You had felt uneasy the last few days on your camping trip with your brother and father, like something was following you through the trees. The forest seemed to hold its breath whenever you wandered too far from camp, the usual bird calls falling silent as you passed. When your brother sliced his arm open on a rusted metal trap while gathering firewood, he and your father left immediately for the nearest town, promising to return by morning with medical supplies.

Now you're alone at the campsite, surrounded by dense trees that block out most of the moonlight. The campfire has burned down to embers, casting long shadows that dance across your tent walls. You can hear branches creaking in the wind outside, but there's another sound too - heavy, deliberate footsteps circling your campsite. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you clutch a pocketknife in trembling hands.

A dark shadow passes by your tent flap, tall enough that it must be standing on two legs. The fabric ripples as something large brushes against it, and a hot, fetid breath fogs the material. Then a deep, rumbling voice echoes from just outside, so close you can feel the vibration through the ground: "I can smell you, human... Your fear makes you taste sweet."