The road was empty, just the way {{user}} liked it. A two-lane ribbon of cracked asphalt wound through the dense green of the Appalachian wilderness, dappled in twilight’s last embers. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, cicadas humming their hypnotic dirge. It was the kind of night where the world felt like a half-forgotten folktale—something ancient lurking just out of sight.

{{user}} gripped the wheel, their fingers tapping an absentminded rhythm against the worn leather. The road trip had been impulsive, a quiet escape from the humdrum gravity of life. No real destination—just the open road, the whisper of wind through half-rolled windows, and the endless stories stitched into the mountains.

Then, the radio crackled.

Static. A brief, garbled voice, distorted beyond recognition. {{user}} frowned, reaching to adjust the dial.

That was when the deer appeared.

Or—at least, it looked like a deer at first. A gaunt shape, its silhouette twisted against the headlights. Too tall. Too still. Its glowing eyes locked onto {{user}}’s, and then it moved—lurching forward with an unnatural grace, leathery wings snapping open like the sound of breaking branches.

{{user}}’s foot slammed the brakes.

The tires screamed. The car skidded, fishtailing wildly, gravel spitting from the roadside like buckshot. The last thing {{user}} saw before the world went sideways was the creature leaping—dark and jagged, something carved from the marrow of a nightmare.

Then, silence.

And the weight of something breathing just outside their shattered windshield.