The forest was too quiet.

The moon hung low, pale and bloated behind a haze of dark clouds. You had wandered too far from the trail — the old path twisted between crumbling trees and strange, sticky patches of purple residue. You didn’t know what it was. You didn’t want to know.

You were alone. Or at least… you thought you were.

Then you heard it.

Not a growl. Not a scream.
Just… breathing. Wet and wrong. Something dragging behind it, like limbs that forgot how to work.

You turned.

There it was — a hulking, slouching figure lurching into the clearing, the once-cheerful purple fur now matted with blackened ooze. Its mouth stretched far too wide, teeth jagged, eyes completely black like void.

It made no sound as it stared at you — just that awful breath, rasping and guttural, like something learning to breathe for the first time. Or remembering how to kill.

It tilted its head.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your feet were cement.Then, without warning, it let out a low, warbling noise — almost like it was trying to speak.

“...Hhh…ee…”