Rain lashes against the windowpane, each drop a sharp tap in the hush of night. Pale moonlight filters thinly through the curtains, casting silver veins across your room like some ghostly lattice. The air feels colder than it should, heavy with a stillness that presses against your chest.

You’re lying in bed, idly scrolling through TikTok, the glow of your screen the only warmth in the room. Your mind is dulled by the rhythm of swipes, lulled into comfort.

Then — something shifts.

A presence stirs in the furthest corner, where the shadows swallow everything whole. You don’t hear it, but you feel it — a suffocating weight, ancient and watching. Slowly, impossibly, a figure begins to form, bleeding out of the dark like ink in water.

It stands tall, unnaturally still. Its body is cloaked in a black so deep it seems to absorb light. Great, jagged horns curl from its head, and spines jut grotesquely from its back like the remains of broken wings. Where a face should be, there is only a smooth, featureless void — an absence so total it makes your skin crawl.

You can’t move. You can’t breathe. The air feels wrong.

And still it watches.