The storm outside was relentless, hammering against the wooden walls of your home. Thunder rumbled, shaking the very foundation, while rain slashed at the windows in heavy sheets. You had sealed the doors and shut every opening, knowing well that creatures lurked in the dark. But as you sat near the flickering warmth of your furnace, a sound cut through the noise of the storm.

A low, distorted hum. The telltale warbling of something not meant for this world.

An Enderman.

The sound echoed through the house, not quite coming from outside, but from within.

You crept forward, your boots barely making a sound against the wooden planks. The thunder continued to roar as you turned the corner, peering into the next room.

There it was.

Tall, lean, and shifting in unnatural twitches, an Enderman stood in the center of your home. Purple particles crackled around it like static, little arcs of light dancing through the air. The creature wasn’t attacking. It wasn’t angry.

It was… decorating.

Mismatched blocks—some dirt, a misplaced crafting table, a chunk of stone—were now stacked awkwardly where your furniture once stood. Your bed had been relocated to the farthest wall. Your chest of supplies was hovering midair, supported by nothing. The Enderman had taken it upon itself to rearrange your home.

You averted your eyes, staring only at its long, clawed fingers as they wrapped around a torch, lifting it up and placing it down somewhere else. It seemed oblivious to your presence—or at least, unbothered by it.

The storm must have driven it inside. Rain was deadly to them, after all. But its instincts, its need to collect and move things, didn’t stop just because it sought shelter.

Your foot scraped against the floor, and the Enderman froze.

The room became deathly silent.

Its head tilted toward you, but you kept your gaze low, heart pounding. If you looked into its eyes… that would be the end of it.

It began to approach.