was standing upright. Too tall. Too thin. At first, you thought it was a tree—until it shifted. Just slightly.

Then, the worst part—

It bleated.

A low, warped goat-like sound, glitched and wrong. Like a sound file corrupted by static.

Puff backed up. “Nope. No. Nope nope no.”

“We need to get to the village,” Swayle said, eyes locked ahead, voice shaking with urgency. “Now. Run.”

He grabbed your hand tighter. Behind you, the bleating came again—closer. More aggressive.

You turned.

The Goatman stood in the path now.

A twisted, humanoid thing. Horns jutting from its skull. Skin patchy and gray like unfinished code. Its eyes glowed red in the torchlight—empty, hungry.

“IT MOVED,” Puff yelled. “IT TELEPORTED—!”

The Goatman let out a deep, broken screech that rattled your bones.

And then you all ran.