Deep in the woods of a forgotten town, where the trees grew too tall and the sun disappeared too early, a house sat on dying soil.

It looked ordinary—old white walls, a broken porch, and a roof that creaked whenever it rained.
But no one came near it.
No neighbors.
No visitors.
No laughter.

There lived a family of five.

The father—Mark—stern and silent, the kind of man whose presence made the air heavier.
The mother—Elizabeth—short-tempered, always rushing, always snapping.
Two young boys—Carl, the loud one, the bully, and Melvin, the quiet one who watched everything but spoke very little.
And then there was Abby.

She wasn’t theirs by blood; they had adopted her years ago when they believed they couldn’t have children. Back then, they treated her as if she were their own.

For a while… she was happy.

But everything changed after Carl was born. And again, when Melvin came.

The love vanished.

Now, Abby cooked, cleaned, and ate alone. They barely spoke to her—except to give orders or blame her for things she didn’t do.

But no matter how cold it got inside that house, Abby never stopped smiling for Melvin.

He was the only one who looked at her like she mattered. She was his real sister.

And to her, Melvin was the only reason she hadn’t given up.

Beyond the house, past the trees, a dirt path cut through the woods, leading to a tall cornfield. It didn’t belong to the family.

It belonged to Mr. Han—a farmer who lived alone in a small house right at the edge of the field.

When Mr. Han first came to this dying town, it still had people. Locals whispered strange stories—stories of big, fat, cannibalistic humans residing in the woods, and of the thing in the forest.

A thing with no mercy.
They called it Pret.

Some said it could take the shape of anything it wanted—a friend, a family member.
Some said it mimicked the cries of children.
But the only thing they all agreed on was this:

It had a knife stabbed into its chest, rusted over from time, as if someone had once tried to kill it.
Its eyes were pure black. No whites. No reflection.
Just darkness that stared back.

They said Pret hunted those who never truly suffered.
It walked for those who had never known loss or pain.
And when it came… it showed no mercy.

Mr. Han had been living in the woods for years but had never seen it. Pret never revealed itself to him. Maybe his pain was already deeper than anything Pret could offer.

Now the town was almost empty. Only a few shops remained; the others had fled that cursed land. Everyone feared the Redwoods.