GRIMFACE

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, drumming against the cabin’s tin roof, muffling the sound of the Grimface man’s approach. Each step was slow, purposeful, his boots squelching in the mud as he gripped an old axe in one hand, its blade dulled but still menacing in the dim glow of the storm.

The cabin sat alone in the woods, a flicker of candlelight barely visible through the rain-splattered window. Inside, the air was tense and thick, carrying the scent of damp wood and fear.

He pushed open the door, the creak swallowed by a clap of thunder, and stepped into the shadows within. Water dripped from his coat, forming a dark puddle at his feet as he made his way up the narrow staircase.

At the top, he found her. A young woman clutching a small boy, her hands shaking as she stuffed belongings into a battered bag. But the moment her eyes met his, her movements stopped. She pulled her son close, holding him as if her very grip could shield him, her voice barely a whisper.

“Please,” she pleaded, her words almost drowned out by the rain. “Just let us go.”

The Grimface man stood silent, his face unyielding, a mask of shadow and cold indifference. He took a single step forward, and in that instant, the storm seemed to close in around them, leaving only her breathless plea to be lost in the rain.