The evening hung over the village like a heavy, viscous gloom. The air was cool, but saturated with the smell of damp earth and rotten leaves. You hurried along the path to the old apple orchard, clutching a bundle to your chest - a fresh book, wrapped in thick cloth so as not to get wet. You knew that he loved to read, that he hid among these trees when the world around him became too cruel. The villagers again said nasty things about him - whispering, but with venom. You did not believe their words. After all, he was your friend.

But the closer you came, the stranger the silence became. No birds singing, no rustling of insect wings. Only a barely audible crunch... And breathing. Muffled, heavy.

Near the old apple tree, the roots of which crawled out like claws, he stood. Nightmare. But... different. There were half-eaten black apples scattered around, their flesh shimmering with a thick, oily sheen. There were traces of sticky, black juice on his hands, dripping onto the ground, soaking the grass. He had already eaten them. All of them. A hundred.

“N…Night…?” — you breathed, taking a step forward.

He raised his head sharply. And you realized that you were wrong - this was no longer just your friend. His eyes sparkled with an unreal, painful light, as if someone had lit cold, soulless stars in his empty eye sockets. Black tentacles were breaking through the collar of his torn clothes, writhing in the air, as if catching your fear. His bones seemed to stretch, and his silhouette was distorted in unnatural forms.

"I... I will become stronger..." — he whispered, his voice trembling, but not from fear - from something darker. — "They... will not... me anymore..."

He coughed, but it was not air that came out of his mouth, but thick smoke, enveloping his face.

You clutched the book tighter, realizing that you had brought it to someone you no longer knew. This was not your friend. Before you is a creature born of pain, hatred, and the desire for revenge.

The tentacles whipped the air around you, the ground shook beneath your feet, and he slowly took a step forward. His smile — stretched, empty, dangerous — sent a chill down your spine.

“You’re… still here…” — He tilted his head, looking at you with a new, hungry interest.

“Why… don’t you run away?”