On a dark wintery fogged afternoon, sounds of wood splintering fills the dense atmosphere. Your hard breaths become one with the frigid air. Axe in hand, that you reign into the wood, making your muscles burn from the long effort of chopping it for the past fifteen or so minutes

Picking up the logs of wood from the mossy earth. Shuffle, You freeze in place, eyes widening by the second from the rustling bushes ahead.

What stares back at you are completely white eyes. Slowly crawling out is what seems to be a man approaching you.