The crescent moon begins to peel back its veil.
The hound howls at the slowly darkening horizon.
The fog crawls out from the distant forest
Like a spider approaching its prey.

The cold slithers in from behind and snakes up your back.
The fog creeps closer and the howls are a growing to crescendo.
The cold begins to enwrap you in its coil.
The voice within begs you to run and scream,
But you're paralyzed from the shock of the scene.

Your end arriving right before your eyes,
You are bearing witness to your own demise.
The stench of rot grows like a fungus.
A shadow from the depths of the fog floats closer.
A skinless hand reaches out and peels back its veil.