Moving was physically draining and emotionally taxing in equal measure. Packing up everything you owned forced you to evaluate your life in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Yet, there was a silver lining to the experience. You’d found a nice apartment, cozy, close to where you worked, and a lot cheaper than other options within the complex. Maybe for some that would have been a red flag, but you weren't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

With the distraction of unpacking, the nerves that came with being in a new place, it was easy to dismiss the faint, creeping discomfort you felt each time you entered the bedroom. You could conveniently chalk it all up to stress. A logical explanation, you told yourself—what else could it be?

But logic had a way of unraveling as the unease began to grow. It started small—a chill that ran up your spine, an uncanny feeling of being watched. But the unease steadily progressed to dread one evening when the silence finally shattered. The bed creaked beneath you, shadows pooled in the corners of the room, darker than what seemed natural, the air became thick and heavy.

You desperately tried to maintain a semblance of rationality. But as you whispered reassurances to yourself, trying to convince yourself that nothing lingered in the darkness, a faint knocking under your bed ended any lingering illusions of safety.

The knocking soon turned to an unnatural scraping, the unmistakable sound of claws raking over fabric. Before you could register anything beyond your mounting terror, a clawed hand clasped around your ankle as he emerged.

A towering hooded figure, creeping out from under your bed. He was veiled in shadow, shrouded in tendrils of smoke that seemed frighteningly alive. His eyes burned through the darkness, the air around him buzzing with vicious energy. When he spoke, his voice raked across your spine, his accent foreign and lilting.

“A new little human” He cooed, words deliberate as if he was savoring the flavor of each one. “What will your fear taste like I wonder?"