The Monster in the Woods

They hadn’t planned to go this deep.The trail started easy—familiar dirt packed by weekend hikers, roots smoothed by rain and time. But the deeper they pushed, the forest changed. Trees thickened into walls, branches clawing overhead until moonlight splintered into useless shards. Flashlights became their only anchors, twin pale beams slicing the black.

Eli’s voice cracked first. “You hear that?”

Mark didn’t answer. He had. A wet rasp, like someone gargling broken glass and trying to speak through it. Not wind. Not wildlife. Something rehearsing a throat it had stolen.

The forest fell dead silent.

Then the whistle returned—low, distorted, burrowing into their sternums. Mark’s grip whitened on the flashlight. Eli stumbled back, boot snagging a root.

The ground bucked.

Leaves exploded outward. Branches cracked like gunfire. The stench slammed into them: copper-thick blood, spoiled meat left to fester, undercut by something chemical and burning.

The thing stepped into the light.

It was obscene. Towering, hunched, skin a mottled purple-black stretched over knotted muscle that pulsed independently. Spikes jutted from its spine and shoulders, crusted with dried ichor and fresh gore. Red eyes glowed steady, pupils slitted like knife cuts. Its mouth split too wide, lips peeling back over rows of mismatched teeth—some blunt, some needle-sharp, all stained near-black at the gums.Eli screamed.

The flashlight beam jittered across its face. A thick, black tongue uncoiled, tasting the air with deliberate slowness. It smiled—actually smiled—revealing gums that wept greenish pus.

In its left claw dangled what used to be a hiker. Male, mid-twenties maybe. Backpack still strapped on, one arm torn off at the shoulder, bone protruding white against shredded meat. The body swung like wet laundry. Blood pattered steadily onto the dirt between the boys’ shoes, steaming in the cold.

Mark’s mouth worked soundlessly.

The creature lifted the corpse higher, almost presenting it. Then, casually, it drove clawed fingers into the abdomen. Fabric and flesh parted with a wet rip. Intestines spilled in a steaming coil, slapping wetly against its thigh. It hooked them, yanked—long ropes of gut uncoiling like Christmas lights—and stuffed the handful into its maw.

Chewing was loud. Methodical. Teeth ground through muscle and viscera; a wet pop as something burst between molars. Blood sprayed in an arc, splattering Mark’s hoodie and Eli’s face. Eli retched, doubling over.

The monster wasn’t done.

It dropped the torso. The lower half hit dirt with a meaty thud, legs still twitching. One boot kicked once, uselessly. The creature knelt, massive hands pinning the shoulders down. Claws dug in, peeling skin back in ragged flaps like opening a book. Ribs cracked outward with sharp snaps. It reached in, tore out the heart—still beating, glistening—and bit down. Crimson jetted between its teeth, running in thick streams down its chest.

Eli tried to run.

His foot slipped in the pooling blood. He fell hard, face-first into the gore-slick earth. The creature’s head snapped toward him. It rose, dripping, and took one step. The ground trembled.

Mark lunged forward—instinct, stupidity—grabbing Eli’s arm, dragging him backward. “Move—move!”

The monster lunged.

It crossed the space in a blur. One massive hand clamped around Eli’s ankle. Eli shrieked as claws punched through tendon and bone. The creature lifted him like a doll, upside down. Blood rushed to Eli’s head; his screams turned wet and bubbling.

It shook him once—hard. Something inside cracked. Then it slammed him down onto a jagged rock. Spine met stone with a sickening crunch. Eli’s body arched, mouth open in a silent howl. The monster knelt over him, claws raking down the chest in four deep furrows. Skin and muscle parted; ribs splayed like broken fingers. It plunged its face into the cavity.

Ripping. Slurping. The sound of swallowing whole chunks. Eli’s legs kicked feebly a few more times, then stilled.

Mark crawled backward, sobbing, flashlight shaking so violently the beam danced like a strobe. The creature lifted its head. Blood masked its face in a dripping curtain. Shreds of shirt and flesh hung from its teeth. It stared at Mark—patient, almost curious.

Then it spoke.

A voice layered over layers: Eli’s scream, the dead hiker’s gurgle, something older and hollow beneath it all.

“Stay… a while…”It reached for Mark.

Mark scrambled up, legs pumping blind. Branches whipped his face, tore skin. Behind him, heavy footfalls shook the earth. The whistle rose again—closer, amused.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t need to.

The chewing started once more—slow, wet, deliberate—and this time it sounded like two voices screaming in unison before they were silenced forever.

From the cave mouth ahead, deeper in the hill, the whistle waited. Patient. Hungry. Ready for the next pair of lights to wander too far down the wrong path.