The lake on the outskirts of town was the kind of place that always seemed half-forgotten, a strip of black water nestled between pine trees that whispered in the wind. The air there carried a damp chill, the kind that seeped through layers of clothing no matter the season. It was here, on a still night beneath a cloud-streaked moon, that the group of four friends decided to set up camp. They arrived with laughter in their voices and the quiet confidence of people who had known each other long enough to trust that nothing truly bad could happen while they were together.
They had barely been there fifteen minutes when the mood began to shift. The tents went up quickly, the fire crackled to life, and the smell of pine needles mingled with the faint scent of smoke. Yet, in the middle of their easy chatter about their years of friendship and memories of reckless adventures, an unease crept into their bones. It started as a subtle sensation, the feeling of eyes on the back of the neck, the hair rising along their arms.
The conversation faltered. Words turned into quiet nods and nervous glances. No one said what they were thinking, but the same thought passed through each mind: someone or something was nearby. Then came the sound.
It was faint at first, drifting across the lake from somewhere deep within the forest. A baby’s cry, sharp and plaintive, broke through the silence. It did not sound quite right. It carried a strange resonance, an echo that did not match the natural surroundings. The sound cut off abruptly, replaced by the faint crunch of footsteps over dead leaves. And then, whistling—slow, deliberate, tuneless—threaded through the air like a ribbon of ice.
The group’s muscles tightened. Instinct screamed for them to run, but their limbs remained frozen.
From the shadows between the trees, a figure burst into view. It was Alex.
The others gasped and staggered back, their fear twisting instantly into anger as Alex doubled over, laughing at the expressions etched on their faces. His prank had landed perfectly, and he knew it.
Relief came in a sudden wave, though it was laced with irritation. Their hearts were still pounding, but it was easier to breathe knowing that the noises and tension had been nothing more than a friend’s mischief. They cursed under their breath, exchanging sharp looks, while Alex grinned at them under the dim silver wash of moonlight.
Yet there was something they missed in that moment—something their eyes skimmed over without registering. Alex’s features were subtly wrong. Not grotesquely so, not enough to make them cry out, but enough to mark a quiet departure from the familiar face they had known for years. His skin seemed drawn too tightly in some places and loose in others. His posture was slightly hunched, his movements measured in ways that felt unnatural. And most strangely of all, he didn’t speak.
Throughout the rest of the evening, Alex made no sound beyond laughter, the occasional nod, and the low sigh of someone pretending to be tired. He filmed them with his phone, the lens catching flickers of the firelight, their uneasy smiles, and the dark curtain of the forest behind them. None of them asked why he wasn’t talking; they told themselves it was just part of his joke.
The hours dragged on. The moon moved higher, casting sharper shadows. The forest grew restless, the wind rattling the branches as if impatient for something to happen. Eventually, they decided to call it a night. The fire was smothered, sleeping bags zipped up, and the night reclaimed the campsite with silence.
Morning came with pale light breaking through the clouds, the surface of the lake still as glass. The forest, so menacing the night before, seemed almost indifferent now. The group stirred, yawning, stretching, and beginning the slow process of packing their belongings. It was only then that they noticed Alex was gone.
At first, no one worried. He had probably gone for a walk or decided to head home early. They searched briefly around the lake, calling out his name. Five minutes passed without any sign of him. When they decided to return to their cars, they were certain he’d be waiting for them in the parking area. And there he was or so they thought.
Alex’s car sat where he had parked it, and a figure was in the driver’s seat. But as they approached, the details came into focus. The figure’s head was slumped forward, and the skin along the neck and scalp looked torn, ragged, and incomplete. Fingers were missing from both hands, ears gone, and one eye socket was an empty pit. What remained of Alex’s face was pale and slack, streaked with something dark and dried. His clothing was shredded in places, and deep gouges scored his chest and arms. The damage was too clean, too purposeful for an animal’s attack.
The air thickened with dread. None of them spoke. Simultaneously, each of their phones chimed with a notification. The sound startled them as much as the sight before them. A new message had appeared—Alex’s name in the sender line.
The video began innocently enough. It was the footage from the night before: their faces lit by the campfire, nervous laughter, the shifting of shadows. There was nothing unusual, nothing that hinted at the horror waiting in the final seconds.
But then the scene changed. The camera turned away from the fire and toward the treeline. A figure emerged from the darkness—a shape that defied natural anatomy. Its body was a patchwork of stolen parts, limbs and torsos from different people stitched together with ropes of vine and gnarled tree branches. Its head was an amalgamation of features, some human, some resembling animal skulls, all bound tightly together as though nature itself had been forced into servitude.
The thing stood still for a moment, its presence pressing against the screen like a weight. Then it tilted its head toward the camera. Its voice, when it spoke, was deep and wet, the words rasping like bark being peeled from a tree.
“GIVE US… OR WE TAKE.”
The video cut to black. The group stood frozen beside the car, the cold morning air clinging to their skin. They could not speak, could not move. Somewhere beyond the lake, the forest seemed to exhale, as though it knew they had heard and understood. The stillness felt like a countdown, each second ticking toward something inevitable. By nightfall, they would each be gone.
