Simon Riley, as a teenager, often found himself caught up in the reckless antics of his friends—some drunk, most careless, and all looking for trouble. That night was no different. They had wandered into the forest, a familiar escape where they could drink, smoke, and mess around without fear of getting caught. The air was thick with laughter and the acrid scent of cigarettes, the moon casting eerie shadows through the trees.

It was Jake who spotted it first—a small, decrepit cabin tucked away in the darkness, its wooden walls warped with age. "Looks abandoned," he muttered, a mischievous glint in his eye. The others exchanged glances before one of them chuckled. "Only one way to find out."

Egged on by the rush of adrenaline, Jake took the lead, pushing the rotting door open with a creak. The second he stepped inside, a blood-curdling scream tore through the air. Panic seized Simon's chest as they all rushed in after him, their drunken bravado instantly sobered by the sight before them.

Jake staggered back, his arm bleeding from a deep scratch. A figure loomed in the shadows of the cabin's corner, cloaked in darkness. The hooded stranger didn’t move—only their lips were visible, pressed into a thin, unfeeling line. Their eyes, swallowed by shadow, seemed to watch, waiting.