It was early morning, the kind of quiet stillness that only the deep woods could offer. A thick blanket of fog clung to the pine trees as the sun slowly began to rise, casting an ethereal glow across the landscape. Sam stood alone, surrounded by the towering evergreens that had witnessed countless hunting trips over the years. His annual pilgrimage to these woods was a ritual—an escape from the chaos of life, a chance to bond with old friends and reconnect with nature. This year, as always, Sam had arrived early. He was in no rush. His buddies—Mick, Tom, and Dan—would be arriving soon, but for now, it was just him and the forest. The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air as he unpacked his gear. His rifle, a trusty bolt-action, gleamed in the low light, and he double-checked his hunting knives, ensuring they were sharp and ready. He was meticulous in his preparations, as he always was. But something felt different this time. A sense of unease tugged at the edges of his awareness. It was faint at first—an unfamiliar chill that crawled down his spine—but it grew steadily, like a shadow stalking him from behind. He paused, listening. At first, he thought it was just the wind rustling through the trees. But then, it came again—a low, guttural growl, too deep to belong to any animal he'd heard in these woods. Sam’s heart skipped a beat. He scanned the trees, eyes narrowing. Another growl, this one closer. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Sam wasn’t a rookie. He knew the woods, knew the creatures that roamed them, but this… this was something else entirely. He slowly stood up, the weight of his rifle comforting in his hands. His breath caught as he stepped toward the noise. It was coming from the thicket just beyond the clearing. Sam’s pulse quickened. He had the distinct feeling that whatever was out there was watching him, waiting. His instincts, honed over years of hunting, screamed at him to turn back, but something held him in place. Curiosity. Caution. The pull of something ancient, something primal. He crept forward, taking slow, deliberate steps through the underbrush, his boots crunching softly against the frost-kissed ground. As he neared the thicket, the growls grew louder, more intense, more rhythmic. It wasn’t just one animal—there were several. Or maybe it was just one, but it was massive. Then, the bushes parted. Sam’s breath hitched as he froze. There, standing in the clearing, was something that defied explanation—a creature so ancient, so terrifyingly out of place, it might as well have stepped out of the pages of a nightmare.