There lives a thing, in the forest and at night.

It walks among the trees, knowing only fright.

This thing shall not be named.

But it...it, is a Demon by all understanding.

It comes at night, wreathed in shadow.

It's eyes being the only thing you can see.

Dark, endless points of blue.

The Demon knows only fright, but lives off blood.

Slicing down what breathes in its path.

The thousand whispered warnings as the only sign of it's presence.

Those fortunate enough to hear even one may not know.

Those fortunate to hear two may think it is a person.

Yet any are fortunate if their end is quick.

If you listen, and stay quiet.

You just might hear one of them.

"It's coming, run you fool!"

This thing is not your friend.

It is not your enemy.

It is that which has no name.