The jungle at the Vietnam-China border was a place of unrelenting shadows, where the trees grew so densely that they blotted out the moonlight. What little light pierced the canopy formed ghostly beams that illuminated fleeting glimpses of the forest floor—gnarled roots, twisted vines, and scattered leaves.

A lone figure crashed through this oppressive wilderness, his breath ragged and uneven from frenzied running. His tattered shirt clung to his sweat-soaked back, and his pants were ripped at the knees from too many falls on the unforgiving terrain. Dirt streaked his face, but his wide, bloodshot eyes betrayed more than exhaustion—they brimmed with primal terror.

Hao, a farmer from a nearby village, wasn’t used to running for his life. His days were spent tending rice fields and fixing tools, not fleeing from nightmares. Yet here he was, stumbling through the jungle like a hunted animal, his bare feet finding no grip on the damp slippery earth.

Behind him, the forest was alive with sound. Not the typical hum of insects or the distant cries of nocturnal animals, but something darker—low growls, like gravel grinding together, and the eerie rustling of leaves where no wind blew. Then there were the whispers, faint but distinct, like dozens of voices murmuring just out of reach.

Hao stumbled, catching himself on a nearby tree. He pressed his back against the rough bark, struggling to catch his breath. His ears strained for any sign of pursuit, but the whispers seemed to come from every direction, closing in on him.

The whispers grew louder, and Hao’s pulse quickened. He didn’t dare look back, afraid of what he might see. But in his peripheral vision, he caught flickers of movement—pale shapes darting between the trees, too fast and too fluid to be human.

The ground suddenly sloped downward, and Hao lost his footing. He tumbled, crashing through the underbrush before landing hard on his side. Pain shot through his ribs, but he ignored it, scrambling to his feet. That’s when he saw the clearing.

For a brief moment, he felt relief. Open spaces meant visibility, and visibility meant safety—or so he hoped. He staggered forward, desperate for any respite from the oppressive forest. But as he stepped into the clearing, his stomach turned.

"Chết rồi..." he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. I’m dead.

The sound of splashing water snapped him back into motion. Hao glanced down to see his feet standing in a shallow stream. The cold water sent a jolt through him, and he forced himself to run again. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the jungle itself was conspiring to keep him there.

The campsite was a scene of carnage. Torn tents flapped in the gentle breeze, their fabric shredded as though by enormous claws. Lanterns lay smashed on the ground, their glass shards glinting like teeth in the moonlight. Pots and pans were scattered haphazardly, many of them dented or twisted out of shape.

Hao’s nostrils flared as he caught a putrid stench. It was the smell of decay, mixed with the metallic tang of blood. He pulled his shirt up to cover his nose, but it did little to block the foul odor.

His eyes fell to the ground, where dark, sticky stains glistened in the dim light. He knelt down, hesitant but compelled to look closer. The stains weren’t just blood; they were black and viscous, like oil mixed with tar.

A low growl made him freeze. Hao’s head snapped up, his gaze darting around the clearing. The growl came again, this time accompanied by a rustling sound. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized the noise was coming from the edge of the clearing—behind the largest tent.Summoning what little courage he had left, Hao crept toward the tent. He moved slowly, his steps light and deliberate. With each inch he advanced, the growling grew louder, more guttural. He reached the tent’s edge and peered around it.

His breath caught in his throat.

There, crouched over a mangled body, was a creature unlike anything Hao had ever seen. It was humanoid in shape but unnaturally thin, its pale skin stretched taut over sharp, angular bones. Its head was bald, and its eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, like embers in a dying fire.

The creature turned its head, sniffing the air like a predator sensing prey. Hao’s heart stopped. For a moment, he thought it hadn’t seen him. But then it smiled—a grotesque, too-wide grin that revealed rows of jagged teeth.

Hao stumbled backward, his foot catching on a pot. The metallic clang echoed through the clearing, and the creature hissed, its body twisting unnaturally as it rose to its full height.

Without thinking, Hao turned and ran. His legs burned, and his lungs screamed for air, but adrenaline pushed him forward. Behind him, the creature let out a piercing screech that seemed to shake the very trees.

More whispers joined the cacophony, mingling with the sound of rapid footsteps closing in on him. Hao didn’t dare look back.

The jungle grew thicker, the trees closing in like prison bars. Vines snagged at his arms, and roots threatened to trip him, but he pressed on. He wasn’t running toward safety anymore—he was running because stopping meant death.

Through the chaos, a faint light appeared in the distance, flickering like a beacon of salvation. Hao’s chest tightened with a mix of desperation and hope. His legs screamed for rest, each step feeling like it might be his last, but the sight of the light gave him strength. He pushed himself harder, arms clawing at branches and vines that seemed determined to hold him back.

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The jungle thinned, and with a final, desperate burst of speed, Hao broke through the tree line. Before him lay a small settlement nestled on the forest’s edge, its wooden huts with thatched roofs lined along a narrow dirt path. The warm glow of oil lamps spilled from their windows, bathing the village in a soft, inviting light. For a moment, the oppressive darkness of the jungle seemed to lift, replaced by the comforting hum of human life.

Hao stumbled forward, his legs finally giving out beneath him. He collapsed onto the dusty path, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The dirt clung to his sweat-slicked skin as he forced himself onto his hands and knees.

“Quái vật!” he screamed, his voice hoarse and trembling. “Monsters! They’re in the jungle!”

The first villager to notice him was a woman carrying a woven basket. Her eyes widened in alarm, and she hurried toward him, dropping the basket without a second thought. The sound of Hao’s shouting drew others from their homes, men and women stepping hesitantly into the night.

The woman knelt beside Hao, her hand hovering near his shoulder as if afraid to touch him. “What are you talking about?” she asked in a cautious, trembling voice.

Hao struggled to find the words. His hands shook as he gestured wildly toward the jungle. “They’re coming! Pale demons... claws... teeth... they’re coming!” His words spilled out in a frantic jumble, barely coherent, but the raw fear in his voice was unmistakable.

More villagers gathered, their murmurs filling the air. Some whispered prayers under their breath, clutching amulets or talismans. Others exchanged uneasy glances, their skepticism warring with the undeniable fear etched into Hao’s face.

“Demons?” a man scoffed, his voice loud and dismissive. “He’s just a madman, lost in the jungle too long.”

But not everyone was so quick to dismiss Hao’s warning. An elderly man stepped forward, leaning heavily on a carved walking stick. His face was lined with age, his eyes sharp and penetrating. The villagers fell silent as he spoke.

“We cannot ignore this,” the elder said, his voice firm. “Too many have disappeared in recent weeks. Hunters. Travelers. Now this man stumbles out of the jungle speaking of monsters?” He shook his head. “The spirits are restless. We must be cautious.”

The villagers murmured their agreement, though unease lingered in their expressions. A young man stepped forward hesitantly. “I heard stories,” he said, his voice low. “A neighbouring  village hunter mentioned strange lights deep in the forest. He said the jungle wasn’t safe anymore.”

“That’s just superstition,” another villager countered, though his voice lacked conviction.

The elder raised his hand, silencing the argument. He turned to Hao. “Tell us what you saw,” he said. “Speak clearly, if you can.”

Hao took a shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. His mind raced, replaying the horrors he had witnessed.

“They were pale,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Their skin like... like ash. And their eyes—” He stopped, his hand trembling as he touched his temple. “Their eyes glowed in the dark, like embers. They moved so fast, too fast to be human. And their teeth...” He faltered, his words catching in his throat. “They were sharp. Hungry. They didn’t just kill... they fed.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, and more than one person took an instinctive step back, as though Hao’s story might summon the creatures to the village.

Before anyone could respond, a sound pierced the night—a low, guttural howl that froze the blood in their veins. It rose and fell, echoing through the trees, a sound that was neither animal nor human. The villagers turned as one toward the jungle, their faces pale with fear.

“What was that?” someone whispered.

The elder’s grip tightened on his walking stick. “The spirits are angry,” he said grimly.

The crowd pressed closer together, their fear now palpable. Children clung to their parents, and even the skeptics glanced nervously toward the dark line of trees.

And then, from deep within the jungle, came another sound. This one was quieter but no less chilling: the faint, unmistakable murmur of whispers. It was as though the forest itself was speaking, its voice carried on the wind.

Hao scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide. “It’s them,” he hissed. “They’re here!”

The villagers backed away from the jungle, their eyes darting to the elder for guidance. He raised a hand, signaling for calm. “We must stay together,” he said. “Light the fires. Keep watch. If the spirits have come, we will face them as one.”

Lanterns and torches were quickly lit, their warm glow pushing back the encroaching darkness. A group of young men armed themselves with farming tools and machetes, forming a protective circle around the women and children.

But even as the flames flickered brightly, the whispers grew louder, more insistent. The jungle seemed to shift and sway, the shadows between the trees taking on ominous shapes.

From the edge of the forest, a pair of glowing eyes emerged, followed by another, and then another. The villagers froze, their collective breath held as the figures stepped into the firelight.

They were humanoid but grotesquely thin, their pale skin stretched over angular bones. Their movements were jerky and unnatural, like marionettes controlled by an unseen hand. Their mouths hung open, revealing rows of jagged teeth that glinted in the flickering light.

The creatures stopped at the edge of the clearing, their heads tilting in unison as they regarded the terrified villagers. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then one of the creatures let out a piercing screech, and the night erupted into chaos.

The villagers scattered, their screams mingling with the sounds of snapping branches and growls. Hao ran toward the elder, who stood his ground, his walking stick raised as if it were a weapon.

“Get to safety!” the elder shouted. “Protect the children!”

Hao hesitated, his instincts torn between fight and flight. But as the creatures surged forward, he realized there was no choice. Grabbing the elder’s arm, he pulled him toward the nearest hut.

From the shadows, more glowing eyes appeared, and the jungle came alive with movement.