In a forgotten forest, three pigs constructed their fragile home, blissfully unaware of any danger.
Then, with a voice that dripped malice, a colossal wolf growled, "I'm coming for you." Terror gripped the piglets as they cowered, powerless against the encroaching darkness.
The sinister crack of the wolf's fire axe splintered their door, finishing the lull of their carefree lives. Blood-curdling screams filled the night as the first pig, desperate for escape, was impaled on a cruel wooden stake, his life bleeding out with each gurgled plea: "Save yourselves, brothers!"
With hearts filled with dread, the remaining two fled, leaving behind their kin, their frenzied sobs harmonizing with the echoes of their brother's ruthless demise.
The chilling refrain of his screams wafted through the suffocating silence, taunting them.
The youngest pig dared to glance back, his heart racing as the wolf loomed, dripping with his brother's blood, his grin a grotesque mask of hunger.
Mutely, the wolf whispered, "You're next." The little pig stumbled, flinging himself into a campfire, yelping as the ghastly aroma of roasting flesh overtook him.
His sibling hesitated, the weight of despair gripping his soul, knowing he could not save what was lost. Fleeing to the farmer's hut felt impossible now.
The sounds of anguish faded, replaced by the heavy scent of smoke, and in that instant, realization washed over him: the wolf was already creeping behind.
The last pig's frantic hooves hammering the ground echoed the heartbeat of a hunted creature. Breathless cries mingled with raw panic, while the wolf's footsteps remained a sinister whisper, a predator savoring each moment.
The trees loomed, skeletal like the reaper, branches clawing at the air, as the ominous shadows danced and twitched. He dared not glance back—death lurked too close in the suffocating dark. He dared not cast a glance over his shoulder again.
Not after the horrors he'd witnessed. Not after that ghastly smile. With a frantic burst, he tore through the thorns, his straw-colored fur smeared with ash, soot, and something far darker.
In the looming distance, beyond the thicket, he caught sight of it, the flickering lantern that cast a morbid glow outside the farmer's hut. A fleeting beacon of hope.
Yet, as he wailed, "Help! Please! Farmer! He's coming! He's coming!" there was only a suffocating stillness. No lights flickered in response. No footsteps echoed in the oppressive night.
The door hung ajar, swaying eerily in the cold wind, its creak a haunting melody. The pig stepped forward, his heart drumming wildly as he forced the door open wider.
And there, sprawled inside, lay the farmer. Or what remained of him. His head was propped grotesquely at the foot of the rocking chair, lifeless eyes staring into the void.
His torso was laid open like a grotesque tome, ribs splayed, insides removed with a precision that chilled the blood. The shotgun lay shattered, splintered like hope itself.
A grim message clawed into the wooden floor in dark, congealed crimson: "NO ONE SAVES YOU." The pig gasped, his breath snagged in his throat.
Weakness surged through his limbs. He turned just as the door swung ominously shut behind him. The wolf stood there.
Towering. Silent. His fur matted with the remnants of his past feasts. That smile stretched far too wide, as if his very face had been grotesquely fashioned for it.
He whispered, "Now it's just you and me, little pig." A blood-curdling scream erupted from the pig as he scrambled back, but the wolf was already in motion, sinuous and dreadful.
The axe was gone. He had no need for it now. Claws glinted in the dim light. A scream tore through the hut, but it was but a fleeting sound, swallowed by gurgling, wet death throes as the wolf pinned the pig to the wall and savaged his belly, shredding flesh like mere paper.
The pig's eyes bulged in terror as he clawed at the wolf's visage, yet the predator merely edged closer, relishing every twitch, every whimper, every desperate squeal.
Entrails spilled forth like ribbons of despair. Blood splashed the walls in thick, haunting arcs. The pig did not die swiftly. The wolf relished in the agony.
By dawn's bleak light, the hut lay still. No birds dared to sing. No pigs dared to squeal. Only an oppressive silence remained.
Only the haunting creak of a ghostly rocking chair fills the air, as the sinister wolf perched menacingly by the window, its claws glistening with fresh crimson, grinning wickedly in the shadows.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That concludes the first chapter of my book. I think it's not the best of my ability, but I'll try to improve it as I go along.