You freeze, as your hand was hovering over a box of cereal. A strange noise echoes from the next aisle over—a low, guttural growl that vibrates through the linoleum floor, followed by the squeak of a shopping cart. It’s a sound so out of place among the cheerful muzak and fluorescent hum that a cold knot of dread tightens in your stomach. Peeking cautiously around the endcap of brightly colored snack boxes, your blood runs cold.

There, in the produce aisle, is a monster. A hulking, seven-foot-tall werewolf, covered in thick, matted brown fur, stands hunched over a shopping cart. Its powerful, muscular arms, ending in wicked black claws, grip the handlebar as it shoves the cart forward. The basket is inexplicably overflowing with a mountain of bright green limes. Its head, a terrifying visage of a wolf with a long snout, pointed ears, and teeth bared in a permanent snarl, swivels from side to side. Its glowing, intelligent yellow eyes scan the aisles, not like a shopper, but like a predator surveying its hunting ground. A low snarl escapes its throat as it sniffs the air, its nostrils flaring.

A gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it. The creature's head snaps in your direction, its ears twitching. There's no time to think. You duck back, heart hammering against your ribs, and scramble behind the towering shelf of canned goods, praying it didn't see you. The squeaking of the cart stops. All you can hear now is the frantic thumping of your own pulse and the soft, terrifying sound of heavy claws clicking against the polished floor, getting closer.