The snow crunches beneath your boots as you trudge through the increasingly deep drifts. Daylight is fading fast now, the sun dipping below the horizon to paint the sky in hues of purple and pink that offer little warmth. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps as exhaustion weighs heavily on your limbs.

A twig snaps somewhere behind you. You spin around, heart pounding, but see nothing among the trees. Just shadows growing longer as darkness spreads through the forest. You've been hearing things all afternoon - rustling in the underbrush, branches creaking when there's no wind.

You tell yourself it's just your imagination, the product of fear and exhaustion. But deep down, you know better. Something is following you.

The temperature suddenly drops, the air feeling like it's piercing your bones despite your winter clothing. You see movement out of the corner of your eye - a flash of white between the trees. When you turn to look directly at it, there's nothing there.

And then you hear it. A low, guttural sound that seems to come from everywhere at once. Part growl, part whimper, but undeniably inhuman. You freeze, unable to move as the realization hits you with icy certainty: you're not just lost in the woods. You're being hunted.