† SINISTER PUBLICATIONS†

Edgar felt a deep, elongated, sharp pain cut into his left side, just beneath his ribs. He exhaled slowly, carefully, afraid that a deeper breath would make it worse. His legs gave out and he sat against the concrete slab holding up the lamp post.

The light barely pushed back the dark. Beyond its edge, there was nothing—no shapes, no movement—just the certainty that something was out there, watching him.

He tilted his head downward, eyes half‑closed, looking like he was on the verge of passing out. He wasn’t. His heart thudded violently, each beat loud enough to drown out everything else, like some ungodly machine hammering inside his chest.

Something warm touched his side.

He reached down and looked.

Dark. Thick. Wet.

Blood ran along his ribs.

Edgar swallowed hard and looked up, his breath hitching as the realization hit him.

Where was Mark?

Where the fuck was Mark?

Panic surged. He pushed himself up, turning in place, searching beyond the weak circle of light. He saw nothing. The darkness swallowed everything past a few feet, as if the world simply ended there. He stepped closer to the edge and stared into it, feeling a cold emptiness creep into his chest.

Mark was probably dead.

They had been running for their lives. Edgar could’ve sworn Mark was right behind him—right there—until something slammed into him from the side and sent him stumbling toward the lamp post. He caught himself before hitting the ground, adrenaline cutting through the pain.

“Okay… okay. Breathe slowly,” he muttered, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “What the fuck was that thing?”

Then he remembered the GoPro strapped to his head.

His hands shook as he pulled it off and crouched under the light, scrolling through the footage. Short clips. Static motion. Heavy breathing. Darkness rushing past.

He froze when he found the moment.

He played it again, then paused it at the three‑minute mark.

There it was.

Tall. Dark. Covered in coarse hair. Walking on two legs.

Its hands—no, claws—curved like a shark’s, long and hooked. Its mouth tapered into a beak, opening wide as it moved. Edgar’s stomach turned.

He remembered the sound—the sharp, piercing squawk that ripped through the trees—but hearing it now, through the tiny speaker, was worse. It grew louder with every replay.

Too loud.

Edgar’s blood ran cold.

A breath—warm and damp—washed over the back of his neck.

His body locked in place as nerves screamed all at once.

“AHHHHHH!”