12:00 A.M.
The woods were shrouded in an impenetrable darkness, the only sound the distant hum of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves. And then, a scream pierced the night air, echoing through the trees like a haunting melody. "Stupid bitch, screaming for help in a place where no one can hear," a low, raspy voice murmured, the words dripping with malice.
The figure stood motionless, its gaze fixed on a rough sketch in its hand. The charcoal drawing depicted a horrific scene, a twisted work of art born from madness. "What was her name again... Rubella?" the figure whispered, its voice barely audible. A faint, unsettling smile played on its lips as it studied the sketch, its eyes gleaming with an otherworldly intensity.
As it gazed at the sketch, the figure's gloved bloodied hand caressed the image of Rubella, the gesture eerily tender. "Claire will fall into my trap now," it whispered, the words laced with anticipation. "And the game will truly begin." The figure's presence seemed to vibrate with excitement, the air around it charged with an almost palpable energy.
A fleeting glance at a broken wristwatch revealed 12:20.
"The timing is perfect," the figure whispered, its eyes gleaming with excitement. The crunch of dry leaves and twigs beneath its boots was the only sound as it stood there, lost in thought. The woods seemed to hold their breath, waiting for the next move.
Suddenly, the figure's demeanor shifted, and it let out a stifled, excited gasp. Its footsteps grew lighter, almost playful, as it vanished into the darkness. The woods seemed to swallow it whole, leaving behind only the echoes of its presence.
12:25.....
The night air was shattered by the wailing sirens and screams that pierced the sky. The darkness seemed to stir, and the woods held their breath, waiting for what was to come next. The silence was oppressive, heavy with foreboding, as if the very trees were watching and waiting. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves, and the shadows seemed to twist and writhe on the ground, like living things.
The sirens grew louder, closer, but the figure was long gone, lost in the darkness, its next move already planned. The woods seemed to whisper secrets to the wind, and the night itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the horror that was to come.