A horn sounds in the distance. Something is off about its call. It crunches like breaking bones are part of its mechanism.


    A shadow looms precariously over your location, a misshapen monolithic figure tottering through and over the landscape. Its passage rearranges the surface of the earth like a drunken child scribbling with a marker.


    The screams that echo outside of your shelter begin again, sending you scurrying for safety while you cover your ears. You''ve seen what happens to those who listen too closely to the voices.


    You slowly count an hour in your head as you wait for them to leave.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Your thirst begins to hurt your throat and you grimace at the thought of sourcing water. After a ten minute hike, the many gibbering mouths that grow on the cliff face reveal themselves. Their spit is your only source of potable water.


    Your stomach rumbles. You''re not ready to face that particular chore right after the mouths. You ignore it and head back to your lean-to.


    The screams are back. They''re closer now. You know they''ve caught your scent.


    You run. A voice in the back of your mind tells you that letting them catch you would be easier. Less horrifying in the long run.


    The stupid animal part of your brain screams at the fear of death and your legs pump faster.


    You hear them falling farther and farther behind.


    You survive. For now.